Here’s a teaser from the first part of “Charred Hope,” a novella for Love’s Perilous Road. It is the hero and heroine’s second meeting. The day before she all but threw him out when he came unannounced to bring her something. When she opened it, she was flooded with chagrin and embarrassment. She has come to thank him and perhaps explain.
Tessa and Brannock took a seat at a small table by a sunny window with pretty curtains and a jar of wildflowers on the table.
“Major, I—” she began, clasping her hands to keep them from fluttering.
“Please no ‘Major.’ I’m plain Mr. Brannock, now.” He smiled up at the young girl, Irene’s niece Carrey, who came to ask what she could bring them. He ordered China tea and a plate of pastries before she could object. “And don’t forget a Chelsea bun or two for Master Robby,” he added.
“But I can’t—” Tessa sputtered.
“Surely a treat from a gentleman is innocent enough, particularly as an apology for disturbing your peace yesterday.”
He upset it more than he knows.
She was at least relieved not to worry about paying for their tea.
“Now, what is it you wished to discuss. Earlier you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough,” he said.
No point in beating around the bush. She removed the little bundle from her reticule and unwrapped it on the table. “Where—that is how did you acquire my miniature?”
He paused, staring at it, obviously choosing his words. “Someone brought it to me after you shipped out.”
“But—who?” she stuttered.
“The officer who took your quarters after—after you left. Honestly, I don’t recall his name,” Brannock answered.
“But where was it? How did he come to have it? It was lost. I don’t understand,” she said staring down at her own image.
When he didn’t answer right away, she peered up at him. “Do you not know? Is the answer terrible?” She couldn’t imagine how it could be worse than she already knew.
Kind eyes met hers. Brannock swallowed deeply. “Not so terrible. He told me he found it against the wall under a cot.”
She stared down at the table again, eyes blurring. After a few moments he spoke softly. “Do you have any idea how it got there?”
She shrugged, hesitant to speak. You’re made of sterner stuff, Tessa. What difference will it make? Tell the man. He was kind enough to bring it.
“I wondered where it fell after Rob threw it at me,” she said at last. “I couldn’t find it.” Brannock looked ready to ask more questions. She rushed ahead. “It was damaged. ‘Useless,’ he said, and should have been discarded long ago.”
“Burnt.”
She nodded. “Rob knocked it into a campfire. By accident he said.”
Brannock raised one eyebrow, skeptical, but had the good grace not to voice it.
She shrugged again. “It was worthless. He was right. It ought to have been discarded.” After a sigh she added softly. “It should never have been made.”
She wiped her fingers across the picture, and gazed back up at him. “It looks as if someone tried to clean it. Was that you?”
Color, faint but unmistakable, ran up his neck to his cheeks. She found that endearing. He nodded.
“I brushed it a bit. It seemed a pretty thing that deserved better.”
Her throat tightened. “But I left Spain in 1813 when we were in winter quarters, almost four years ago. Why now?”
“To be honest, I meant to discard it when the officer handed it to me, damaged as it was. I don’t know why I tossed it in my trunk, but I did. I forgot about it until a few months ago when I was finally cleaning my things out, discarding what I no longer need.”
He chuckled. “I put more back in than I left out. There was your miniature. I thought that, if I found it hard to dispose of objects from back then and the memories, perhaps someone would care about a painting they had troubled to have created.”
Do I? Do I want those memories? Her hands closed over the miniature; she wrapped it back up and put it away. “Thank you, Mr. Brannock. You are very kind.”
She sipped her tea and found it cold. Her escort requested a fresh pot.
Searching for a topic she asked, “How did you find me?”
His answer was simple enough, and he gave no indication of the amount of trouble it must have taken. She murmured thanks again, and this time savored the luxury of warm, strong, China tea. Brannock had made short work of the sweets. He pushed the plate in her direction, offering her a lemon biscuit. She took one and nibbled it.
After a moment he spoke again. “Did you commission it?”
She choked on the biscuit and needed a deep gulp of tea. She was too disconcerted to lie or evade the question. “Yes,” she rasped. “The first time I was left behind in Lisbon soon after we were married. It was a gift. Foolish waste of money.” She prayed he would drop the subject. Rob had shouted at her over the expense. Blessedly he did, sensing her discomfort.