For Your Arms Only

tried, but she says she’s just not hungry. Tea is all she’ll take.”
Another worry. Cressida sighed. “Later I’ll make some scones. Perhaps that will tempt her appetite.”
“Perhaps.” But there was no conviction in the word.
“We have another problem.” Callie’s face grew even graver, and she set down her tray to follow Cressida into her bedchamber across the hall. “The horses aren’t ours.”
“What do you mean?”
“Papa hired them. He didn’t buy them.”
Callie’s lips parted in understanding. “But that means…Oh dear.”
“Oh dear,” Cressida echoed grimly. “I told Tom to take them back—we’ll save on feed at least—but what are we to do now?”
Callie sank into the chair, her forehead creased in worry. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “There’s nothing left?”
“Not much.” Cressida sat on the end of the bed. The two sisters looked at each other in silent comprehension. “We can’t stay here,” she said at last.
“Where will we go?” Callie gave a sharp, wild laugh as she jumped back to her feet. “This was supposed to be home—better than Portsmouth, Papa said. Secure and comfortable. When is the lease up?”
“A fortnight.”
“I can draw on my funds,” Callie began. Mr. Phillips had left her almost a thousand pounds, all currently invested in the four percents. It was a small income, but they needed it.
Cressida flipped one hand. “We’d have nothing when it was gone. At least with that income and Granny’s annuity we have something.”
Her sister sighed. “Perhaps Major Hayes will locate Papa soon.”
Cressida said nothing. She rolled a bit of her skirt between her fingers and studied it.
“You aren’t still considering refusing him, are you?”
Cressida shrugged.
“Give me one reason why,” exclaimed Callie, hands on hips. “Who else has offered to help us?”
“I don’t know about him,” she muttered. “He makes me…uneasy.”
“He makes me uneasy, too, but we are not in a position to be particular.”
“I know,” Cressida admitted. It did make her feel better to hear that Callie was uneasy about him, but her sister had clearly gotten over it enough to accept his help. Cressida wished she could shake off her own wariness; she wished even more that her unease weren’t so tied to the way her nerves jangled like a shopkeeper’s bell when he looked at her.
“Granny’s tonic is gone,” said Callie in a subdued voice. “I’ll walk into town and get more.”
“No, I’ll go.” Cressida leaped to her feet. Heaven knew she could use the exercise. Perhaps something would come to her on the way, some grand scheme to extricate them from this difficulty. A modest proposal to shore up their finances. Even a small plan would be nice. But nothing came to her as she put on her bonnet and counted out some of their few remaining coins before starting off for town.

Chapter 6
Alec’s next encounter with Miss Turner happened purely by chance.
He was driving down the road from Penford toward Marston when he came upon her walking the same direction, a basket swinging from her arm. Even without glimpsing her face, Alec recognized her. There was no mistaking her brisk stride, or her height, or the slender slope of her neck beneath the plain straw bonnet. She stepped to the side to let his gig pass, and before he could reconsider, Alec brought the horse to a stop.
“Good day, Miss Turner.”
She whirled to face him, her golden eyes opening wide in surprise. “Oh,” she said, obviously flustered. “Good day, sir.”
Alec smiled. “Do you go into Marston?” She stared at him, and nodded. “May I offer you a ride?”
“Er…” She hesitated, tugging on one of her bonnet ribbons. The ribbons were bright cherry red, a striking contrast to her plain gray dress. Somehow that bright bit of color charmed him.
“I am sent to fetch my sister, Julia, home, and would be very glad for some company,” he said. He had planned to call on her later anyway; he told himself it would save a trip to Brighampton to offer her a ride, even if she did stand there biting her lower lip in a way that caught his interest unlike anything John Stafford had ever charged him with.
Finally she smiled politely. “Thank you, that would be lovely.”
He jumped down from the gig and held out one hand, helping her up into the gig. She tucked her skirts around her as he circled the carriage and climbed up beside her. The seat was wide enough for both, but just barely. His arm brushed hers as he lifted the reins, and her skirts spilled over his boots despite her best efforts to contain them. She sat very still and primly upright, eyes straight ahead and her hands wrapped tightly around the handle of her basket. Every time the gig hit the tiniest rut in the road, her figure seemed to strain away from him.
Alec began to regret his impulse; he was far too aware of her every movement to persuade himself it was mere courtesy or part of his job to take her up. He just had an irrational fascination with the curve of her neck, and the color of her eyes, and the swell of her—
“I do hope the rain doesn’t come and ruin your trip into town,” he said, quelling his wayward thoughts.
She glanced at him warily. “I have my cloak. It was very kind of you to take me up.”
“It is my pleasure. It’s quite a long walk into town from Brighampton.”
Her mouth compressed. “It’s not so very long. I’m very fond of walking, in any event.”
She must be; it was at least four miles, and she would have to walk home with a heavy basket while clouds multiplied in the sky. The air was thick and humid, and rain would be welcome after the heat. Alec remembered the two sturdy horses in her stable, and wondered again about the Turner finances. “As am I,” he replied. “Although not in the rain.”
She said nothing, and they drove in