From shopkeeper...

To earl’s wife!

Two things are certain: Annabelle Fortini makes the best biscuits in Bath and Samuel Delaney, the charming bachelor who’s just entered her shop, is trouble! Her mother’s unfair exile from society has taught Anna aristocrats can’t be trusted. Samuel may be a famous naval hero and reluctant heir to an earldom, but Anna can’t fall in love with him! Unless she can overcome her pride...and surrender to her heart!

JENNI FLETCHER was born in the north of Scotland and now lives in Yorkshire, with her husband and two children. She wanted to be a writer as a child, but got distracted by reading instead, finally getting past her first paragraph thirty years later. She’s had more jobs than she can remember, but has finally found one she loves. She can be contacted on Twitter @JenniAuthor or via her Facebook Author page.

Also by Jenni Fletcher

The Warrior’s Bride Prize

Reclaimed by Her Rebel Knight

Miss Amelia’s Mistletoe Marquess

Whitby Weddings miniseries

The Convenient Felstone Marriage

Captain Amberton’s Inherited Bride

The Viscount’s Veiled Lady

Regency Belles of Bath miniseries

An Unconventional Countess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

An Unconventional Countess

Jenni Fletcher

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90124-0

AN UNCONVENTIONAL COUNTESS

© 2020 Jenni Fletcher

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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For my biscuit-loving grandmothers

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Historical Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Historical Note

I grew up with a collector of Nelson memorabilia, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I wrote a story with a naval hero that referenced the Battle of Trafalgar.

This altercation, on the twenty-first of October 1805, proved to be one of the defining events of modern European history. The defeat of the combined French and Spanish forces by the English fleet, under the command of Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, ensured that Wellington’s soldiers were kept supplied with provisions throughout the remainder of the Napoleonic Wars and established British naval supremacy for the next hundred years—up until the start of World War I.

The ship referred to in this story, the HMS Colossus, really did take part in the battle. I’ve tried to keep the details as accurate as possible, although the actual commander was a Captain James Morris. Fighting in the very midst of the action, the Colossus suffered the highest casualty figures of the British fleet and sustained so much damage that it had to be towed to Gibraltar for repairs before returning to England.

I’ve used it as a tribute to William Wheldale, a sailor who was press-ganged from my home town of Hull in the north of England in 1803 and died aged just twenty in the battle. The details are taken from David Wheldon and Richard Turner’s book Family Connections.

The first part of the story is set in Bath for my grandmother, who lived there for most of her life. As a teenager I stayed at her house with my sister for several weeks every summer, mainly reading Jane Austen novels. She didn’t like history, but she took me to the costume museum, which I loved, and she never made a meal with fewer than three kinds of dessert, for which I will always have the greatest affection and respect.

Finally, the Water Gardens in the second half of the story were inspired by those at Studley Royal in North Yorkshire, completed in 1767 and declared a World Heritage Site in 1986. It’s one of my favourite places to visit and the scene of many happy picnics. Obviously with biscuits.

Chapter One
Bath—March 1806

‘“Belles of Bath, purveyors of the finest quality confectionery.”’ Captain Samuel Delaney read out the words painted on a wooden sign beside a smart yellow-and-white-striped awning, then turned to confront his companion. ‘It’s a biscuit shop.’

‘Not just any biscuit shop.’ The Honourable Ralph Hoxley tapped a finger against the side of his nose. ‘The finest biscuit shop in the whole of England.’

‘The finest...?’ Samuel threw a quick look around, assuring himself that nobody else was in sight before shoving his fist none too gently into the other man’s shoulder. ‘Ralph, we may not be in the first flush of youth any more, but I draw the line at tea and biscuits in the middle of the afternoon.’

‘Ow!’ His companion rubbed his arm gingerly. ‘I say, that’s no reason to attack me. The biscuits are delicious, actually, but that’s not why we’re here.’

‘Then why are we?’

‘You’ll see in a minute. Now, stop complaining and come on.’

Samuel looked about him, inwardly debating whether or not to simply turn around and leave. Swainswick Crescent was less Palladian in style than most of the streets in the fashionable shopping district, though it was built in the same distinctive honey-coloured stone and had a somewhat charming aspect. It was also only a five-minute walk from the house his grandparents had rented on the Circus, but on the other hand he was bored and his curiosity was piqued. Heaving a sigh, he waited until a carriage had rolled past before crossing the street, amused to note that his companion kept just out of arm’s reach until they arrived at the shop windows.

‘There!’ Ralph pointed through the glass triumphantly. ‘Now look and tell me if she isn’t the most extraordinary creature you’ve ever seen.’

She? Samuel rolled his eyes. He might have guessed his wayward friend would only display this much enthusiasm over a woman, yet another unsuitable paramour most likely, but since he was already there... He threw a cursory look inside and then looked again, surprised to find that, for once, Ralph was right. Usually their tastes in relation to the opposite sex were a world apart, but this time extraordinary was exactly the right word.

The woman standing behind the shop counter was of medium stature, slender but not too slender, with a shapely figure and a mass of dark corkscrew curls barely contained in an unruly knot on the top of her head. They gave her an attractively dishevelled aspect, as if she’d just rolled out of bed, an effect exacerbated by the presence of a frilly white apron that put him in mind of a chemise. Unfortunately she was looking downwards, her features obscured by shadow as she tied a ribbon around a barrel-shaped tin, but what he could see of her face was square-shaped and extremely pretty. He couldn’t tell the colour of her eyes, but he would have hazarded a guess that they were the same coffee shade as her hair. He felt a strong urge to find out. Succeeded by an even stronger urge to shove Ralph off the pavement for seeing her first...

‘Isn’t she the most delectable morsel you’ve ever seen?’ If he wasn’t mistaken, Ralph actually licked his lips.

‘Not bad.’ Samuel stepped away from the window and folded his arms. Unlike his companion, he had absolutely no intention of drooling over a woman in public, no matter how drool-worthy she might be. ‘Although it still doesn’t explain why you’ve dragged me halfway across the city. Much as I enjoy admiring your conquests, obviously.’

‘She’s not one of my conquests, not yet, and she never will be without your help.’

‘Really?’ He quirked an eyebrow, surprised and somewhat heartened by the news. If Ralph hadn’t yet managed to seduce her, then that meant... No. He stopped the thought in its tracks. His life was complicated enough these days without any romantic entanglements, even if she was the prettiest, most intriguing looking woman he’d set eyes on since arriving back in England four months ago. Longer than that, even. He couldn’t remember ever feeling such an instant attraction to someone. ‘You don’t usually have problems talking to the opposite sex on your own.’

‘I don’t.’ Ralph sniffed with irritation. ‘Only I need you to distract the other one.’

‘What other one?’

‘The termagant who runs the place. She’s over...’ His companion pressed his nose up against the glass and then started indignantly. ‘Wait, that is the other one! She’s the termagant!’

‘Her?’ Samuel unfolded his arms and took another, more eager look. The coffee-haired woman didn’t look much like a virago, not enough to justify the tone of disgust in his friend’s voice anyway, though he had to admit there was a certain brisk, no-nonsense efficiency to her manner as she walked around the shop, serving one customer before moving on to the next. She looked self-assured and capable, qualities he personally found to be virtues rather than faults in a woman. Damned if they didn’t make her even more attractive.

He let his gaze follow her while she worked. The wall behind the counter was essentially made up of just shelves, stacked with different shapes and sizes of tin and a few trays of loose biscuits. Both they and the counter were made of dark wood, oak or beech maybe, though any suggestion of gloominess was dispelled by the shafts of yellow sunlight streaming in through large, south-facing front windows. The whole place had a cosy, inviting ambience and he was feeling quite peckish. A biscuit at that moment sounded like a quite excellent idea.

‘I’m talking about the blonde!’ Ralph shot him an exasperated look.

‘What blonde?’

‘There!’

As if on cue a small head popped up above the counter, its owner having presumably been searching for something underneath, in a manner that put Samuel in mind of a Punch and Judy show.

‘She’s the one I brought you to see. My golden nymph.’ Ralph sounded as if he were drooling again. ‘Her eyes are almost as pale as yours.’

‘I trust that’s where the comparison ends.’ Samuel threw him a sardonic look. ‘Much as I like water, I doubt I’d make a very good nymph.’

‘Isn’t she delectable, though?’

Samuel narrowed his eyes, regarding the ‘nymph’ critically as she passed a small cloth bundle across to an elderly gentleman customer. She was undeniably attractive, though surely not a day above eighteen, with delicate elfin features, a minuscule waist and glossy hair swept up into an elegant chignon. Everything about her was sleek and shiny, in striking contrast to her messy-looking companion, though he found his gaze drawn inexorably back to the messiness.

‘Well?’ Ralph prodded him. ‘What do you think?’

‘About the nymph? She looks young.’

‘Not that young. Eighteen.’

‘Which you know because...?’

‘Because I asked her the last time I was here.’ Ralph pinched his lips together. ‘Before the termagant told me it was none of my business and chased me away.’

‘You must have made quite an impression.’

‘Harumph. You’d think she was the girl’s mother the way she hovers around her. As if I’m only after one thing!’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘And now you sound like her father!’ Ralph looked affronted. ‘Can’t a man enjoy a little casual flirtation?’

‘That would depend. Specifically on whether it’s the kind of casual flirtation you enjoyed with your mother’s lady’s maid last month?’

‘Ex-lady’s maid now. That’s why I’m banished from London, remember?’

‘Exactly.’

Samuel took a step back from the window and folded his arms again. He and Ralph had been friends at school, getting into all kinds of adolescent scrapes together, right up until the morning he’d walked out and never gone back, but the intervening years had taken them in different directions, the navy for him, university and the life of a ton bachelor for Ralph. Inevitably they’d lost touch and now he was starting to remember why. It wasn’t just because he’d been busy fighting Napoleon. He liked to think that he’d grown up during the past ten years, but his old friend still seemed to have few interests beyond gambling, drinking and women. If it hadn’t been for Bath being so quiet at this time of year, he might have avoided renewing the acquaintance entirely.

He stifled a sigh, wishing he’d taken up Admiral Northcott’s invitation to visit his house that afternoon instead. A few hours of discussing naval tactics and studying nautical charts with a retired septuagenarian sounded infinitely preferable to helping Ralph conduct yet another flirtation. If flirtation was really all he intended... That morning, however, Northcott’s invitation had made him far too melancholy. It was bad enough feeling homesick for a ship, but the idea that his naval career might be over barely a year after he’d achieved the long sought-after rank of Captain was depressing beyond words. Maybe he oughtn’t to have put his uniform aside so soon, after all. At least wearing it made him feel as if he still belonged somewhere. Instead, here he was, standing on a street in the middle of another aimless afternoon, trapped between two possible futures.

‘We’ll just wait for these customers to leave.’ Ralph was already straightening his cravat and tugging at the lace trim of his cuffs.

‘Will we?’ Samuel drew his brows together, jolted back to the present. ‘I don’t remember agreeing to help you. What exactly are your intentions?’

‘My intentions?’ Ralph’s expression was almost ludicrously outraged. ‘I say, when did you become so passé?’

‘Around the same time I learned that actions have consequences. I won’t help you to ruin the girl.’

‘I’ve no intention of ruining anyone. All I’m doing is enjoying the view, so to speak. A man has to pass the time somehow in Bath.’ Ralph leered. ‘Now you distract the termagant so that I can have a few minutes alone with my nymph.’

‘And how do you propose that I distract her? Especially if she’s as fearsome as you say?’

‘Flirt with her! You used to be quite good at that as I recall, even if all you talk about these days is boats. You know, if I’d spent most of the past decade at sea, I’d want to do a lot more than flirt when I came back on shore. Isn’t there any woman in Bath who interests you?’

Samuel threw a quick glance back through the shop window. Yes, there was definitely one and the thought of distracting her was distinctly, apparently irresistibly, enticing.

‘Just think of it as another battle. Imagine that she’s...’ Ralph paused thoughtfully ‘...what was the name of that French Admiral you trounced again?’

‘Villeneuve.’

‘Right. Imagine that she’s Villeneuve and you need to keep her occupied while I break through her line like Nelson. It’ll be just like Trafalgar all over again.’

Samuel felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. Comparisons to his former commanding officer aside, he had the distinct suspicion that Nelson wouldn’t have approved of what they were about to do, either. On the other hand, what harm was there in enjoying the view? Just to pass the time for a few minutes?

‘All right.’ He flexed his shoulders, ignoring a prickle of conscience as he prepared for action instead. ‘For King and Country...’

Chapter Two

‘He’s here again.’ Anna Fortini waited until the shop door had closed behind the last customer before narrowing her eyes at the window and scowling.

‘I know.’ Her assistant Henrietta raised a hand to her head, patting non-existent stray hairs back into place and batting her eyelashes coquettishly. ‘This is the third time this week.’

‘Maybe we can persuade him to actually buy something this time,’ Anna muttered, pushing her own very real stray hairs out of her face and wondering if she had time to carry a bucket of cold water up to the first-floor window and deposit it over the admirers below. Alas, she suspected not. In fact, she was quite certain the front door would open again the very moment she left the room and she had absolutely no intention of leaving Henrietta on her own. Tempted as she was to believe that her shop’s recent popularity with the young male population of Bath was entirely due to her baking, she was well aware that it had far more to do with her new and attractive assistant. Barely a day went by when she didn’t have to chase some lovesick swain or other off the premises, but this particular suitor was proving more persistent than the others. He was becoming an irritation.

‘There’s another gentleman with him this time,’ Henrietta murmured, coming to stand close beside her.

‘So I noticed. Another of your admirers, no doubt.’

‘Actually, he’s looking at you. Quite intently, too.’ Henrietta giggled. ‘He’s very handsome. I wonder who he is.’

‘If he’s anything like his companion, then I don’t care. They look like gentlemen.’

‘You always say that like it’s a bad thing. What do you have against gentlemen anyway?’

‘Plenty! And no giving biscuits away this time. Those samples are for customers, not—stop it!’ Anna looked around sharply, making a grab for her assistant’s arm as she started to wave. ‘You shouldn’t encourage them.’

‘Why not? It’s just a bit of fun. There’s no harm in that, is there?’

‘It depends on what kind of fun you both have in mind. I very much doubt it’s the same thing. Honestly, didn’t you learn anything from your last employment?’

The hurt expression on the girl’s face made Anna regret the words instantly. Henrietta had lost her position in a dressmaker’s shop after her employer’s son had formed a passionate, but unrequited, attachment towards her. She hadn’t done anything to encourage him, Henrietta had assured Anna when she’d first applied for the position as her assistant, only she was afraid that she might have acted naively by not immediately rebuffing his attentions, but then she hadn’t wanted to be rude, either... The inevitable result was that she’d been dismissed without references.

‘I’m sorry.’ Anna winced. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘I know.’ One of Henrietta’s most endearing qualities was her ability to forgive and forget. ‘And I’m sorry for waving, but I was only being friendly. You don’t think I’d be silly enough to fall for a gentleman, do you?’

Anna dropped her gaze to the biscuit samples set out on a plate in front of her. Yes, she thought silently. Yes, she did think that Henrietta was capable of having her head turned by an aristocratic appearance and a few charming compliments, but she didn’t want to say the words out loud. Over the past couple of months she’d become genuinely fond of the girl. She was certainly a far livelier companion than Mrs Padgett, her dour and disapproving predecessor. No one had ever come into the shop to see her. All in all, Henrietta’s hard-working and sunny disposition would have made her the perfect employee if it hadn’t been for her propensity to be friendly with every man who as much as glanced in her direction—and men were always glancing in her direction. To be fair, it would have been hard for someone so pretty not to attract male attention—Anna only hoped it wouldn’t lead her into doing something foolish one day.

‘Just remember that no matter how honourable they might seem, gentlemen like that don’t regard women like us as ladies.’ She threw another venomous glare in the direction of the window. ‘They won’t treat us like ones, either.’

‘How can you be so cynical?’ Henrietta made a tsking sound. ‘Sometimes a gentleman really is a gentleman.’

‘But most of the time he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’

‘Good gracious, anyone would think...’

Henrietta bit her lip, leaving whatever anyone would think unspoken as the bell above the shop door jingled again and the two men entered finally.

‘Perhaps you could finish the window display, Henrietta?’ Anna gave her assistant a none-too-subtle nudge in the ribs. ‘While I deal with these customers.’ Then she lifted her chin, bracing both of her hands on the countertop before putting on her brightest, most insincere smile. ‘How may I help you, gentlemen?’

‘Good afternoon.’ The first man, the irritant, faltered mid-step, a lock of blond hair flopping across his face as his gaze followed Henrietta. ‘My friend and I were just strolling past when we had a sudden craving for chocolate.’

‘Oh, what a shame.’ Anna heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘Unfortunately we don’t work with chocolate, which you might have known had you asked about our merchandise on one of your previous visits. We sell biscuits, just biscuits. Perhaps you might try the shop on...’

‘But I adore biscuits even more!’ The man grinned, exposing a row of dazzlingly white teeth. Definitely a wolf. ‘Perhaps your lovely assistant here might recommend something special?’

‘I’m perfectly capable of recommending—’

‘I’d like one of the big tins,’ the other man interrupted before she could finish, addressing her in an amused-sounding baritone that none the less carried a distinct note of command. ‘If it’s not too much trouble?’

Anna turned her head to glower and then felt her stomach perform a strange kind of bouncing manoeuvre instead. She’d been so focused on the irritant that she’d barely spared a glance for his companion, though now she seemed unable to look away again. Henrietta was right, he was very handsome and yet a mass of contradictions, too, with hair the colour of mahogany and eyes so silvery pale they resembled icebergs. He might have looked austere if it hadn’t been for his athletic build and a rugged aspect that seemed at odds with his finely cut and, she couldn’t help but notice, perfectly tailored tailcoat, midnight-blue waistcoat and crisp white shirt. His face was lean and tanned, too, somewhat surprisingly for Somerset in March, yet despite his youthful appearance—surely he couldn’t be any more than thirty?—there was already a web of fine lines around his eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Just as he was doing now, she realised, making her cheeks flush and her stomach bounce all over again.

‘Trouble?’ she repeated the word, trying to focus on what he’d just said. ‘Of course not. If it were trouble, then I’d be in the wrong profession, sir. Just allow me a moment to fetch one.’

She turned to climb a set of steps set against the shelves, glad to avert her face for a few moments while she berated herself, or more precisely her body, for its own foolish reaction. He was a gentleman! Albeit a handsome one and in an attractively ungentlemanly sort of way, far less foppish than his friend and with an air of self-possession and authority that surely accounted for all the stomach bouncing, but still a gentleman, and hadn’t she just been warning Henrietta about those? Besides, he could hardly have made his purpose there any more obvious if he’d had it printed across his forehead. He was a decoy, enlisted to divert her attention while his companion tried to seduce her assistant. Well, if he thought he could outwit or charm her so easily, then he could think again!

She reached for the nearest tin and started back down the steps, throwing a surreptitious glance towards the window as she descended. As expected, Henrietta was already deep in conversation with the first man, who was standing far too close for decency. Both details meant that she had to hurry.

‘Here you are.’ She deposited the rectangular-shaped tin in front of him with a clatter. ‘It contains an assortment of biscuits, sixteen in total, each individually wrapped in tissue paper.’

‘Just sixteen?’ Her customer rested one forearm on top of the counter, regarding the tin as if it posed some kind of dilemma. ‘May I see inside?’

‘If you wish.’ Anna removed the lid, struck with the uncharacteristic impulse to neaten her hair as he leaned closer. Not that there was any point in doing so when long experience told her the curls would only tumble straight out of her bun again, and not that she cared what this gentleman thought of her hair either, even when he was standing close enough to see every wild tendril, but something about the deep timbre of his voice made her self-conscious. She found herself tucking a stray coil behind her ear before she could stop herself.

‘There you are.’ She unwrapped one of the bundles of tissue paper, unveiling a cream-coloured round biscuit for his inspection, then waited in silence for several long moments until she couldn’t wait any longer. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘Not exactly. I suppose the tin just looked bigger from a distance.’ He rubbed a hand across his chin as if he were considering the problem. There were bristles there, she noticed, another ungentlemanly contradiction, though she supposed it was nearing the end of the day. They were the same dark auburn shade as his hair and looked softer than she would have expected bristles to look, positively strokeable, in fact... She gave a startled jolt and lifted her gaze determinedly back to his eyes, irritated that any gentleman could have such a distracting effect on her.

‘I’m afraid this is the biggest tin we do.’

‘Ah. Pity.’ He laid his hand down flat on the counter beside hers, so close that their fingers were nearly, but not quite, touching. To her surprise, his skin was rough and weathered-looking as if, despite being a gentleman, he was used to manual labour. ‘They’re for a special lady, you see, and I wouldn’t want to appear churlish.’

‘Indeed?’ She tugged her own hand away, heat rising in her cheeks. ‘Then perhaps you might want to consider two tins? Or a different present altogether?’

‘But these look delicious.’ He seemed undeterred by her sarcasm. ‘And of course some would say that quality is more important than quantity, only I’m afraid that this particular lady is rather...’ he paused, lowering his voice to an intimate undertone ‘...voracious in her appetites.’

‘I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear you say so.’ Anna straightened her shoulders, feeling her temper start to escalate. How dare he talk to her about appetites, voracious or otherwise? No gentleman would ever speak to a lady in such an unguarded fashion! The words encouraged her to be indiscreet, too. ‘Well, I suppose that size matters to some people. Perhaps you’ve disappointed her with something small before?’

She put her hands on her hips with a look of defiance, expecting him to storm out of the door in an offended rage, surprised when he burst into loud laughter instead.

‘The tin it is.’ He pushed himself up off the counter, eyes glinting with humour. ‘And I’ll just have to bear whatever criticism my lady friend makes. Are the biscuits inside all the same?’

‘Only in shape.’ Anna rearranged the contents and replaced the lid quickly, trying to ignore the way his laughter seemed to vibrate through her body, like a breeze stirring ripples across a lake. It seemed to cause a strange quivering sensation in her stomach, too, lower down than before and somewhat alarming in its intensity. It made her feel even more agitated. If only he’d stormed out! Then she could have forgotten his existence and turned her attention back to Henrietta. Instead, annoyingly, she found herself wanting to hear him laugh again... ‘We make three types of Belle. Vanilla, cinnamon and rosewater.’

‘So the biscuits are called Belles?’

‘Precisely.’ She pushed the tin across the counter, shooting a pointed look from beneath her lashes. ‘You’re very quick, sir.’

Despite the insult, he laughed again. ‘Which is your favourite?’

‘None of them. I started baking when I was eight. After sixteen years, I can honestly say that I’ve lost my sweet tooth.’

‘But if you had to choose a favourite? So that I can particularly recommend one to my lady friend?’

‘She’s your lady friend.’ Anna pursed her lips disapprovingly. ‘If she’s so special, then I would have thought you might know her tastes better. Here...’ She picked up the plate of samples. ‘Try one.’

‘Thank you.’ He selected the darkest-coloured biscuit and took a bite, eyebrows lifting as he chewed. ‘Cinnamon? It’s delicious.’

‘You sound surprised.’ She lifted her own eyebrows to mirror his.

‘I am. I’m not usually fond of biscuits, but I could eat a dozen of these. Definitely my favourite.’

‘You haven’t tried the others.’

‘I don’t need to.’ He rapped his knuckles decisively on the countertop. ‘I’ll recommend this one whatever the consequences.’

‘Consequences?’ she couldn’t resist asking. ‘Are you likely to face those?’

‘Oh, yes. She’s quite a tyrant in her own way.’

‘Of course she is.’

‘But open-minded, too.’ He popped the last of the biscuit into his mouth. ‘I admire that in a person. Being judgemental is such an unattractive quality, don’t you think?’

‘I think it depends. There’s a difference between being judgemental and having high standards. Now, if that’s all, that will be four shillings.’

‘Ribbon?’

‘That costs more.’

‘Ah, but she’s worth it.’

‘Naturally.’ Anna narrowed her eyes, reaching under the counter for a roll of blue ribbon and then coughing loudly as she saw Henrietta’s companion touch her elbow.

‘That sounds nasty.’ Her own customer sounded amused. ‘Perhaps you ought to consult a physician about it.’

‘I’m perfectly well, thank you.’ She narrowed her eyes even further, though it was difficult to do so without actually closing them.

‘I’m relieved to hear it. Otherwise I’d have to suggest a visit to the Pump Rooms to take some of the waters, and it’s not an experience I’d recommend.’

‘Indeed? Then I wonder what you’re doing in Bath, sir?’ She gave the ribbon an aggressive snip with her scissors. ‘Isn’t it the start of the London Season soon? Perhaps you ought to be there, preparing yourself for balls at Almack’s and picnics at Vauxhall Gardens?’

‘Perhaps I should be.’ He gave a careless-looking shrug. ‘But what can a man do when his grandmother summons him?’

‘Your grandmother?’ She paused in the act of curling a ribbon.

‘My special lady, yes.’ The corners of his mouth curved upwards. ‘Who did you think I was talking about?’

‘I...’ She cleared her throat, willing the sudden onslaught of heat across her cheeks to subside. ‘Your wife, perhaps?’

‘Alas, I haven’t found a woman willing to put up with me yet. Hard to believe, isn’t it?’

‘Unfathomable.’ She finished curling the ribbons, trying to ignore an unwelcome frisson of excitement at the words. ‘There you are. I hope that your grandmother enjoys them. They were baked fresh this morning.’

‘Do you bake them yourself?’ He seemed in no hurry to be leaving, extracting a few coins from his coat pocket.

‘I do everything here myself. It’s my shop.’

‘You’re the proprietor?’ He looked impressed.

‘Yes.’

‘And the baker?’

‘And everything else.’ She lifted her chin proudly. ‘I do whatever needs doing.’

‘Then I compliment you, Mrs...?’

‘Miss Fortini.’

‘Miss Fortini.’ He repeated her name, his eyes lingering on her face in a way that made her wish she might plunge her head into a bucket of cold water. ‘Do you have a first name, too?’

‘Doesn’t everyone? But I share it with acquaintances, not customers.’

‘Ah. In that case it’s been a delight talking to you, Miss Fortini.’

‘Quite.’ She inclined her head and then twisted it pointedly to one side, focusing her attention back on Henrietta’s companion. ‘Now have you finished getting recommendations, sir, or did you only come to grace us with your presence again?’

‘Actually I’ve decided I’m not so hungry, after all.’ The irritant spun around with another wolfish grin. ‘However, I’ve just invited your charming assistant here for a walk, what with it being such a beautiful afternoon.’

‘So it is.’ Anna spoke quickly before her ‘charming assistant’ could agree to anything. ‘Unfortunately, as you may or may not have noticed, we have a business to run. Our customers can’t serve themselves.’

‘But we close soon,’ Henrietta interjected. ‘Couldn’t we leave just a little bit early for once?’

‘We still have cleaning up to do.’ Anna shot her a warning look.

‘Then perhaps I might wait and escort Miss Henrietta home? I’d be more than happy to do so.’

‘I’m sure you would.’ Anna gave a tight-lipped smile in return, reluctantly conceding that she’d been outwitted. Her own customer had already picked up his tin and tucked it neatly under his arm, though his expression was noticeably less triumphant than that of his friend. There was actually a small furrow between his brows as if he were displeased about something. It made a striking contrast to the way he’d smiled across the counter a few minutes before. No doubt that had just been a charming mask, one he felt able to drop now that his task as decoy was complete, but if he thought the matter was concluded, then he was very much mistaken. She wasn’t defeated yet!

‘Do you know...?’ She walked around the counter and across the shop floor to place a protective arm around Henrietta’s shoulders. ‘Now that I think of it, an evening stroll sounds most pleasant, after all. We’ll meet you in Sydney Gardens beside the grotto in half an hour, after we’ve tidied. That way we can escort Miss Gardiner home together.’

Chapter Three

Samuel marched up and down a picturesque-looking pathway between rows of willow and ash trees, ardently wishing that he’d been out when his old friend had called to visit him that afternoon. As amusing as he’d found his encounter with the pretty and prickly Miss Fortini, his conscience was bothering him quite considerably. No matter how tedious he found life on shore, he should never have gone along with Ralph’s plan. It had felt dishonourable somehow, his behaviour that of a rake, or even worse, his father! This walk struck him as a monumentally bad idea, too, but he was involved now whether he liked it or not. To his own chagrin, it was too late to walk away.

‘I say!’ Ralph called out to him from the bench where he was lounging, arms thrown wide as if he hadn’t a care in the world. ‘Why are you in such a bad mood?’

‘Because I don’t appreciate being dragged into your romantic exploits, that’s why!’ Samuel practically exploded. ‘That whole scene felt underhand. You said it was just a little harmless flirtation, nothing about walks in the park.’

‘Well, I call that very ungrateful. Here I’ve arranged a promenade with two very attractive young ladies and all you can do is complain.’

‘An hour ago you described one of them as a termagant.’

‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ Ralph chuckled unrepentantly. ‘I thought she was going to spit actual feathers when I offered to walk Henrietta home.’

‘You don’t need me to be here, too. You and the termagant can squabble over the girl together.’

‘Don’t you believe it. If it’s just me then she’ll plant herself between the two of us and I won’t get a word, let alone anything else, in edgewise. You can just tell she’s the sort who wants to stop everyone else having fun because she’s an old maid.’

‘She’s hardly an old maid.’

Ralph made a snorting sound. ‘I doubt she’s ever had a day’s excitement in her whole life.’

‘Leave her alone.’

‘Why? Do you like her?’ His old friend draped one leg over the other and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Well, she’s attractive enough, I suppose. If I wasn’t so smitten with my nymph, then I might have considered her for myself. After all, her name’s practically famous in Bath. She’d be quite a conquest.’

Samuel stopped pacing abruptly. Attractive enough wasn’t exactly the phrase he would have chosen to use. Exceedingly pretty was more like it, with porcelain skin, a stubborn chin and eyes dark and deep enough for a man to drown in, which given his nautical background was a dangerous metaphor indeed. They’d turned out to be an even darker brown than he’d expected, only a shade away from black, and sharper than Ralph had given her credit for. She’d known perfectly well what they’d been up to from the moment they’d entered the shop, her hackles well and truly raised from the start. He certainly hadn’t deceived or charmed her.

Truth be told, the experience had been somewhat galling. He’d never been much of a lady’s man, but he’d flattered himself that he still possessed a reasonable degree of charm, on the rare occasions he chose to display it, that was. He’d favoured Miss Fortini with his most dashing smile and she hadn’t been swayed for a second. Teasing hadn’t worked, either. She’d given as good as she’d got and more, rebuffing his advances with flashing eyes and a dry wit that had amused him considerably. Her protective attitude towards her assistant had impressed him, too. Her concern for the girl was both laudable and touching, making him feel even guiltier by contrast. She certainly deserved better than to have to spend her time guarding against men like Ralph. It was no wonder she behaved like a termagant. Which she wasn’t.

‘What do you mean, famous?’ he asked finally.

‘Mmm?’ Ralph paused in the inspection of his fingernails. ‘Oh, she’s Belle. The Belle. Annabelle Fortini.’

‘Annabelle.’ He felt inordinately pleased to discover her first name at last. ‘But aren’t the biscuits called Belles?’

‘Yes,’ Ralph yawned, ‘but they were named after her. The whole shop was, in fact. Her parents set up the place just after she was born, so Henrietta says, and they named both it and the merchandise after their baby daughter. It’s ironic really, such a sweet name for such a shrew.’

Samuel folded his arms, choosing to ignore the last comment. ‘What happened to her parents?’

‘Oh, the father died a few years ago, but the mother’s still around. She doesn’t work any more, something to do with ill health apparently, but she’s even more famous than the daughter. Notorious, actually.’

‘I don’t listen to gossip, Ralph.’

‘It’s not gossip, it’s fact. Do you remember the old Duke of Messi—?’

He was prevented from saying any more by the appearance of the ladies themselves, walking with varying degrees of enthusiasm along the footpath towards them. They were still dressed in their shop clothes, in matching yellow empire-line dresses, though now they both wore bonnets and shawls, too. The nymph’s headwear was pink, bringing out the slight strawberry tint of her hair, while Miss Fortini’s was light brown, contrasting with her dark curls to give her a coffee-and-cream appearance. Damn it if he didn’t crave a cup at that moment...

The younger woman walked straight up to Ralph with a small skip in her step, taking his arm with an enthusiastic smile. Too enthusiastic, Samuel thought privately, and certainly too trusting. Her yellow dress and hair gave her the appearance of a daffodil, her golden beauty blending in perfectly with the spring foliage around them. It gave him a twinge of unease. Such innocence could so easily be stamped on by the wrong kind of person. In natural daylight, moreover, she looked even younger and more vulnerable than she had in the shop, making him wish that he’d challenged Ralph on his intentions more thoroughly.

‘Shall we?’ He offered an arm to Miss Fortini, but she ignored it, sparing him only a cursory glance before starting along the path on her own.

‘So your name is Belle?’ he tried asking again, lengthening his stride to catch up with her quick pace.

‘Annabelle.’ She gave him a sharp look. ‘Although, as I believe I mentioned earlier, my customers call me Miss Fortini.’

‘Forgive me, I didn’t intend to be over-familiar, but I only just discovered that you’re the original Bath Belle.’

If he wasn’t mistaken, she gave a soft sigh. ‘For what it’s worth, yes, I am, or at least my parents presented us both to the world around the same time. It’s actually short for Annabelle Claudia Teresa Fortini, but I prefer Anna.’ She glanced sideways at him, the evening sunlight bathing her face in a reddish-gold glow. ‘So now you know all of my names, which is a great deal more than I can say about you and yours. Do you make a habit of being mysterious, sir, or am I simply not important enough to warrant an introduction?’

‘Ah, forgive me again.’ He drew his brows together in consternation, belatedly realising that she was right. Despite asking for her name, he hadn’t mentioned his own at all. ‘Captain Samuel Delaney at your service.’

‘Captain Delaney?’ Her footsteps faltered and then stopped, her prickly manner disappearing at once. ‘You’re a captain? In the army or navy?’

‘Navy.’

‘But you’re not in uniform.’

‘No.’ He flinched at the reminder. ‘I’m trying to accustom myself to not wearing it.’

‘Are you on shore leave?’

‘Something like that.’ He shrugged as she continued to regard him inquisitively. ‘I sustained an injury during a recent skirmish and the Admiralty has no more need of me at present. I don’t know when, or whether, I’ll be able to return to active service.’

‘It must have been serious.’ Her dark eyes swept over him as if she were searching for evidence of a wound.

‘Shrapnel.’ He touched a hand to his collarbone, his lips twitching with amusement. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inspected so thoroughly, especially by a woman. ‘But it’s mostly healed.’

‘I’m glad.’ She dug her top teeth into her bottom lip, a small frown puckering her brow as if she were considering telling him something. ‘My brother, Sebastian, is in the navy,’ she said finally.

‘Indeed?’ He felt strangely honoured by the confidence. ‘What vessel?’

‘The Menelaus. He’s a lieutenant.’

‘That’s a good ship. I know Captain Marlow well.’

‘You do?’ Her brown eyes widened with enthusiasm, riveting on his face so intently that she didn’t even notice when Ralph touched a hand to her assistant’s cheek up ahead. ‘Is he a good man?’

‘Very. We served together on the Asia six years ago when we were both lieutenants. He can make buttons out of cheese and he doesn’t like fish.’

‘Fish?’ She blinked. ‘You mean to eat?’

‘To do anything with, I imagine. Other than that, he’s a fair man with an uncanny ability to sense bad weather. Your brother couldn’t ask for a better captain.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate your saying so.’ For the first time since they’d met her smile didn’t contain the faintest hint of sarcasm. ‘You must be good, too, Captain Delaney. To reach such a high rank by the age of...’ she looked him up and down again ‘...thirty?’

This time he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. ‘You’re very direct, Miss Fortini.’

‘Yes, I know.’ She seemed unperturbed by the comment. ‘It’s a failing of mine, I suppose, but the problem is that I can never understand why. If I could, then maybe I could do something about it, but as it is...’ she shrugged ‘... I like to get to the point. It was only an observation, however. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘I’m not remotely offended, although I’m afraid your observation is slightly out. I’m a weather-beaten twenty-six, but you’re correct about my rank. In peace time, it would have taken a great deal longer to gain such a promotion, but things work differently in war.’

‘I suppose so.’ She nodded sombrely as they started to walk again. ‘Do you enjoy it? Being a sailor, I mean?’

‘I do. I’ve always loved the water. Swimming, sailing, fishing, even looking at it, so the navy suits me. I like the routine on board ship, too. It can be tedious, but it gives me a sense of purpose and it’s calming.’

‘Do you often need calming?’ She gave him a quizzical look.

‘On a daily basis at the moment. I’ve been on shore for four months and it feels like an eternity. I’m afraid of losing my sea legs.’

‘Sebastian loves the navy, too, but I wish he might come home for a while. The last we heard his ship was somewhere off the coast of South America, but I’m afraid of another big sea battle.’

‘It’s extremely unlikely. Napoleon doesn’t have enough ships left to risk another naval assault and it’s doubtful he’d want to anyway. Trafalgar was the longest day of my life, but at least the victory was decisive.’

‘You were there?’ Her head spun towards him so quickly he almost jumped. ‘Is that where you were injured?’

‘Yes.’

‘You called it a skirmish!’

‘A big skirmish.’

‘A big...’ She stared at him with an expression of bewilderment mixed with curiosity. ‘I read that you were outnumbered. Thirty-three French and Spanish ships to twenty-seven British.’

‘That’s right. More than forty thousand men, all told.’

‘What was the name of your ship?’

‘The Colossus.’

‘But I’ve heard of that!’ Bewilderment turned to outright amazement. ‘It was in the middle of the action.’

‘Yes, unfortunately. Our yardarm locked with that of the Argonaute. We were trapped together for ten minutes before the sea swell drove us apart.’

‘And then the Swiftsure surrendered to you?’

‘Eventually, after we gave her a full broadside.’

‘And the Bahama. You destroyed her mainmast.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You know your sea battles, Miss Fortini.’

‘I don’t see why a woman shouldn’t read about such things as well as a man.’

‘Neither do I, especially when that woman has a brother in the navy. Ask me anything you like.’

‘All right.’ She paused as if to gather her thoughts. ‘What was the battle really like? The reports all make it sound so well ordered, but how do you stay in formation?’

‘With many hours of practice, although what Nelson did at Trafalgar hasn’t been done often before. Instead of the fleets facing each other, he divided ours into two columns. We cut through the enemy line instead of confronting them head on. It took them by surprise and gained us the advantage.’

‘Did you know you were winning?’

He shook his head. ‘At close quarters, it’s hard to see anything that’s happening beyond your own ship. There are shards of timber and metal flying all around and you can’t hear because the boom of so many cannons drowns out everything except the ringing inside your own head. You’re aware of men shouting and screaming, but you can’t make out the words. Meanwhile, the smoke burns your lungs so that you can’t answer back, either. Most of the time, you’re just fighting to stay alive.’ He stopped, afraid that he might have said too much, but she seemed to be hanging on every word.

‘It must have been terrifying.’

‘It was. A few other words come to mind, but in essence they mean the same thing. Being responsible for so many lives is frightening enough, but I believe that every man is terrified going into battle. There’s always the chance that you won’t make it out again, but there’s no use in showing it or giving in to the fear, either. And being with your crew and part of the fleet gives you courage.’

‘Sebastian said something similar in one of his letters. He said it was like having a second family.’

‘That’s true. At sea, we all depend on each other for survival. You have to rely on your men to do what they’ve been trained for.’

‘Did the fighting really last three hours?’

‘It did, then the weather that night nearly finished us off. We were in a poor enough state after the battle, but the storm was even worse. Many of us spent the night on deck, waiting to see if we’d be scuppered on the rocks. A number of ships didn’t make it to morning.’

‘And you’d lost your commander.’

‘Yes.’ He clenched his jaw at the memory. ‘During the battle, Nelson refused to go below deck for safety. He wanted to fight alongside us and he said the men needed to see him. Unfortunately a French sharpshooter in the rigging of the Redoubtable saw him, too. The musket ball entered his left shoulder.’

‘It was a great loss.’

‘It was. I remember when we got word of what had happened. The whole fleet fell silent. We’d won, but it felt like defeat.’

‘Maybe all battles feel like that in the end.’ She sounded pensive as they emerged out of the trees and on to a wide pathway leading up to a stone pavilion. ‘It all seems like such a terrible waste.’

‘It was. Thousands of men died that day. The waves were red with...’ He stopped mid-sentence. ‘My apologies. I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Why not? Because I’m a woman?’ She gave him a pointed look. ‘There’s no need to apologise, Captain Delaney. I like to be told the truth, not be sheltered from it. I appreciate your honesty and...’ she hesitated and then stopped walking again, folding her hands tightly in front of her ‘...if you were to hear any news of my brother’s ship, good or bad, I would appreciate hearing about that, too.’

‘Very well. If I hear anything, I’ll be sure to inform you.’

‘Thank you.’ She cleared her throat, turning her head to watch a squirrel as it ran about on the lawn beside them. ‘I believe I owe you an apology, Captain.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘But I do,’ she interrupted him firmly. ‘I behaved rudely towards you earlier. I made certain assumptions about your character, but I was mistaken. I had no idea what kind of a man you really were.’

What kind of a man...? Samuel froze, struck with a fresh pang of guilt. ‘I’m not sure I understand you, Miss Fortini.’

She made an apologetic face. ‘When you came into my shop earlier I assumed that you were just another bored, indolent member of the aristocracy with too much time on his hands. I didn’t believe that you were really there to buy biscuits for your grandmother. I thought that you had an ulterior motive. Now I know I misjudged you. You’re a gentleman who also works for his living, a man of purpose and honour and bravery.’

‘Ah.’ Samuel rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. Under other circumstances he might have been pleased by such a heroic portrait, but it was hard to swallow when she’d been right the first time. His earlier behaviour had been decidedly unheroic.

‘You don’t like the aristocracy, Miss Fortini?’ He decided to focus on a different part of her speech.

Black lashes fanned over her cheeks as she dipped her gaze evasively. ‘I’m sure there are some perfectly fine examples of gentlemen among the upper classes, but in my experience not many. Take your friend.’ Her lip curled with distaste as she glanced towards Ralph. ‘His sole purpose in life at the moment seems to be the pursuit of my friend.’

‘I thought she was your employee?’

‘Can’t she be both?’ Her gaze shot back to his. ‘Sir, you accused me of being direct earlier so I won’t mince words. I believe that we both know what he wants from her, and that when—if—he gets it, he’ll abandon her as he already has countless others, I’m sure. I’ve lived in Bath my whole life and I’ve seen it happen more times than I can remember. Gentlemen may visit for the Pump Rooms, but they find other ways to pass their time and they see women like us as fair game. That’s the reason your friend feels entitled to call into my shop whenever he feels like it without buying anything, why he thinks it acceptable to ask Henrietta to walk without a chaperon, too. He would never behave in such a way with a lady.

‘Well, she is not fair game, Captain. She’s eighteen years old and far too sweet-natured to understand what he really wants and, if you’re truly a man of honour as I believe you to be, I beg you to dissuade him from pursuing her.’ She took a step forward and placed a hand on his arm, her tone entreating as her fingers curled gently around his wrist. ‘No good can come of it.’

Samuel listened in silence. By the end of her speech she was flushed and breathless and he was feeling somewhat mortified, not by her bluntness, but by the truth behind it. Every word she’d just spoken filled him with shame, the touch of her hand on his arm like a burning hot iron. Every word was true, too, except for the part when she’d called him a man of honour. An honourable man would never have entered the shop and helped Ralph in the first place. An honourable man would have turned around and walked away. Which meant that all he could do now was try to put things right and behave like the man she thought him to be. Her impassioned speech and those soulful dark eyes made him want to be heroic again. Nearly as much as they made him want to kiss her, too. Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, right there in the middle of the park, in a way that definitely wouldn’t improve her opinion of gentlemen...

‘You look tired, Miss Fortini.’ He pulled his arm away before he could do something he might regret. Now that they were standing so close he could see her face clearly and in truth she looked a stage beyond tired. She looked exhausted, her brown eyes ringed with dark shadows that made them appear even bigger. ‘You ought to go home and rest.’

‘Didn’t you hear me, Captain?’ She sounded dismayed.

‘I did.’ A new suspicion occurred to him. ‘I wondered if you were speaking from personal experience?’

She took a step backwards as if he’d just threatened her, her face blanching visibly. ‘What difference would it make if I was?’

He clamped his brows together. She was right. Her past experiences, whatever they were, made no difference at all to their current situation. As much as he wanted to know the answer, it was none of his business.

‘Tell me, then...’ he said, swallowing a different question ‘...does your friend usually walk home on her own at this time of evening?’

‘Yes.’ Her expression was guarded now. ‘Although one of her brothers usually meets her on Pulteney Bridge.’

‘Good. In that case, give me five minutes and I’ll remember an urgent reason for myself and Mr Hoxley to be elsewhere. You have my word as a naval officer and...’ he paused, resisting the urge to grimace ‘...a gentleman. If you’ll trust me, that is, Miss Fortini?’

She didn’t answer at first, holding on to his gaze for a few intense moments, her expression turning gradually from indecision to conviction to something that made his pulse start to accelerate.

‘Thank you, Captain Delaney,’ she said, nodding finally. ‘I believe that I do trust you. Five minutes, then.’ She dipped into a curtsy. ‘And the next time your grandmother would like some biscuits, I’d be more than happy to deliver a tin myself.’

‘I’ll be sure to tell her.’ He made a formal bow, but she was already turning away, waving a farewell to her friend before walking briskly towards one of the park gates.

Samuel felt an unexpectedly warm glow in his chest, followed by a pang of regret as he watched the subtle sway of her hips across the lawn. It was a pity that his future was so unsettled, otherwise she was exactly the kind of woman he would have been interested in: intelligent, capable and strong-willed. He’d almost fallen back into old ways that afternoon, the ones he thought he’d left behind when he’d joined the navy, but somehow Miss Fortini had stopped him. He’d been perilously close to steering off tack and she’d set him back on course. He actually felt grateful to her.

He heaved a sigh as she turned out of the gate and disappeared from view. It was really a pity...but it was also pointless to dwell upon what-might-have-been. Apart from anything else, she’d made her opinion of the aristocracy abundantly clear and, if she found out who he was besides a naval officer, who he might be anyway, then no doubt she’d walk away from him again even faster.

On the other hand, if events unfolded the way he wanted them to and he remained plain Captain Delaney, perhaps he might permit himself to visit her shop again one day. Not with Ralph obviously, especially since they were about to have the kind of full and frank discussion that would undoubtedly ruin their friendship for ever, but on his own and with honourable intentions this time. In another couple of months, perhaps, when the matter of his possible inheritance was settled...

In the meantime, it was probably best to keep away. He was developing an unfortunate appetite for biscuits as it was.

Chapter Four

Anna closed and latched the window shutters, drew two iron bolts across the shop door and then trudged up the back staircase to the parlour, wearily untying the ribbons of her bonnet as she went. A walk through Sydney Gardens had been the last thing she’d needed after a day that had started twelve hours before. Her neck felt stiff and her feet ached with tiredness, even more so than usual, but at least now she could rest.

From a shopkeeper’s perspective, however, she couldn’t complain. It had been another profitable day. She oughtn’t to complain at all, she chided herself, especially when she had so much to be grateful for—an honest and reliable source of income, a warm and dry home, and independence to boot. The shop that her parents had founded almost twenty-five years earlier had become so popular with the spa visitors of Bath that they’d eventually been able to buy the whole building on Swainswick Crescent, narrow and compact as it was. There were three floors: the shop and kitchen below, a parlour in the middle and two small bedrooms in the attic. The parlour was the biggest room overall, with one large window where her mother liked to sit and watch the comings and goings on the street below. No doubt she would have seen Captain Delaney and his irritating companion earlier. Anna wondered what she’d thought of them, not to mention her and Henrietta’s unprecedented early departure...

‘Good evening, Mama.’

She found the scene just as she’d expected, her mother sitting in her customary armchair with an open book in her lap.

‘Good evening, dear.’ Elizabeth Fortini looked up from her reading with a smile. ‘I was starting to wonder where you’d got to.’

‘Henrietta wanted a walk in the park so I said that I’d join her.’ Anna dropped down onto a sofa, telling herself that it wasn’t a lie exactly, even if it wasn’t the whole truth, either. ‘It was nice to get some fresh air.’

‘I’m surprised you had the strength after such a long day.’ Her mother tipped her head to one side sympathetically. ‘You work too hard, my darling. I wish I could help more.’

‘It’s not your fault, Mama.’ Anna gestured towards her mother’s swollen fingers. ‘I know you’re in pain.’

‘It pains me to see you looking so exhausted, too.’ Her mother stood up, wincing as she put weight on to her ankles. ‘I’ll make us some dinner.’

‘It’s all right, I’ll do it in a few minutes.’

‘You will not.’ Her mother limped slowly across the room. ‘I may not be much help in the shop any more, but I can still be useful in other ways. Now you have a rest and I’ll be back soon.’

Anna smiled gratefully, too tired to argue. She was almost too tired to eat, although she knew that she had to. More than that, she was tired of simply being tired, but there seemed to be no way around it. There was always so much to do. When she wasn’t baking, she was wrapping or stacking or cleaning or sweeping or preparing tins or doing one of the hundred other tasks that seemed to require her constant attention. Henrietta was an able assistant, but she only arrived at seven o’clock in the morning when the baking was already done and left again at four in the afternoon. Anna couldn’t afford to pay longer hours, which meant that any remaining jobs fell to her and they were...relentless.

Yawning, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Things hadn’t been so bad while her father was still alive. After the swelling in her mother’s joints had started ten years before, first in her fingers and toes, then in her hands and feet, Anna had taken on more and more of her responsibilities in the shop and enjoyed them, too. She’d enjoyed running a business, unlike Sebastian who’d gone off in search of adventure the moment he’d turned seventeen. She’d been the one to suggest they start making cinnamon and rosewater-infused biscuits and to start offering tins as well as cloth-wrapped bundles.

In return, her father had taught her everything he knew, which was a great deal, but unfortunately not how to find extra hours in the day or how to go without sleep, either. His sudden heart failure had left her with a shop to run as well as an ailing, grieving mother to take care of. Not that she resented either task, but it was hard sometimes not to feel trapped in an endless cycle of monotonous chores. No matter how much she saved, it still wasn’t enough for a holiday—just a few days, or weeks preferably, to break free of the routine and maybe travel a little. It didn’t have to be far, just somewhere different. Somewhere to enjoy a little free time to read or to walk or to simply lie around daydreaming...

For some reason, the thought of daydreaming conjured up an image of Captain Delaney. His hair, somewhere between chestnut and auburn, those startling pale eyes and that deep voice that made her insides feel curiously soft and malleable, like an undercooked biscuit. He’d looked so handsome waiting for her and Henrietta in the park that she’d almost been tempted to take his arm when he’d offered it to her, but common sense had prevailed. She’d known better than to trust a gentleman.

As it turned out, however, she’d been wrong about him. She’d been so certain that he’d been trying to distract her in the shop, but apparently he really had been there to buy biscuits. She’d assumed the worst and discovered the exact opposite. Aristocratic though he obviously was, he was also a naval captain and not just any naval captain, but a national hero, a brave and honourable man instead of the rake she’d assumed. Their conversation in the park had been genuinely interesting and without any of the mocking undertones she’d detected earlier. Instead, his manner had been open and honest, enough that she’d felt able to appeal to his better nature to save Henrietta. Admittedly, he’d seemed somewhat taken aback by the request at first, so much so that for a few moments she’d thought he’d been offended on his friend’s behalf, but to her relief his words had eventually proven otherwise.

Only the severity of his expression when he’d asked if her comments about gentlemen were based upon personal experience had unsettled her, conjuring up memories she preferred to forget. Then his gaze had seemed to bore into the back of her head, giving the uncomfortable impression that he could read all of her secrets. Thankfully he hadn’t persisted in his questioning, asking her to trust him instead, and his gaze had softened then, causing a warm, tingling sensation in her chest. The feeling had actually been quite pleasant, as if some kind of unspoken communication were passing between them. It had made her decide to trust him, although she still couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done the right thing by leaving Henrietta.

Whether she had or hadn’t, however, she was far too tired to think about it now. But she liked his name, she thought sleepily. Captain Samuel Delaney. It had a nice ring to it, an authoritative ring, and it was nice to know that a few real gentlemen still existed in the world, even if it was unlikely that she’d ever see him again. Gentlemen who looked even more attractive when they turned out to be captains and bought biscuits for their grandmothers...

‘I have a present for you.’ Samuel deposited the tin he’d been carrying for the better part of two hours into his grandmother’s narrow lap. ‘Don’t say I never give you anything.’

‘Except for white hairs and anxiety, you mean?’ Lady Jarrow regarded the offering with an air of suspicion. ‘What is it?’

‘They’re Belles... Biscuits,’ he clarified as his grandmother stared at him blankly. ‘I’m told they’re famous in Bath.’

‘I’ve never heard of them in my life.’

‘I have.’ His grandfather’s steel-rimmed spectacles peered over the top of a newspaper opposite. ‘They’re something of an institution, actually.’

‘Do you mean to say you’ve eaten them before?’ His grandmother sounded as shocked as if her husband had just announced an illegitimate child.

‘Dozens. I discovered them a few years ago and now I insist upon having one every morning when I’m in town. Two, sometimes.’

‘Then why haven’t I eaten one before?’

‘I’m sure you have, my dear.’ The newspaper lifted again. ‘Only you were probably busy thinking about a new saddle or something.’

‘Harumph.’ Lady Jarrow made short work of the ribbon. ‘I have a perfectly good collection of saddles, as you very well know. If anything, I’d be thinking about riding boots. I could do with a new pair.’ She removed the lid and tossed it at Samuel. ‘Well, this looks very pretty, I must say. I’ll ring for tea. I can’t abide sweet things without it.’

‘I’m glad that you approve, Grandmother.’

Samuel sprawled in an armchair, looking between his grandparents with a combination of amusement and affection. Aside from his mother and half-sister in Cumberland they were the only family he had, not that he’d ever had a great many family members to speak of. Thanks to his father’s notoriety in gambling, drinking and generally throwing away his inheritance, no one from the paternal side of the family had ever deigned to acknowledge Samuel, too afraid he might prove to be a chip off the old block. They’d all thought of him as tainted, refusing to budge from that opinion no matter how hard he’d tried, during the past ten years anyway, to prove otherwise.

Fortunately, his maternal relations had been made of sterner stuff, refusing to let the sins of a detested son-in-law influence their feelings for his offspring. His grandmother in particular had always been a force to be reckoned with, a renowned beauty in her youth as well as an heiress, though she’d always preferred spending time with her horses to listening to recitations of love poetry from her many admirers. She’d sat doggedly on the shelf until the shockingly great age of eight and twenty, until the day she’d set eyes on the bookish and shy Lord Jarrow. Seven years her junior, the young Baron had been as surprised as anyone by her sudden interest. Somewhat alarmed, too, since, as he frequently remarked to his grandson, when it came to a battle of wills he’d known he hadn’t stood a chance. Where Georgiana had a will, she got her way. Their marriage had gone ahead with almost indecent haste and they’d immediately retired to the country to build a new block of stables and restock the library. He’d had his books, she’d had her horses, and they’d lived in perfect contentment for fifty years ever since. It was, in Samuel’s opinion, an excellent example of a happy marriage. Quite unlike that of his parents.

‘Have you been to the Pump Rooms today?’ he enquired of the newspaper.

‘Of course he has,’ his grandmother answered, as was frequently the case, for her husband. ‘It’s the reason we’re staying in this wretched city, after all.’

‘There are still parks for riding in, Grandmother.’

‘Pshaw! It’s hardly riding when one’s constantly expected to stop and make conversation. You’d think that horses were simply chairs! If people don’t care about their animals, then they’d be better off using their feet.’

Samuel chuckled, though the very fact of his grandmother’s presence in Bath made him uneasy. On every other occasion when his grandfather had come to take the medicinal waters she’d remained at their home in Rutland. The fact that she’d joined him this time suggested the seventy-one-year-old Baron’s health was worse than either of them were letting on.

‘I thought we might all go together on Monday,’ his grandfather commented, folding his newspaper as the tea tray arrived. ‘We could make a family outing of it, so to speak.’

‘I’d be delighted, Grandfather.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t, but I will because I’m a good wife.’ The Baroness lifted her eyebrows provocatively, though neither Samuel nor his grandfather were foolish enough to contradict the statement. ‘But only on two conditions. One, that I don’t have to drink any of that disgusting liquid. Two, that Samuel wears his uniform.’

‘Grandmother...’

‘Yes, I know, you’re officially on sick leave, but you’re still a captain until this whole inheritance matter is resolved and you look so dashing in uniform.’

‘Let him be, Georgiana.’ The Baron’s bushy white eyebrows gave his frown a somewhat ferocious aspect. ‘You know it only makes him feel worse about the whole business.’

‘How anyone can feel worse about potentially inheriting an earldom is beyond me. Most reasonable people would be thrilled by the prospect.’

‘Because of the entail.’ His grandfather shook his head. ‘It’s a bad business altogether. Cruel, really. We just have to wait and see whether the widow has a boy or a girl.’

‘Well, I wish that she’d hurry and make up her mind.’ Lady Jarrow snorted contemptuously. ‘I had a boy first and a girl second because that’s what I wanted. It’s all a question of mind over matter.’

‘In which case, she’ll have a boy for certain, my dear.’

‘Only if she has a strong enough will, which I doubt. I met her once and she seemed insipid. No interest in horses at all. She hasn’t even had the decency to reply to Samuel’s letter.’

‘What could she say, Grandmother?’ Samuel shifted in his seat uncomfortably. ‘The letter I sent was one of condolence.’

‘She might still have acknowledged the situation. Yes, the entail makes things awkward, but you should be allowed to visit Staunton at least. If the estate turns out to be yours, then you need to know how it’s run.’

‘I’ve no wish to visit Staunton.’

‘Well, somebody should. She could be undermining your inheritance as we speak.’

‘Since it might be her son’s, then I doubt it.’

‘The whole situation is completely ridiculous. Your injury’s recovered, but your life is on hold while we wait for some insipid woman to give birth.’

‘It’s far worse for her. She’s lost her husband and now her whole future depends on the gender of her baby.’ Samuel reached into the tin of biscuits with a sigh. For some reason, the rows of tissue paper looked comforting. ‘I don’t want the inheritance anyway. I just want everything to go back to the way it was a year ago.’

‘A year ago Trafalgar hadn’t happened. You’d still be blockading the English Channel and giving me new wrinkles from worry.’ His grandmother sniffed. ‘Personally I’m glad the Admiralty won’t let you go back to sea until matters are settled. They’re probably worried about drowning a peer of the realm.’

‘It’s not just that.’ Samuel took a bite of biscuit, surprised to find that he liked rosewater flavour even more than cinnamon. ‘The Admiralty thinks that the war at sea is over and all the fighting will be on land from now on. They’re trying to get captains off the payroll, no matter what they say about my duty to Staunton.’

‘None the less, I’m afraid they’re right about it, my boy.’ His grandfather threw him a sympathetic look. ‘If you do inherit, then you have a duty to look after the estate, not to mention all the tenants who live there. You’re the last man standing, so to speak, on your father’s side of the family anyway.’

Samuel rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘That’s what’s so strange about it. My father’s father and brother never wanted anything to do with me. They’ve practically disowned me since birth, yet now I’m the heir to some cousin I’ve never even met.’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘If they didn’t want it to happen then they should have had more sons themselves!’ There was an iron glint in his grandmother’s eye. ‘This is all their own doing.’

‘Perhaps they oughtn’t to have died either, my dear. That was rather weak-willed of them, too, don’t you think?’

Samuel made a wry face as his grandfather winked at him. ‘Their lawyers must have scoured the entire family tree looking for somebody else to inherit.’

‘Perhaps, but the law’s the law. You’re the heir, whether people like it or not.’

‘If it’s a girl.’

‘Well, I for one hope that it is,’ his grandmother declared. ‘It’ll be a poke in the eye for anyone who ever cut you in society. I might not have approved of your father, which is a ludicrous understatement, but I always said that my daughter was free to make her own choices, however unutterably stupid.’ Her face softened. ‘But their marriage did give us you so I suppose it wasn’t all bad. Now we just need to get you established and breeding heirs of your own.’

‘Grandmother,’ Samuel groaned. ‘I’ll inherit the earldom if I really must, but I draw the line at starting a dynasty.’

‘You’ll have to someday.’

‘Not necessarily and definitely not straight away.’

‘Pshaw, now you’re being selfish. All I want is another little boy like you, even if I’ll be too old to raise him myself this time.’

Samuel smiled affectionately. For all his grandmother’s strong opinions, he couldn’t have asked for a better surrogate mother. ‘In that case, how can I refuse to wear my uniform on Monday? Just this once.’

‘Excellent.’ Lady Jarrow looked satisfied. ‘And I wouldn’t be surprised if the Pump Rooms are slightly busier than usual. News of a certain eligible bachelor’s presence in Bath has already spread. I should imagine that several debutantes are on their way here as we speak.’

‘Good grief, aren’t there enough prospective husbands in London?’

‘Not enough to go around, apparently. Besides, the Season hasn’t started yet.’

‘Well, I’m not eligible, not yet anyway.’

‘True, but I imagine a few of them will want to get in the running early, just in case.’

‘Then that makes them gamblers and you know how I feel about those. They remind me of Father.’

‘You could always go to Staunton.’

‘Grandmother...’

‘Oh, all right, I’ll settle for the Pump Rooms. We’ll cut quite a dash with you in uniform.’

‘And forget all about me, I suppose.’ The Baron dipped his hand into the tin of biscuits. ‘I say, all three types. It’s hard to know where to begin.’

‘Have one of each,’ Samuel suggested.

‘He will not!’ His grandmother sounded outraged. ‘We’re here to make him fit and healthy again, not to fill him with treats.’

‘I’m not a horse, my dear, and some things are a lost cause.’ Her husband gave her an inscrutable look.

‘Not if I have anything to do with it. You may have one biscuit and that’s all.’ She took a bite of her own, screwing her face up as if preparing to spit it out again, before nodding approvingly. ‘Quite tasty. What did you say they were called again?’

‘Belles. That’s the name of the shop, too. It’s a charming little place.’

‘Indeed it is.’ The Baron scooped up another biscuit before his wife could stop him. ‘Have you met the eponymous Annabelle? A delightful young lady.’

Samuel lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Was she delightful? Prickly and forthright seemed like a more apt description, except for during those last few minutes in the park when she’d appealed to him for help. Then she’d been fairly inspiring...

On the other hand, maybe she was delightful in a way. If they’d met under different circumstances, then he might have thought so, too, from the start. She was definitely unique, or at least he didn’t think he’d ever met anyone quite like her before. She wasn’t impressed by rank, that much had been obvious by the contemptuous way she’d spoken to him and Ralph, seeming far more likely to lift her nose in the air than to bow or scrape, and she certainly knew how to stand up for herself. He liked both of those things about her, just as much as he liked her bouncy dark curls and the swirling depths of those wide coffee-brown eyes. She wasn’t as obviously beautiful as the employee she called her friend, but in his personal opinion she was a hundred times more appealing. He even liked her voice, with its hint of an accent he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t that of Bath, though it contained hints of the west country and even an occasional Italian inflection. It was...unique. He kept coming back to that word. It seemed like the perfect way to describe her. Not that he was about to tell his grandparents any of that.

‘I met her briefly, yes,’ he answered when he realised his silence had gone on a few moments too long. ‘She seemed pleasant enough.’

‘Aye, very pleasant. Do you know, we once talked about bees for half an hour?’

‘Bees?’

‘Yes, I thought that they looked like a pair of bees, her and that other girl in their yellow dresses, and that put me in mind of the hives at home. Before I knew it I was telling her all about them. I completely lost track of the time.’

‘Poor girl.’ The Baroness batted his hand away from the box as it drifted back again.

‘She seemed interested, my dear.’

‘She’s a saleswoman. She had to seem interested or you might not have bought anything.’

‘Ah...you may have a point. None the less, Miss Fortini makes excellent biscuits.’

‘Fortini?’ His grandmother’s voice sharpened abruptly.

‘Yes.’ Samuel lifted an eyebrow. ‘What’s the matter with that?’

‘I’m not sure. There’s just something familiar...’ She pursed her lips and then shook her head. ‘Well, never mind. I’m sure it’ll come to me eventually. When I’m out riding most likely. In any case, I approve of her biscuits. You may bring me a tin whenever you wish.’

‘I’ll remember that.’ Samuel popped the remainder of his own biscuit into his mouth and reached for his tea. Unfortunately, the beverage itself was disappointing. Tea was all well and good, but he still felt a powerful craving for coffee.

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