The Wedding Ring Quest. Carla Kelly

so sure. ‘“Besides, he is determined to stop at Skowcroft for excellent dessert and the mail coach would not oblige him. Cousin Mary, do not disappoint this peg-leg warrior of the Royal Navy.”’

      ‘So you will stoop to the sympathy card, sir?’ She laughed out loud and read the postscript. ‘“He also knows of some excellent shepherd’s pie in York proper.”’

      Mary stood still for a long moment, tapping her finger against the note. She read it again, wondering about a man who had already engaged a post chaise to take her to York, because he knew she felt nervous about travelling alone. She couldn’t think of a time when anyone had been so generous to her on such short notice.

      A reminder of the timid Mr Barraclough made up her mind. ‘I will do it, Captain Rennie,’ she said out loud. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

      There they stood in the corridor, father and son, both looking at her with a hopeful air. She burst out laughing.

      ‘Oh, you two! What can I do but accept your kind offer?’ she told them.

      ‘Wise of you, since we weren’t going to take no for an answer,’ the captain said. ‘Would you be willing to break your fast with us in the commons room?’

      She was, sitting down to another excellent sausage, considerably shorter than four feet, eggs and coffee. If she had felt shy, the emotion didn’t last long, not with Nathan needing a little attention tucking his napkin under his chin and then a better alignment of the buttons on his shirt when he finished. Perhaps he had dressed in the dark; possibly fathers didn’t notice such details of dress.

      * * *

      When Nathan was tidy and the dishes withdrawn, the captain pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. He spread it on the table. ‘I have here a list of inns along our route,’ he told her. ‘Through the years, this sheet has graced the wardroom table on occasion, as I solicited information about good food in all corners of Britain.’

      She looked at the list, seeing different handwriting. ‘This is what passes for entertainment on a frigate at war?’

      ‘Aye, miss, especially on the far side of the world, when we are drifting along in the doldrums and it’s hotter than Dutch love.’

      Mary blushed. ‘Really, Cousin.’

      Ross Rennie looked not a bit dismayed. ‘I confess to a salty tongue. You’ll get used to it.’ His expression turned nostalgic. ‘When you’re down to bad beef, weevily bread and thick water, and the wine has run out, a list like this is surprisingly comforting.’

      He jabbed a line. ‘Look you here. If we leave now, we’ll be in Skowcroft for luncheon, and that is where...’ He stopped and looked at the barely legible line. He ran his finger gently across the words now. ‘I had a midshipman, name of Everett from Skowcroft, who swore by the lemon-curd pudding at the Begging Hound.’

      ‘I trust he has been back to enjoy it,’ Mary said.

      ‘Alas, no. He died in the Pacific. He was but fifteen.’ The captain leaned back, his eyes troubled now. ‘I...I suppose I want to have a dish of pudding for Dale Everett.’

      She took the list from the table and scanned it. ‘Brown bread with quince jelly? I do like quince jelly.’

      ‘My former purser told me about a public house in Ovenshine.’ He shook his head. ‘A true scoundrel he was.’ He correctly interpreted her expression and took the list from her. ‘Here now, blood pudding in Wamsley, according to a pharmacist’s mate who lives in Wamsley as we speak. They’re not all dead, Mary, or rascals.’

      Could it be that you need this little side trip to York even more than I do? she thought. The idea beguiled her far more than the prospect of fruitcake.

      ‘Isn’t your sister going to wonder where you are?’ she asked, making one more attempt to call the man to reason.

      ‘I sent her a letter before the sun was up, telling her we had to go to York on business.’ He grinned, and it threw years off his weather-thrashed face. ‘Hopefully, she will never ask what the business is. When do you need to report back to Edinburgh?’