Miss Meredith's Marriage by Lindsay Randall

Author:Lindsay Randall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2014-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Laney sat on a narrow cot, his back propped up against the wall with pillows and his legs stretched out in front of him. He had a perfect view of the moon in the night sky, framed as it was in the tiny window of the third-floor room he'd come to think of as home. Odd, but sight of the swollen moon reminded him of something, someone.

He didn't know who, though.

Laney shifted his gaze to the far corner of the room, spying the buff-colored breeches, expensive top hat, Weston-made coat, and high-polished Hessians he'd worn that night in July when he'd been shot.

Loving hands had repaired the garments, cleaning away the blood and dirt, and then had hung them in the corner, where they'd remained, untouched. The boots had been shined anew, then stuffed with clean rags to hold their shape for the day when Laney would once again walk in them. His shirt and neckcloth, he'd been told, had been irreparably ruined and so discarded.

Laney stared hard at the garments. They were the threads of a man with enough blunt to do as he pleased. He wondered why he didn't get a niggling feeling of memory when he looked at them.

How could a full moon affect him so, causing some elusive memory to whisk through his mind like a fleeting star, yet his own clothes could not bring one ounce of feeling to him? It was as though he'd never worn the garments; never wanted to.

Laney shook his head, sighing.

"Pray, do not torture yourself trying to remember," Wren whispered.

Laney looked to his left, smiling at Wren who sat upon a stiff-backed chair. A single taper burned on the table beside her. She looked lovely in the candlelight.

"How is it you always know what I am thinking?" he asked.

"It is not so difficult. Friends often know what the other is thinking—and the two of us have become friends, have we not?" she murmured, dropping her lashes and concentrating on the needle and thread she pulled through the rough fabric of the shirt she was mending for him.

"That we have," Laney quickly agreed, and was glad of the fact. The garment she so carefully mended was no doubt a castoff that once belonged to her friend, James. It had been James and several of his stout sailor friends along the docks who'd carried a wounded Laney to this very room that horrible night in July.

The lot of them had paid a visit just before they'd set sail on another ship, and Larkin had found himself liking Wren's friends. They'd played dice and had shared a bottle of gut-burning rum, which had instantly made Laney dizzy in the head. Still, he'd had a good time listening to the men and their stories of life aboard ship.

What he'd liked best of all, though, was the fact Wren had sat near his cot, on a stool, and had laughed with him when he kept rolling lucky numbers with the dice. He'd never felt more free in his life, regardless of the fact he was still recovering from a festering wound.

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