Page 7 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

“Indeed, yes. I just wished to thank you for such a lovely afternoon. I did not expect to be treated to such accomplished music too, however. You sing beautifully.”

He appeared genuine in his admiration, not simply flattering her for form's sake, and so Bea accepted his words with pleasure. “Thank you. I am pleased you enjoyed it.”

Stonehaven nodded. “I certainly did. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly. Bea, darling, show his lordship to the door, but don’t forget the fair, my lord. You gave me your word!” her irrepressible father called after them.

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid he’s very persistent,” Bea said apologetically as she opened the front door for him, a wry smile at her lips.

Stonehaven laughed. “He is at that and has outmanoeuvred me several times already. He’s quite correct, however, I gave my word. I will see you there, I take it?”

“Certainly, you shall.”

“Then I shall look forward to it,” he said, his hazel eyes twinkling.

“Are you coming to the dance tomorrow night?” Bea asked in a rush, wondering if she dared hope he might offer to dance with her.

“Ah, no. That I managed to escape,” he said ruefully. “But I do not believe you will be short of dance partners.”

Bea smiled wanly, imagining how many overenthusiastic young men she would need to keep at bay during the evening.

Stonehaven bowed over her hand. “Good night, Miss Honeywell.”

Bea watched him as he walked down the path to the gate. He turned and raised his hand and strode down the lane towards the town. She sighed, wishing he really meant what he said about looking forward to seeing her at the fair, and went back into the house.

Little Valentine, South-East Coast of England. 2nd September 1815.

Anne was up early on the morning of the town fair.

The hotel would be closed for the day, except to the guests already in residence, but The Mermaid’s Tale would have a stall selling cakes and refreshments and she wished to dress the stand, so it looked as elegant as the hotel.

The annual summer fair had become quite an event since the reverend had begun it with his wife.

In those days it had been little more than a gathering of the village folk, who would bring cakes and plants to exchange or buy, and some would play music, and others would dance.

Since then, the event had grown, and now people would come from miles around, some to sell their wares, others just to enjoy the day.

It was a merry get-together that made the end of summer feel like a celebration, rather than the forlorn sensation of knowing winter would be upon them soon enough.

Maypole Meadow, behind the church, had been neatly cut ready for the event and Anne smiled at Mr Peacock, the greengrocer, who arrived pushing a small handcart. He had volunteered to run the coconut shy, and his son-in-law was coming from Rye to set up the Aunt Sally.

“Mrs Peacock must be excited to have her new grandson coming for a visit,” she said as the man set down the heavy cart and tugged a large handkerchief from his pocket.

“Aye, she is at that,” he said, wiping his brow. “Reckon it’ll be a hot one. This summer ain’t done with us yet.”

“Well, please send all your thirsty patrons in my direction,” Anne said, gaining a laugh from the man as he hefted the bars of the cart once more.

“If there’s a free pint in it for me, I might at that.”

“Done!” Anne called over her shoulder, hurrying towards the table where Mrs Fairway and Martha were laying out the first offerings of cakes and savoury pies. There were more at the hotel, but with the weather still so warm, Anne did not want all her goods spoiling before midday.

“Morning, Mrs Adamson.” Mr Cogger, the handyman she employed to do the heavy work at the hotel, greeted her and gestured to the frame he’d made around the table. “That what you was wanting?” he asked with a frown.

“Exactly so,” Anne said with approval, setting down her basket and taking out the long string of bunting she had been sewing for the past few weeks. “If you would be so good as to tack this all around the top, we shall look a fine sight indeed.”

“Pretty work, that,” Mrs Fairway said, surveying the neat stitching with approval.

Anne smiled, always pleased to surprise Mrs Fairway, who could not understand why a lady like Anne preferred to work when she might catch herself a fine fellow like Captain Dearborn and order a parcel of servants about.

Anne had tried to explain, but to a woman who had no option but to work to earn her crust, her choice seemed inexplicable.

Mrs Fairway was her ally and friend, though, and a staunch one at that, and Anne did not know what she would do without her.

Over the next few hours, the field became a hive of activity as stallholders arrived and set up their wares, musicians arranged themselves on the temporary bandstand, and children got underfoot and in everyone’s way.

By midmorning, the fair was in full swing and looked to be the most successful of Little Valentine’s history.

The weather seemed to refuse to acknowledge that summer was ending, and the sun blazed in a sky of pure cobalt.

Ladies in their Sunday best, plied their fans, cheeks pink with heat and the pleasure of such a delightful day.

The scent of onions and sausages frying filled the air as customers queued, tastebuds alight.

Others headed for the cooler pleasure of fresh oysters, while children gathered around stalls decked with tantalising displays of gilded gingerbread or artfully crafted wooden toys.

Everyone seemed intent on enjoying themselves and the atmosphere was merry indeed.

Leaving her own stall in the capable hands of Mrs Fairway and Mr Cogger, Anne set off for a walk around to see what was on offer.

She waved at Izzy Honeywell, who was helping their gardener George to sell the plants he’d propagated, and nodded politely to her competition from the Ship Inn, Mr and Mrs Chesson.

Mr Chesson grinned and tipped his hat, only to feel the sharp edge of his wife’s elbow when she noticed.

Mrs Chesson glared at Anne, who hid a smile and put up her chin.

There was no love lost there, and she knew well enough that Mrs Chesson was one woman determined to paint her as being no better than she ought to be.

Turning towards the side of the church where Bea was managing a stall selling embroidered goods donated by the women of the town, Anne was about to call out a greeting when she realised who else was approaching her stall.

Anne halted sharply, watching in alarm as Lord Stonehaven and two other men who were obviously not locals approached her.

For a moment, she deliberated over the wisdom of rushing over to offer Bea some protection from the young men who were gazing at her with rapt admiration, when she saw that her elder sister, Clementine, now the Countess of Beaumarsh, was already beside her.

Anne let out a breath, not relishing facing Stonehaven again, and left him in the hands of the countess.

She was just considering whether to speak to the reverend about Stonehaven now, when she was greeted by Captain Dearborn.

The captain was a good man, strong and handsome in a tanned, weather-beaten manner she found rather appealing.

That he had formed a tendre for her was not in question, but Anne found his protective manner rather encroaching, for she felt she had no need of it and was well able to look out for herself.

Still, he was a gentleman to his bones, and so very decent and kind that she always made time for him.

“Good day to you, Mrs Adamson! Your stall is doing tremendously well. I fear there will be words between Mrs Fairway and Mrs Adie if we do not have a care.”

Anne laughed and nodded. “Indeed, I have been debating whether to buy something from Mrs Adie myself or wondering if that will only make matters worse. If the vicarage stall also offered beer and cider, I would imagine they’d be every bit as busy.”

Captain Dearborn smiled wryly. “True enough. I only hope the young men of the town don’t overindulge on such a hot day. It’s too tempting to do so when one is thirsty. You will let me know if you have any trouble?” he added, his brow furrowing.

“I will,” Anne assured him, as grateful for his concern as she was irked by it.

“Have you heard the latest rumour circulating?” he asked, relaxing now she had agreed to keep him informed if she needed him.

Anne stiffened and shook her head, hoping that rumour did not concern her or Stonehaven. “Oh! Oh, no,” Dearborn said hurriedly. “I should never repeat— I did not mean to imply… It’s only, well, they say Hawkney is here.”

Anne stared at him in surprise. From what she had heard from the locals, Alexander Seymore, the Duke of Hawkney, had not been seen in these parts since he was a small boy staying with his grandmother.

At that time, he had run tame in the town, but if it had been some years since the dowager had been seen here, it had been closer to thirty since anyone had caught sight of her illustrious grandson.

“Really? Goodness, that will set all the old biddies in a lather, and all the young ones running to Madame Auguste to furbish up their bonnets,” she added with a laugh.

Dearborn gazed at her, his eyes warm with admiration.

“Indeed,” he said with a smile. “I ought not repeat such chatter, but they say he came down a week ago to demand his grandmother return to his estate, and the two of them had the almightiest row. The duke went off in high dudgeon, only to return again late last night. Apparently, the two of them are barely speaking.”

“Well, how fascinating,” Anne said, genuinely curious, having met the dowager duchess, what exactly she had said to rile the duke. “I’ve heard it said that his grace is a cold man, proud and arrogant.”

The captain nodded. “Apparently so, but one ought not judge a fellow one has never met. You see, I was listening to Honeywell’s lecture last weekend.”

“So was I, and are we not both the better for it?” Anne said with a chuckle. “Now, if you will excuse me, I had better relieve Mrs Fairway for a while, for she is looking a trifle fatigued.”

Bidding him a polite goodbye, Anne hurried away, content that she had done her duty, but feeling the captain’s gaze follow her all the way across the field.