The Admiral's Penniless Bride. Carla Kelly

‘Two of ‘em. Since I retired last autumn, they have been dropping in to visit and bringing along eligible females. They are cornering me and I feel trapped. Besides, I am not convinced I want a wife.’

      The look she gave him was one of incredulity, as though she wondered—but was too polite to ask—how a grown man, especially one who had faced the might of France for years, could be so cowed by sisters. ‘Surely they have your best interests at heart,’ Mrs Paul said. She seemed to find his dilemma diverting. ‘Do you require a … a nudge?’

      ‘That’s not the issue,’ he protested, but he admitted to himself that she did have a point. ‘See here, Mrs Paul, wouldn’t you be bothered if someone you knew was determined to help you, whether you wanted it or not?’

      She was silent a moment, obviously considering his question. ‘May I be frank, Admiral?’

      ‘Certainly.’

      ‘There are times when I wish someone was determined to help me.’

      She had him there. ‘You must think me an awful whiner,’ he admitted at last.

      ‘No, sir,’ she said promptly. ‘I just think you have too much time on your hands now.’

      ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed, and slapped the table with his hook, which made the tea cups jump. ‘It’s my stupid sisters who have too much time! They are plaguing my life,’ he finished, his voice much lower.

      ‘So you think proposing to me will get them off your back?’ she asked, intrigued.

      ‘You are my backup, Mrs Paul.’

      Oh, Lord, I am an idiot, he thought. She stared at him in amazement, but to her credit, did not flee the dining room. Maybe you think you owe me for a meal, he thought sourly. Humouring a lunatic, eh?

      ‘Backup? There is someone else who didn’t deliver?’ she asked. Her lips twitched. ‘Should I be jealous? Call her out?’

      She had him again, and he had to smile. In fact, he had to laugh. ‘Oh, Mrs Paul, I have made a muddle of things. Let me explain.’

      He told her how in desperation because his sisters would not leave him alone, he had contacted the captain of his flagship, who had a sister withering on the matrimonial vine. ‘I made her an offer. It was to be a marriage of convenience, Mrs Paul. She needed a husband, because ladies … er … don’t seem to care to wander through life alone. I was careful to explain that,’ he assured her. ‘She agreed.’

      He looked at the lady across the table from him, amazed she was still sitting there. ‘It is foolish, isn’t it?’ he said finally, seeing the matter through her eyes. ‘I have been stewing about in this dining room for hours, and the lady has not appeared. I can hardly blame her.’ He looked at his hook. ‘Maybe she doesn’t care overmuch for hooks.’

      Mrs Paul put her hand to her lips, as though trying to force down another laugh. ‘Admiral, if she cared about you, a hook wouldn’t make the least difference. You have all your teeth, don’t you? And your hair? And surely there is a good tailor in Plymouth who could—’ She stopped. ‘You must think I am terribly rude.’

      ‘No, I think you are honest and … dash it, I have all my hair! I did lose a tooth on the Barbary Coast—’

      ‘Careless of you,’ she murmured, then gave up trying to hold back the mirth that seemed to well up out of her.

      Her laughter was infectious. Thank goodness the dining room was nearly empty by now, because he laughed along with her. ‘What is the matter with my suit?’ he asked, when he could talk.

      She wiped her eyes on the napkin. ‘Nothing at all, Admiral, if only this were the reign of poor George III, and not the regency of his son! I realise you have probably worn nothing but uniforms for years. Many men would probably envy your ability to wear garments from the turn of the century, without having to resort to a shoehorn. I am no Beau Brummell, Admiral, but there is a time to bid adieu to old clothes, even if they do fit.’

      ‘I was never inclined to add pounds,’ he said, trying not to sound sulky. ‘A tailor would help?’

      ‘Perhaps, but he won’t solve your problem of sisters,’ she said sensibly. ‘Suppose I agreed to your … er … unorthodox proposal, and you fell in love with someone? What then?’

      ‘Or suppose you do?’ he countered, warmed that she still seemed to be considering the matter.

      ‘That is unlikely. I have no fortune, no connections, no employment. I had a good husband once, and he will probably suffice.’

      She spoke in such a matter-of-fact way that he wanted to know more, but knew he didn’t dare. ‘Did you tease him as unmercifully as you have teased me? “Careless of me to lose a tooth?” Really, Mrs Paul.’

      ‘I was even harder on him, sir,’ she said in good humour. ‘I knew him better and everyone knows familiarity breeds content.’

      You’re a wit, he thought in appreciation. ‘I have no skills in searching for a wife, Mrs Paul. I never thought to live that long. I will blame Napoleon.’

      ‘Why not?’ she said, her voice agreeable. ‘He had his own trouble with wives, I do believe.’ She leaned forwards. ‘Admiral, I know nothing of your financial situation, nor do I wish to know, but surely a visit to Almack’s during the Season would turn up some prospects that would satisfy even your sisters.’

      Mrs Paul obviously noted the look of disgust on his face, but continued, anyway. ‘If you’d rather not chance Almack’s, there is church. Unexceptionable ladies are often found there.’

      ‘You’d have me endure sermons and make sheep’s eyes at a female in a neighbouring pew?’

      She gave him such a glance that he felt his toes tingle. ‘Admiral! I am merely trying to think of venues where you might find ladies—suitable ladies! Were you this much trouble in the fleet?’

      ‘This and more,’ he assured her, warming to her conversation. By God, you are diverting, he thought. ‘Mrs Paul, do you ever talk about the weather?’

      ‘What does the weather have to do with anything?’ she asked.

      ‘Good books?’

      ‘Now and then. Do you know, I read my way through the family library of the lady I worked for in Bath. Ask me anything about the early saints of the church. Go on. I dare you.’

      Bright laughed out loud again. ‘Mrs Paul, mourning is well and good, I suppose, but why hasn’t some gentleman proposed recently? You are a wit.’

      He wished he hadn’t said that. Her eyes lost their lustre. ‘It is different with ladies, sir. Most men seem to want a fortune of some size, along with the lady.’ She looked in her reticule again and her look told him she was determined to turn her wretched situation to a joke. ‘All I have in here is an appointment book, the stub of a pencil and some lint.’

      The last thing you want is pity, isn’t it? he told himself. ‘So here we are, the two of us, at point non plus,’ he said.

      ‘I suppose we are,’ she replied, the faintest glint of amusement returning to her eyes.

      ‘And I must return to my estate, still a single gentleman, with no prospects and a cook on strike.’

      ‘Whatever did you do to him?’

      ‘I told him my sisters were coming to visit in two days. They order him about and demand things. Mrs Paul, he is French and he has been my chef for eleven years, through bombardment and sinking ships, and he cannot face my sisters either!’

      ‘What makes you think matrimony would change that?’ she asked sensibly. ‘They would still visit, wouldn’t they?’

      He shrugged. ‘You have to understand my sisters. They are never happier than when they are on a mission or a do-gooding quest. With you