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Elias was in a good frame of mind when he claimed a table in the tavern room near the hearth. The warmth was welcome, and he spent a few moments basking in the radiating waves while staring into the flames. Perhaps the storm would blow itself out during the overnight hours, but if it didn’t, the Brown Hart Inn was cozy enough.
He’d ordered dinner along with a tankard of beer. The hearty portions filled his belly and the roasted beef with creamed potatoes—all smothered with a rich gravy—put him mind of meals he’d partaken of in different ports around the world.
By the time the dishes were removed, he ordered tea and then sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. There wasn’t much a man required in life if his belly was full and there was a cheerful fire nearby. As the wind continued to batter the windows with a mix of sleet and rain, Elias settled into a comfortable repose. He’d brought one of the books down from his room, and after a slow start, he was well and truly immersed into the adventure novel.
The subject matter of the books had amused him, for they were all works of fiction ranging from fairy stories no doubt told to children at bedtime, to adventure novels with thrilling heroes who always rescued a maiden fair, to a couple of mysteries that bespoke of horrible deeds done under the cover of night, most of the time near cliffs or on moors.
Who’d selected the books and why had they been left in that room?
Then the words on the page blurred and he was lost in thought once more, for his mind lingered on the innkeeper’s daughter, Miss Everly. The shock in her eyes when she’d interrupted his toilet earlier kept flickering through his head, but there’d also been a fleeting appreciation deep in those brown depths, and that had his own interest flaring. There were so many things he wished to know about her. Was she married or spoken for? If not, what sort of man did she find appealing? Did she feel a call to the sea and needed to be always within sight of it, or would she rather explore other places in England?
The book sagged in his fingers as he turned his attention to the dancing flames in the hearth. It was well past time for him to settle his own future, but had he been truthful when he’d told Caroline earlier in the week he didn’t wish to involve himself in romance? It was difficult to say, for loneliness had been his lot these past handful of months, and a heart didn’t soon recover from being jilted.
Yet... wishing to find himself matched merely to keep solitude at bay felt wrong. Eventually, that state would pass, for it always did, and then what would happen with the relationship? He tamped down on the urge to sigh, and once more attempted to concentrate on the words of the book. A man who kept to himself would either find discontent or restlessness. Niether appealed to him, so what about securing a friend, a companion of sorts, for the holiday season?
Of course, that would assume he’d want to linger in Port Isaac for longer than a night...
A flash of movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. When he turned his head, his pulse jumped. Miss Everly was nearby, wiping down empty tables with a rag. Every so often she’d blow out a breath to presumably move the escaped tendril of hair from her forehead where it hung in her face, but the effort was wasted. The lock was tenacious.
When she glanced his way and their gazes connected, he offered a tentative grin. It had been enjoyable talking with her when she’d given him the water pitcher. Perhaps she’d agree to tarry with him now and further that conversation. “Good evening again, Miss Everly.”
“Hello, Captain Frampton. I trust you had a nice dinner?” She didn’t pause in wiping down tables.
“Indeed. Your cook does excellent work.” Every word he’d wanted to say vanished from his tongue, and instead, he stared like a nodcock. Then his gaze fell on the teapot. “No doubt you’ve been on your feet the bulk of the day. Why don’t you leave off with the work for now and share tea with me?”
Surprise slipped into her expression. For the space of a few heartbeats, she stared at him as if weighing her options. She didn’t necessarily agree, but she drifted over to his table and peered at the book in his hand. “Are you enjoying the novel?”
“I’ve not read past the first chapter yet, but not for lack of gripping prose.” With a self-depreciating laugh, he closed the book and set it on the table. “I fear I’m prone to woolgathering at the moment.”
“With Christmastide approaching, it’s no wonder. Everyone does.” She twisted the rag in her hands. “What else do you like doing in your leisure?”
He gestured to the chair opposite his. “If you’d do me the honor of accepting a cup of tea, I shall tell you.” It was the second time he’d extended the invitation; it would be awkward to do so again.
“You’re as stubborn as a dog with a bone, aren’t you, Captain?” she murmured, but she pulled out the chair and perched upon its edge.
“I am when I’m interested in something... or someone.” He poured tea into the extra cup on the tray all the while pretending he didn’t notice the pink blush spreading over her cheeks. “Milk or sugar?”
“Both, please.” When he’d put in the additions, he then pushed the cup toward her over the scarred and scratched tabletop and held up a teaspoon. “Thank you.” Her fingers brushed his when she took the spoon from him. A lingering sort of heat went up his arm, proving the first time hadn’t been a fluke. “It’s quite nice having someone serve me for a change.”
Ah, here was the opportunity he’d waited for. “There is more to life than seeing to a tavern room and running an inn, Miss Everly. Surely you must have hobbies that take you away from this day-to-day life.”
She took refuge in sipping her tea, but she watched him from over the rim of the cup. Finally, she shrugged. “I used to sketch once upon a time. Cornwall offers so many chances to capture wildlife on paper. To say nothing of the dozens of flowers, trees, and the like.”
“But you don’t indulge any longer?”
“When would I have the time?” Longing glimmered in the backs of her eyes, gone at her next blink. “Papa took up ownership of the inn when he married my mother, but he never fully gave up the sea nor set his hand to running it until she died. That was when I was a girl of twelve, and he threw the whole of his being into making the Brown Hart into a place of notation in the area.”
“None of that answers my question, though.” He’d long ago learned patience and talking with her was no different. Besides, the dulcet sound of her voice swept a feeling of peace over him he hadn’t known in quite a while.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” After another sip of tea, Miss Everly continued. “I haven’t drawn anything in years. The urge is still there, but I don’t have the time.” She stared into the fire for long moments, the cup in her hand dipping downward. “Papa is a spendthrift. I suppose there’s no other way to put it.” When she met his gaze, she offered a sad smile. “I’ve taken on more responsibilities as the years have marched onward, and during the busy times, I don’t mind telling you, the work is more than I can handle.”
“Surely your father employs others?”
“There are a few other tavern girls, as well as a handful of maids and the cook, of course, but what we truly need is an accountant or someone who is good with the books, someone who has charm and charisma enough to run the inn, separately from the tavern.” Her sigh ruffled the tendril of hair. Quickly, she tucked the errant lock behind her ear. “I fear that doing both will soon drive me mad.”
“It is rather much for one woman to look after.” It was a fascinating insight into her life. “Which part do you enjoy most?”
A snort escaped her. “Honestly?”
“I would prefer that.”
“Neither one appeals to me overly much. It’s not as if I shy away from physical labor, for I don’t mind that,” she hastened to add. Then she laid the teacup on the table and threaded her fingers together. “I find no satisfaction at the end of the day with the chores I’ve accomplished. It feels too much like drudgery, like something I must do to fill the time, but it’s not what I’ve dreamed for myself.”
Elias sipped his cooling tea. “What would you rather spend your time doing?”
“I haven’t been given enough opportunity to discern that for myself,” she admitted in a soft voice. “However, I think it might be fun to draw advertisements for area businesses so they might put the pictures in their front windows.”
“Now that’s an interesting concept.” Elias refreshed his tea. “I like that you have a creative streak. It means your mind is always working.”
“Perhaps.” Sadness welled in her expressive eyes. “When I was a girl, I dreamed a dashing stranger would come to Port Isaac and sweep me off my feet with romance.” Her chuckle held a wistful edge. “He’d fall madly in love with me, and we’d ride off into the sunset together to start a life...”
“Here in Cornwall?”
“I would have no idea, for the dreams never went farther than that.” Slight apology filled her expression. “But those were the silly notions of a girl. The reality is much more... dreary.”
“How disappointing.” He had no idea if it meant for him or her. “Are you originally from this area?”
“Yes. I was born here. Will probably die here as well.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and he couldn’t help but stare at her mouth and wonder what those lips might taste like. “It’s a better life than most can claim, but I...”
“You want more for yourself, perhaps not in status but in fulfillment, in happiness. You might wish to see what else England can offer, if not the world,” he finished for her in a low voice.
“Yes.” She caught a wayward tear as it clung to her lower lashes, but to her credit, she didn’t dissolve into a watering pot. “Where are you from, Captain Frampton?”
“Originally, I’m from... well nowhere, really. As a youth, I lived in the countryside all over England. After years of spotty schooling—until the funding ran out—I knocked about London on my own devices. Spent copious amounts of time there until I found my livelihood, but I’ve been in Cornwall for the last year.”
“Oh? You seem a man of action. How did you fill your time?” The vestiges of sadness left her eyes, replaced by curiosity.
“Through a set of bizarre and somewhat disappointing circumstances, I acted as a man-of-affairs for an elderly baron on his estate three days southwest of here.” It had been good work, interesting work, but every day he was confronted with a life he’d been cheated out of and would never have. When bitterness rose in his throat, he swallowed it. “Recently, the baron died. A distant relative of his will arrive soon to take up the reins.”
One of her eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t stay to give the heir a report or to guide him into his new role?”
“I did not, for his cousin is there with her husband. The rest is beyond my ken.” Elias shook his head. It was a convoluted tale at best. “I left all pertinent information with her, and quite frankly, I’ll be a happy man if I never set foot again in Poughill.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. He didn’t want to reference Caroline, which would bring up uncomfortable questions.
“Oh, I think there’s a story there,” she said with amusement dancing in her eyes, much like the first time he’d met her. “Perhaps a family disagreement or a lost love. Will you tell me?”
“I’d rather not.” It wouldn’t reflect well on him that he hadn’t been dashing or daring enough to keep his fiancée. “That is part of my past I’m not anxious to resurrect.”
“All right, but don’t let those unsavory aspects eat away at you. If you wish to unburden yourself, I’m a good listener.”
“I appreciate the offer.” It had been an age since he’d gotten on well with any female enough to trust her after the debacle with Caroline.
“It’s extended throughout your stay.” Miss Everly finished her tea in silence, but she didn’t stop peering at him. What did she think? “I’ll tell you a little secret.” When he nodded for her to continue, she smiled, and traces of need shivered down his spine. “The room you currently reside in used to belong to me as a young girl.”
“Now that is interesting. I’ll have to pay more attention to my surroundings when next I’m up there. Perhaps discover insights into your life you won’t reveal yourself.” Though the books left on the table certainly spoke to her thirst for something she couldn’t have in Cornwall.
“You’ll find nothing but disappointment.” Yet a blush stained her cheeks. “All traces of me have surely faded by now.”
He tapped one of his temples with a forefinger. “I’m quite an expert at unraveling mysteries.” When she declined to comment, he forged onward. “Tell me about your father. I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s a good soul.” Miss Everly traced the rim of her teacup with a fingertip. “Papa is older and starting to lose his mind. Most days when the weather is fair, you can find him walking the shore, remembering his stints on the sea. If he’s willing, he’ll tell a good tale.” Another bout of sadness clouded her eyes. “I think he’s also remembering Mama.”
“Were they very much in love?”
“Scandalously so, or that’s what he’d have me believe. But he didn’t give up the sea for her.”
“Perhaps not, yet he did so for you, so that’s something.” He paused, thinking carefully over his next words. “Sailors tend to pick up a lifetime of interesting stories, and your father’s life seems brimming with them. I’d love to listen to a few of his.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that? About sailors, that is?”
“Oh, I’ve spent a good portion of my adult life on the sea. It was an escape from the chaos of... everything.” For the moment, she didn’t need to know about his tumultuous past where he’d been shuttled off to various relatives when one or the other of them had died. “It’s why I’m in Cornwall to begin with. A year ago, I left the sea to marry, but...” How the devil did one broach that subject?
“Ah, so you are that sort of captain,” she said softly, almost to herself.
“Yes, and those years were some of the best I’ve passed. I’d never really lived until I fought for survival—and everything else—onboard a ship. I think your father and I will have much in common.”
She fidgeted in her chair. An air of uneasiness fell over her like an invisible blanket. “Yet you’re in Port Isaac. Do you intend to pursue work in the village?”
“I haven’t decided. The storm or fate put me here. It’s too soon to tell what sort of work will be in the offing.” Elias shrugged. “For the moment, I’m very much a man without a purpose.”
And it’s gnawing at my soul.
“Ah, you’re anxious to return to the sea. It’s in your eyes.” She scooted her chair back from the table. Betrayal and disappointment warred for dominance in her doe-brown eyes, so much so that tiny golden flecks swam in the depths.
“I wouldn’t say that, but I also won’t deny the sea holds much fascination for the men who’ve attempted to conquer her.”
“I see.” Miss Everly stood so abruptly that her chair nearly toppled. The rag she’d left in her lap fell unheeded to the floor. Her usual verve and sparkle dulled slightly. “I’ve heard the excuses all too often, for the call of the sea burrows into a man’s blood and they’re helpless to resist. Obviously, you’re no exception.” She shook her head, looked everywhere but directly at him. “I wish you luck. Enjoy your night.”
What the devil was this, then?
When she would have quit his presence, Elias dared much by wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Her pulse beat frantically beneath his fingertips. “Won’t you stay and finish your tea? We were having a nice conversation.” What had he said to bring her to such upset? Did she take exception with him, personally, or with the sea and the people surrounding it? And if so, why?
“No thank you.” She glanced at his hand and then back to his eyes. Emotions shadowed her face he couldn’t properly read, but the tiny tell of a slightly quivering chin had him wanting to apologize for whatever he’d done. “I must return to work, Captain Frampton. To indulge in anything else is sheer folly, on many counts.” The waver in her voice tugged at his chest.
He frowned, clearly flummoxed at the change in her behavior. “Perhaps, but please, don’t give up on dreaming merely because you’ve known a few nightmares. There is much life yet to live.”
“How would you know, Captain? You’re not the one trapped in a veritable prison built of obligation and circumstance,” she said in a choked whisper and then wrenched away. Without a backward glance, she darted through the tavern room before disappearing behind the counter and a room beyond.
When a few of the lingering patrons glanced his way, he shrugged. Truly, he had not a clue what he’d said that had set her off. As he refreshed his tea, he sipped at the now tepid brew. How interesting that her loss left an emptiness behind in his chest, for he enjoyed himself more in that half hour talking with her than he had in the whole of the last year.
And she’d managed to snag his interest in her as both a woman and a fellow person, which surprised him, for he’d thought his heart still too battered after being thrown over by Caroline last summer.
What the devil should I do now? Without more information on why she’d suddenly found his companionship unacceptable, he was nonplussed. Pursuing her in any capacity might result in trouble from her father. However, if he were to seek the man out, attempt to gain insight into how her mind worked, perhaps he’d find himself on more solid ground.
But he knew one thing beyond all doubt. That conversation—and every one he’d had with her since he’d met her hours earlier—had solidified his decision. He would remain at the Brown Hart Inn through Christmas at the very least, Twelfth Night if his fortunes improved—no matter the weather—for there was something about Miss Everly he couldn’t deny, and it called to him with all the fascination the sea herself possessed.
That alone was worth the investigation... as well as incurring her wrath.