Owen surveyed the gentleman, his dark gaze calling to mind memories of a time he had long since put to rest. Simon Yardley was a neighbor of Owen’s aunt and uncle in Briarstead—only a year or two younger than Owen, if he remembered correctly. He recalled the man well enough to claim an acquaintance, though he did not want to. He felt a slight temptation to feign ignorance and leave, but he was too honest by half. Besides, from what he recalled, Mr. Yardley had always been something of a slow top. It would not take long to extricate himself.
“Captain Owen Buckley,” Owen said, putting out his hand.
“Captain! By Jove, that has a nice ring to it.” They shook hands. “How long have you been a captain?”
“Six years.” Owen lifted his valise from the dock. “You are from Briarstead.”
“Simon Yardley.” He flashed a smile, his slightly crooked teeth on full display. Dark blond hair curled out from beneath his gray hat, and his clothing, while nice, was rumpled—a telltale sign he’d been on a ship recently as well. “On my way home after an unfortunate bout across the sea. I had to charter my passage on a naval ship from Portugal and feared I’d never make it out of Porto.”
“Were you there on business?”
“What a ghastly word. Of course not.” He laughed heartily, then sobered. “Well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose. But I don’t like to think of it that way. Brought a case of port home with me, and if all goes well, I’m going to own a vineyard there soon.”
Owen blinked at him. Was he unaware that purchasing avineyard or traveling to see to it was precisely what business entailed? Ninnyhammer, indeed. Owen had very little patience for gentlemen of that ilk, high in the instep and incapable of seeing outside of themselves.
A pity.
“Where did you come in from?” Mr. Yardley asked.
“Chartered my passage on a naval ship as well. It was the fastest route I could find home.” Owen drew his coat tighter. “I’ve been in India these last nine years.”
“I’d heard you went and joined the king’s army. Suppose that’s what the captain bit is all about. Did you enjoy it?”
Owen did not have a ready reply. He’d grown to love some of the people. He certainly admired his men and most of his leaders. The heat left much to be desired, and his skin had darkened from all the exposure to the sun, but his time in India had been a period of growth. When he’d received the summons from his uncle’s solicitor, however, he’d found it a relief to be called home.
“Yes,” he said simply. It was the truth, though it felt as though he was understating the matter. There was much about it he did not like, but he would not get into all that.
“It was nice to see you, Captain.” Mr. Yardley searched the street. “Though I’d better be on my way. I’ve hired a carriage to take me up to Briarstead, and I’d as lief it didn’t abandon me.”
“I will be on my way to Briarstead shortly,” Owen told him. “Perhaps I will see you there.”
“You don’t say. Visiting your uncle, I suppose.”
Owen’s stomach tightened. How long had he been away from home? “You haven’t heard, then?”
Mr. Yardley’s brow knit. “Is he unwell?”
“He died last year. Stroke.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Always did like the old man.”
“As did I.” Owen shifted his grip on his valise, the pain of loss slicing through him again. Uncle Edward had been like afather, and despite their regular correspondence, Owen could not help but feel guilt when he recalled how long he had stayed away. A cowardly dog with his tail tucked neatly between his legs, that’s what he’d been. “I’m traveling north to see my aunt.”
“I will invite you both to dine, then. It will be a treat to visit, and I daresay my sister will like to see you again.”
When Owen last visited, Miss Yardley had been too young to spend any time with them. Owen could hardly recall her. But he’d only really had eyes for one young woman, anyway.
He said the proper thing. “We would enjoy that.”
Mr. Yardley clapped him on the back suddenly, jarring him. “Say, I’ve a capital idea. Save your blunt and ride in my carriage. I have the thing ordered already, and it would be more comfortable passing the trip in your company than my own.”
“Do you not have a man with you? A valet?”
Mr. Yardley laughed. “Lost him in Portugal, if you’ll credit it. The blasted man chose to stay there. No, I don’t have anyone to travel with. I intend to hire a new man when I’m home. I thought to stop in London on the way, but I’m eager to reach Derbyshire.”
That was a sentiment Owen understood deeply in his core. He’d been on a ship for months, eating tasteless food and constantly rocking. Even now, he felt the ground shifting slightly, rolling with the ebb and flow of the waves.
Since he hadn’t yet left the dock, that was possible.
