The Captain's Return. Elizabeth Bailey

to forget—unable to forgive!—reminded daily by the growing likeness in Rebecca’s face and hair. How had he traced her here? Why had he done so? Foolish question! The answer was in Mr Hartwell’s announcement.

      Murmurs above her head reached vaguely through the cloudy thoughts that roamed her mind.

      “He is so extremely handsome, don’t you think?”

      He had ever been so, and he had changed little—if she had been in any condition to judge. A dashing red-coat, who had returned her deep regard—inexplicably! Many had been her rivals, and no one had been more surprised than Annabel when he had sought her out.

      “And so like Rebecca. There can be no doubt of his being her father.”

      No doubt at all. And so everyone must suppose who saw him. Oh, she was undone indeed!

      A faint protesting sound escaped her, and the two ladies immediately bent towards her.

      “Poor Annabel, are you a little recovered?”

      She turned her eyes on Charlotte Filmer’s anxious features. “I think I shall never recover.”

      “Oh, don’t say so!” exclaimed Jane Emerson. “You are shocked, of course, and have not yet had time to realise—”

      She was cut off with unusual curtness by the gentle Mrs Filmer. “Hush, Miss Emerson! She has time enough for realisation. Dear Annabel, take one little step at a time, I urge you. To be so suddenly re-united with your husband must be a severe disorientation.”

      “Oh, yes, and he clearly saw it,” agreed Jane eagerly. “It shows such delicacy of feeling in Captain Lett to have brought Mr Hartwell to pave the way.”

      Captain Lett! She had forgotten. Hal had come here posing as her husband, revoking her pretended widowhood. She was not ruined, but rather vindicated—but by a further lie. And one which gave him rights he did not have!

      Abruptly, the implications of his action leaped into her mind. A surge of warmth overtook her as a memory—long thrust away as too painful to be contemplated—burst into life.

      That little summerhouse! She had gone there, dragged by his impatient hand, only to indulge in a quarrel so empassioned that the deep-seated emotions that had bound them together had flamed, disastrously consuming them both.

      Annabel had not blamed him for it, though he had bitterly condemned himself. She had been as much at fault, had owned as much to Papa. Only—

      Her chest locked as the long-buried hurt rushed up to taunt her. Only Captain Henry Colton, in whom she had believed so implicitly, had failed her. And now—more than three years too late!—he dared to return in a mockery of that role he should rightly have assumed at the outset, as her husband.

      Wrath burned as she recognised how he had trapped her. Before three witnesses, no less. It would be all over the area before the cat could lick her ear! Useless to beg her friends to keep silent. They would, if she required it, she knew. But to what avail?

      Mrs Amelia Hartwell was probably already in possession of the news. From the vicar’s wife to the world was but a short step. And what hope had she of hiding anything when Aggie Binns was living not one hundred yards from her own door?

      All vestige of that earlier shock had left her, replaced by fury such as Annabel had not felt in years. At his arrogance. At his sheer audacity!

      Gripped by impatience, she rose abruptly. “I must thank you both for your kindness. Will you think me rude if I ask you to leave me now?”

      Her voice was shaking, and Jane instantly picked up on it.

      “My dear Annabel, you are in no condition to be left alone!”

      “Indeed, my dear, I am persuaded you ought to lie down upon your bed for a little,” added the anxious Charlotte.

      It was only by a supreme effort of will that Annabel prevented herself from shouting at them to go. But the habit of these last years reasserted itself. She was used now to suppressing the volcano of her feelings! She managed to summon a smile.

      “Truly, I am over the shock now. But you will understand that the situation demands a degree of privacy.” Her tone became vibrant, despite that tight control. “I must speak with Hal alone!”

      “Hal? How charmingly that suits him!” exclaimed Jane Emerson.

      Annabel could have screamed. It was plain that her friend had been carried away by the romance of it all. Well, if she was determined to approve the bogus Captain Lett, let her do so. She might sing another tune if she knew the truth!

      To Annabel’s relief, Charlotte Filmer intervened. “Come, Miss Emerson, we must take our leave. There must be so much to be said, and we are abominably de trop.’

      Even as she spoke, the two gentlemen were seen to be returning around the corner of the house. The sight of Hal in person threw Annabel back into a degree of disorder, so that she scarcely took in the varied remarks of the well-wishers through the leave-taking. Yet in no time at all the murmur of voices died away, and she was left standing under the overhang of the chestnut tree, confronting a ghost from the past.

      The silence lengthened. Hal knew not what to say. Almost he wished he had taken the sage warnings of his brother to heart. His determination, in the face of the apparent stranger that Annabel Howes had become, seemed to him now the product of that reckless temperament Ned had so often deprecated.

      Regret his hastiness he might, but having taken this fatal step, he would stand buff. Only how to open communications with the creature he now faced utterly defeated him.

      He drew a breath. “I have taken you by surprise.”

      An abrupt spurt of mirthless laughter escaped Annabel’s lips. “To say the least.”

      Hal stiffened. “It was meant for the best.”

      Sudden fire from the green eyes took him aback. Annabel—much more the Annabel he remembered!—threw back her head, thrusting a defiant chin into the air.

      “It was meant, Captain Colton, to ensure my acquiescence. It has not been so long that I am unable to recall your skill with tactics.”

      Hal let out a reluctant laugh. “The devil! And I thought you’d changed beyond recognition.”

      Annabel’s fire died, and she tried to recover her rapidly slipping control. It was like a nightmare. Standing here in his presence, hearing his voice, a prey to every outraged feeling he had ever made her feel, so that she knew not what to feel or think. She barely knew that she answered him.

      “I have changed, yes. Circumstance has a way of making one do so.”

      “So I see.”

      He received a bleak look that struck him between the ribs. Her voice had taken on coldness. She blamed him for the change! Why would she not? Guilt rose up. He took a pace towards her.

      Annabel drew back. “Keep your distance! You need not imagine that your usurped identity gives you any rights concerning me.”

      Despite himself, Hal felt his temper rising. “What do you take me for? I have no intention of—”

      “I am glad you chose to bring up the subject of your intentions, sir, because I am excessively interested to know what they might be.”

      Hal found it necessary to set his teeth against unwise utterance. He tried for a calmer note. “Annabel—”

      She cut him short again. “Mrs Lett to you, sir.”

      “Oh, the devil!” he snapped, exasperated. “I am supposed to be your husband.”

      “Not by any will of mine.”

      “That I concede.”

      Annabel put a hand to her forehead, kneading it painfully. This could not be happening. If only she could think straight! She felt as if she had lost command of both her reason and her tongue.