Page 51

M rs. Honoria Bainbridge walked into the grand dining room at the Rose & Heather Inn in Rosalynde Bay, a small coastal village on England’s southern coast in Dorset, between Exeter and Lyme Regis.

The fashionable retreat was renowned for its red cliffs, pebble beaches, rolling countryside, and, most important to Mrs. Bainbridge, privacy.

Privacy may have drawn her there, but as she scanned the dining room, that was out of the question. Every table was occupied. She let out a deep sigh, having hoped for a table by the window. The ocean was particularly beautiful today. That appeared to be out of the question.

“Mrs. Bainbridge?” The steward said for the third time.

“Oh, forgive me.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I was gazing out the window.”

He nodded. “It is a wonderful view.” He glanced at the room and started again. “Mrs. Bainbridge, may I suggest you join one of our other guests at their table.”

She took a deep breath, debating whether to return to her room and have her meal there. But she’d been in the coach all day and didn’t want to be confined. “I can wait.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bainbridge, but the situation will be considerably worse as the evening progresses.”

In all her life, she had never shared a dinner table with a complete stranger.

The thought unsettled her, a stark departure from the world she had always known.

But she was not in London, and she had come on this excursion alone, something that was also unthinkable.

That was the life behind her. This was a new beginning.

Lifting her chin, she smoothed her gloves and turned to the gentleman. “Of course, that will do nicely.”

He escorted her to a table by the window that overlooked the ocean.

“Mrs. Bainbridge, may I introduce you to Commander Kenworth.”

The Commander immediately rose from his chair and helped his dining partner to her seat.

“Pleased to meet you, Commander. Thank you for sharing your table.” She removed her gloves and settled in the chair. The steward handed her the menu, and she spent a few minutes studying it.

“If you’re uncertain,” Kenworth offered. “I’d recommend the sole. It’s light yet satisfying.”

“You sound quite certain of that,” she said, still perusing the menu.

“I’ve learned that some choices are best kept simple. Besides, a well-prepared sole needs little embellishment.”

She glanced over the menu and found his gaze waiting for hers. His smile, edged with quiet amusement, was mischievous but not unkind. A man accustomed to being listened to. “A fish with no need for embellishment? That sounds dreadfully confident.”

“Ah, Mrs. Bainbridge, confidence and arrogance are often confused. Though I assure you, I am quite adept at both.” He leaned back slightly, assessing her reaction before adding, “experience merely refines them.”

Honoria lowered the menu, placed it on her plate, and returned his smile. “And what would you suggest to accompany this unimpeachable sole?”

He paused, thoughtfully considering her. “Asparagus with butter sauce, new potatoes with parsley…and a chilled Madeira to balance it all.”

She tilted her head. The Commander had jet black hair and sharp, assessing Nordic blue eyes. He was quite handsome, but it was his warm, mischievous smile she found interesting.

“You speak of food as if it were a military strategy, Commander. Is this how you plan all engagements?”

“When you’ve endured uninspired rations, you learn to appreciate a well-planned supper.”

“A practical approach, then.” She tried hard not to smile and almost won.

He picked up his wine glass in a silent toast. “Always.”

“Are you a chef or a food critic, Commander?” She didn’t try to hide the hint of laughter in her voice. There wasn’t any way this man was less than a senior officer. His bearing spoke of command and control. And there was that smile again.

“I’m afraid not, but I do enjoy good food.” He leaned close to her. “Besides, I’ve been here for a week and tasted almost everything on the menu.”

She blinked at him, and they both started laughing.

“Excuse me, my lady.” They both looked at the waiter. “Are you ready to order?”

She looked at the Commander, her smile broadening, and gestured to him. “Please.”

He ordered her dinner while she casually glanced around the room. Without finding any recognizable faces, thank goodness, she let out a breath and relaxed.

The waiter made his way to the kitchen, and the Commander turned his attention to her. “Do you visit the coast often?”

“On occasion. There’s a certain…freedom here.” She was matter-of-fact and not evasive. That wasn’t her way.

He studied her for several long minutes. “Escaping something, then?”

She smiled. “That implies there is something to escape.”

“And yet, you didn’t deny it.” His blue eyes were penetrating.

The waiter came with a bottle of Madeira and showed it to the Commander, who nodded. The bottle was uncorked. The Commander took a sip and nodded his approval. The waiter poured her a glass and refilled his.

He raised his glass, his eyes lingering on her for a heartbeat too long. “To freedom.”

“To freedom,” she echoed, though for the first time, she wondered, was she truly free or merely adrift, waiting for the tide to push her back to shore?

*

Reese Barrington hid his smirk behind his glass.

He hoped Kenworth, his valet, wouldn’t mind him borrowing his name for a bit of anonymity.

It had been Kenworth’s idea in the first place.

A chance to escape, to be someone without expectation or obligation.

He hadn’t intended to take the name, but when his valet suggested accompanying him, Reese had seen the opportunity for what it was, a rare moment to breathe.

He gave the man a generous leave and, for a short time, allowed himself to be no one at all.

There was a certain amusement in seeing how long he could remain just a man enjoying the seaside rather than a duke with a title, a chest full of medals, and expectations to uphold.

Their dinner arrived. The delicate scent of melted butter and bright citrus curled through the air as the cloche over her sole was removed.

A touch of fresh parsley and thyme lent an earthy contrast, mingling with the gentle, briny freshness of the fish.

The steamed asparagus, bathed in a silky butter sauce, released a subtle aroma, while the warmth of the new potatoes, tossed with parsley, carried a hint of nutty richness.

“You seem accustomed to travel,” Honoria said while she cut into her fish. “Have you been here before?”

“No, but I’ve seen enough coasts to recognize a fine one.” He took a forkful of his dinner.

“A man of the sea?” She tilted her head, searching his face. He had the bearing of a commander, but his words hinted at something else entirely.

“Not quite. But I have spent enough time near battlefields to appreciate a peaceful view.”

“I didn’t mean to pry. If I’ve offended—”

He waved away her apology. “No offence taken. Few speak of battlefields unless they have a reason to.”

She looked up, her fork filled with asparagus. “And here I thought it was just polite dinner conversation.”

She felt him studying her as she ate the vegetable that suddenly had no taste at all.

“Polite conversation rarely turns to war.”

She dabbed her napkin on her mouth and returned it to her lap. “War does not spare those who wait behind, Commander. It leaves its mark on us all.”

Her words weren’t subtle. They carried pain, and they were hers alone.

His gaze sharpened. “A personal experience?”

She hesitated before her glance lifted from her plate. “You mustn’t assume, Commander. Some of us simply enjoy an intellectual discussion.”

He sat back with his glass of wine, watching her for a long moment.

*

She had seen such looks before, assessing, thoughtful, but not dismissive. There was more to her than most men first observed, and it seemed the Commander had begun to notice.

They finished their meal talking about the weather.

The meal was over, and the wine was gone. She put her napkin on the table.

“Could I tempt you with an after dinner stroll?” When she hesitated, he added, “The summer sunsets here are unique.”

She met his gaze, fully intending to offer a polite farewell. It had been a lovely evening, and she ought to leave it at that. The words formed in her mind, ready to fall from her lips. She heard herself say, “I would enjoy that, Commander.”

He rose, retrieved his cane from behind his chair, and offered her his arm. They left the inn and leisurely strolled along the cliff. The summer evening ocean breeze was cooling. The waves pounded the beach in a rhythmic beat.

“You were correct about the sole. It was very good. As were your other choices.” She paused.

He nodded. “I’m glad you found my choices enjoyable.”

“You mentioned you’ve been here a week.”

“Yes, I’ve been recovering from an injury. It’s been a slow process. And you? Why have you come to Rosalynde Bay?”

“I, too, am recovering. As you noted earlier, there comes a time when one must get back to the world of the living.”

“I’m glad fate chose this week to bring you here,” he murmured, matching his pace to hers, his cane tapping softly against the path.

She didn’t answer at first. There were reasons she had come, just as there were reasons she had not told anyone.

London had grown stifling with obligation, and every corner of her house echoed with a name that was no longer hers.

She had thought a quiet retreat would offer perspective.

Instead, she’d found a stranger who somehow saw past every careful mask she wore.

“I needed air,” she said simply, but the words held far more than she let on. “And you?”

He hesitated, his steps slowing slightly. “I’d nearly forgotten what air without expectation felt like.”

They walked on, the words trailing between them like mist. Unspoken truths neither of them was ready to name.