Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress Read Online Free PDF

pointless, her dratted imagination had drawn her out of the present and into daydreams again. The task at hand was to serve out the stew on to the platters she had stuffed into the cloth with the bread. She passed one across with a horn spoon and a hunk of bread and received a nod of thanks.
    ‘The other passengers—the ones who have not taken to their beds with seasickness already—are eating at communal tables down the centre of the next deck up.’ The arrangements were interesting, she had found, and very different from the discomforts of the troop ship on the way south, six years before. ‘They strike the tables between meals and it becomes the public salon. We’re almost at the mouth of the estuary, but the captain is going to drop anchor for the night. He says the news about the peace will not have reached all the enemy ships yet and he would rather wait until daylight before venturing into open waters.’
    The major was demolishing the stew as though he had not eaten in days. Perhaps he had not. Or perhaps he always ate like a bear; there was certainly enough of him to keep nourished.
    ‘We do not have to pay separately for the food.’ She put down her own plate, ladled more on to his and cut another wedge of bread. ‘It is better than I thought itwould be and all included in the passage.’ She finished her portion and poured ale. The major’s vanished in one swallow, so she topped up his mug again.
    ‘We are a very strange assortment of passengers.’ Meg peered into the pan. ‘There’s more stew if you are still hungry.’ He held out his plate so she scraped the rest on to it. ‘And not as many people as I thought there would be. Officers’ wives and children, merchants, someone I think must be a minor diplomat. No military men, unless they are out of uniform. I did wonder—’
    ‘Mrs Brandon, do you never stop talking?’
    The major was regarding her with an air of exasperation. When she fell silent he went back to his food. Presumably he was even less sociable over his breakfast. If that were possible.
    ‘Yes, I do occasionally fall silent. Especially in the face of an indifferent conversationalist. As we are going to be spending several days—’
    ‘And nights,’ he interjected, apparently intending to make her pay fully for inflicting herself upon him.
    ‘And nights together—’ I am not going to blush ‘—I thought it would be more pleasant to make conversation and to get to know each other a little.’
    ‘Did you?’
    ‘Yes, I did. I am Meg Halgate. I am twenty-four years old. My…James was a lieutenant with the 30th Regiment of Foot and he never returned from Vittoria. I had followed the drum with him for five years. I told you what happened after he died.’
    At least, she had told him all that she was prepared to reveal. Certainly not the shocking fact that had been revealed when James was killed, the truth that meant she could not go to her in-laws as everyone expected her todo. Their curt letter had made it clear that they would not welcome the arrival on their doorstep of a woman who had lived in sin with their son for five years, even if she had genuinely believed James had been free to marry her.
    She had seduced their son from his duty so that she could escape from her home, they believed. Or so she told herself; it was too bitter to think that they were simply unfeeling and uncharitable.
    And returning home to the vicarage had never been a possibility, not then, even if she could have found the money for the journey. Sometimes she wondered whether it would be worth it, just to see her father’s face, but it would be a petty revenge for the misery he had made of her childhood. Besides, he would probably say that he expected nothing better of her.
    ‘Only twenty-four?’ Major Brandon was infuriating, but at least he presented a practical problem she could deal with: get his leg healed. ‘You seem older.’
    The dark eyes rested on her face. Was he was referring to her