“That’s decent of you,” Alfie said at last. “Not while it’s so perishing cold, though,” he added, trying to smile whilst fiddling anxiously with a loose thread on his coat sleeve.
“Lord, no. Perhaps in March. I’ll have to ask Hawk to remind me where the best fishing spots are. It’s been too long since we larked about around here as lads.”
“You came here often with your cousin?”
Aubrey noted the wistful quality to his question with interest.
“When we were boys, yes. Hawk, and Nathaniel too. He’s the fellow who got married recently.”
Alfie gazed down into what remained of his drink, turning it back and forth on the scarred tabletop. “You must have had a lot of fun.”
“We did, causing havoc, playing idiotic games and getting into scrapes, fishing and swimming and enacting battles on the beach or in the woods. Playing at pirates.” He grinned then, remembering such carefree days, but watching Alfie carefully. A sense of sadness, of regret, seemed to have settled uponthe young man’s shoulders, and whilst it was none of Aubrey’s doing, a heavy sensation sat uneasily in his chest at having quashed the young fellow’s enthusiasm. He might want answers, but he did not wish to make anyone unhappy or shove his own privileged circumstances under the nose of one whose fortunes had been rather more turbulent—if Aubrey guessed correctly.
“A pity I wasn’t here then. I’d give that guinea to see you dressed as a pirate,” the fellow quipped, winking over his pint, though Aubrey felt his heart wasn’t in it.
“As much as that? My, you are eager to see me act the fool,” Aubrey replied, wondering why the words made him uneasy. Is that what Alfie wanted? Was he playing games, trying to make a fool of him? Was that what nagged at him so?
“Not a bit of it. I just think you’d look fiendishly handsome with an earring. The ladies would love it. Adds an air of danger.”
Aubrey did laugh this time, putting aside all his suspicions and anxieties. No doubt he was jumping at shadows. This young man was probably exactly as he appeared to be, a fun-loving youth with a ready wit and the devil’s own luck with cards. Probably.
Little Valentine, 17thJanuary 1816
“Drat the man.”
Alice ducked into the cheese shop just in time to avoid Mr Seymour, who was strolling along the seafront. She supposed she could not blame him. It was a beautiful morning, the sun glinting on a sea of stunning blue. The sunset had even enticedAlice out of bed, padding over the cold floorboards to stare at a swathe of glorious orange and gold.
“What’ll it be, miss?”
Alice looked up as Mrs Muddle appeared behind the counter. “I’ll take half a pound of that nice cheddar, please, Mrs Muddle.”
The lady smiled and set about cutting the cheese and wrapping it in brown paper. “Anything else, Miss?”
Alice glanced out of the window, frustrated to see Mr Seymour still standing by the rail, gazing out to sea. This was going to cost a fortune if he didn’t leave. She took her time, perusing the selection on offer with a considering gaze as she waited for the wretched man to go about his business. Mrs Muddle cleared her throat.
“And the goat cheese there,” Alice said reluctantly, aware the lady was becoming impatient.
Mrs Muddle nodded and picked up a small round of goat's cheese, wrapping it carefully as Alice kept an eye on Mr Seymour. Finally, he turned and walked away, heading for The Mermaid. Alice kept her eyes on him until he went inside. Thank goodness.
“Miss?”
Alice turned back to Mrs Muddle, not having realised she was being addressed.
“I asked if there was aught else?” the woman said, regarding Alice with annoyance now.
“No, thank you. That’s all.”
Alice paid for her purchases and hurried out of the shop, not turning to look towards The Mermaid until she reached herfront door. Still no sign. Closing the door behind her, she let out a breath.
You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. Yet ever since the night she had played cards with Aubrey Seymour, she had felt uneasy. He suspected something. She doubted he knew himself what it was, but the way he looked at her, at Alfie, like there was a puzzle before him and he was determined to understand it, well, it was unnerving. So unnerving that Alice had decided Alfie needed to keep his head down and Alice would be best served by avoiding the man.
She headed for the kitchen, comforted by the warmth and the scent of baking that enveloped her as she entered Lill’s sanctuary. Her friend was never happier than when she was up to her elbows in flour.
“Back already? I thought you were going to call upon Miss Izzy?”
“I was,” Alice said in frustration, placing her parcels on the table.
“What you got there?” Lill asked, setting the kettle on the stove.
