Gingerbread Bride

Chapter Three

What a woman she had grown into! She made Rick comfortable with quiet competence, leaving him to rest until the pain died down to a quiet ache. No fussing. No questions about what she could do for him. She just set the suite to rights and sat peacefully until the meal arrived.

Over dinner, they fell back into the easy habit of conversation they'd enjoyed aboard her father's ship, before Rick had been promoted elsewhere in the fleet.

They disagreed about Russia's trustworthiness as an ally in the long war against France, and agreed that General Bonaparte was a dangerous man, and debated passionately about the wisdom of a reduction in the militia, Mary's color rising to tint her skin pink. Skin so fair as to be translucent, with a soft dusting of freckles across her tip-tilted nose. Her long pale eyelashes glinted in the candlelight as they swept down to brush her cheeks, and her copper curls, as averse to confinement as the rest of her, sprang free of her ribbon as she shook her head at whatever he had just said. What had he said? Lost in totaling her features, he had lost track of his argument.

"You are tired," she decided.

You are pretty, he thought. But she was correct, as well, so he let her chivvy him off to bed.

In the morning, he felt considerably more the thing, and after breakfast, they set off in a hired chaise for Haslemere, where her aunts lived.

"It is on my way, Mary," he told her, and she allowed him to escort her.

They arrived in Haslemere in mid-afternoon, and stopped across the street from the address Mary had been given.

She turned to smile at him, a full Mary Pritchard beam. The smiles of Admiral Pritchard's daughter had been known to melt the heart of the toughest bo'sun, and to turn the crews of an entire fleet into putty in her hands.

"Lieutenant Redepenning, Rick, I cannot thank you enough." She held out her little gloved hand expectantly.

"I will see you inside, of course," he said. And check the aunts were really there, and the place was a safe one for Mary to stay.

"I suppose you will insist." Mary frowned. "I'd hoped to save you from getting down out of the curricle."

He ignored her protests and lowered himself carefully, good leg first, then turned and offered her a gallant hand. Good sailor that she was, she made no fuss, but nor did she put any weight on him as she hopped down to the pavement.

"Let's leave the bags there while we check to see if we have the right place?" Rick suggested. He told the post boy to keep an eye on the bags as well as the horses, before he and Mary crossed the street.

The door was opened almost as soon as he banged the knocker, and they walked into chaos. A bewildering number of maids were running back and forth along the hall. Laden trays appeared from the back of the house, from which delicious smells of spice and baking wafted, then disappeared into the front room to the right. Empty trays were whisked back down the hall, the two processions of maids turning sideways to prevent collisions. A short, plump, elderly woman in an old-fashioned print gown and large, white pinafore stood at the door to the front room, watching all that went on with the eye of a ship's captain.

Rick would have known her in a crowd for the admiral's sister. She had the same light blue eyes, the same determined chin, the same bulbous nose (albeit in a more feminine cast), and the same air of command.

Mary was in no doubt either. "Aunt Dorothy?"

Next moment, she was enveloped in an enthusiastic hug. "Fletcher's little girl. It must be. Darling Mary, let me look at you." The woman held her at arms' length, then pulled her in for another hug. "Why, you are the image of my mama. Did your dear papa ever tell you that? He must have. Just look at you."

Ignoring Rick and the maids, Miss Pritchard proceeded to hug Mary, untie her bonnet, hug her again, help her off with her coat, clucking over her the whole while.

After a few minutes, she seemed to realize she had spectators. "But what am I thinking! Maudie, dear, look after the baking. Mary, come away into the house, and you—Mary's friend—you come too."

Rick excused himself after promising to send in Mary's bags and to visit again tomorrow.

He carried away an image of her looking a little lost. If she isn't happy with her place when I return, he vowed, I'll carry her off and find her a safe berth somewhere else.

***

Mary found herself swept along by a sort of a female tempest to the rear of the hall, avoiding the continuing procession of maids as they went. They came to harbor at the end of the hall in a small, cluttered, feminine parlor.

"Now then, Mary, my girl. Tell me what you are doing here, and who that gentleman was. Not that I am not pleased to see you, for that I am, and no mistake, but fetching up on my doorstep with no warning, and in the company of a gentleman, with not even a maid to give you countenance! It needs to be explained, my dear. That it does."

"Aunt Dorothy, that was Lieutenant Redepenning. He served with father, and he was kind enough to escort me from Merroham after the coach broke down."

Aunt Dorothy eyed her thoughtfully. "Hmm, that explains the young man, I suppose, but what were you doing on the coach in the first place?"

Mary blushed a little, and looked at the paintings on the wall rather than her aunt. "I found that London life did not suit me, Aunt. And in your letters, you said I would always be welcome."

"That you are, dear, that you are. Never doubt it. Though if I'd known you were coming... Well, here you are, and I am so pleased to see you, and so Marjery will be." She pursed her lips a little. "And your cousin, Enid, of course." The broad smile returned. "They are making afternoon calls, dear, but will be home soon."

A maid arrived with a large trolley containing a tea service and a plate tower with different types of cakes and tarts on each layer.

Aunt Dorothy busied herself with pouring the tea.

"You will wonder at the bustle here, my dear. We are known for our baking, you know." She puffed herself up, looking for all the world like a contented hen. "We are always called on to supply baking for church fairs, assemblies, and other such things. And, just think, dear, our baking is much in demand at the market!" She deflated a little. "It is not trade, dear, whatever Enid says. Your cousin is a little sensitive." She shook herself, as if to settle her feathers.

"Now, Mary, tell me the truth. What happened in London? I thought your mother's sister would have found you a husband. Aha! That is it, is it not? She picked someone, and you ran away!"