Free Hero, Come Back by Stephanie Laurens Page B

truthful.
    “Lost, you say?” Esme mused. “And here we thought…well, never mind that. It’s not like Nelson to be wrong, but still I’m glad you ended up on my doorstep, for it isn’t a fit night to be out.” From the lady’s side, an indignant yowl rose, and she scratched the cat with an indulgent caress.
    Yes, Nelson, you have the right of it, Esme thought.
    The drenched young lady on the other side of the table stared down at the cup of tea in her hands. “Yes, after the mail coach became mired in the mud, the driver assured me there was an inn not far up the road, but I fear I wandered down the wrong lane. Thank you so much for taking me in.” She shivered and took another sip of her tea.
    Over near the fireplace hung her steaming gown—an expensively wrought piece of blue silk, and of far better quality than any of Esme’s usual clients wore.
    So, the old lady reasoned, she was no milkmaid or country girl, but most likely a lady. And from the state of her perfect hands, white and uncallused, one who had never toiled.
    The mystery of her guest tugged at Esme’s innate curiosity. “Lucky you are to have found your way here, Miss—”
    The girl glanced up, her eyes wide. “Oh, uh, I’m…I’m…Miss Smythe.”
    “Miss Smythe it is then,” Esme agreed. For now. “And I’m Mrs. Maguire. But you must call me Esme, for everyone does.” She sighed. “Oh, but isn’t it nice to have a bit of company on such a miserable night.” As if to emphasize her words, a clap of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the timbers around them. “I don’t get as many visitors as I like, and I do so love to have someone to talk to.”
    “Yes, company is lovely,” the lady mused, as she glanced about the shadowy room.
    “More tea?” Esme asked, even as she filled the lady’s cup once again with the spicy brew. After she refilled her own, she settled back into her seat. “Now where is it that you’re bound?”
    Miss Smythe took a nervous sip from her cup. “Brighton.”
    Esme smiled. The tea was starting to work, because that was the first honest thing the girl had told her. “Oh, a bit of sea air, a bit of romance, I suppose,” she mused. “Are you meeting someone there? Perhaps a young man?”
    “Oh, nothing like that,” the girl said hastily. “I fear I’m rather too old for such a thing.”
    Esme waved her hand at the very notion. Certainly this Miss Smythe was no schoolgirl, for she hadn’t that dewy innocence about her, but she was hardly past her bloom, what with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes. “Too old for love, she says,” she muttered in an aside to Nelson.
    Nelson shot a glance at their guest before he switched his long tail and then returned his gaze to his mistress and let out an adamant meow.
    “Nelson is quite right,” Esme declared. “No one is too old for love. Even you, Miss Smythe.”
    “I hardly have time for all that,” she said, politely covering a yawn with her hand.
    “Time?” Esme asked. “Time is what you make of it. And I would imagine you have enough to find your heart’s desire.” She scratched Nelson again. “I could help you with it, if you like. For a small fee, that is.” She held out her hand, her eyes fixed on the delicate little blue reticule before her guest.
    “A small fee for my heart’s desire?” The girl laughed, making just a tiny hollow sound, as she reached for her purse. “Well, I suppose it is the least I can do for your hospitality.” As she passed the coins across the table, Esme’s glance strayed in the direction of Nelson.
    The foolish cat was grinning at the sight of gold—probably fancied a fine chicken and kidney pies with their newfound riches. Oh, yes, there would be a bit of that for him, but first and foremost they had to discover the truth about their new client.
    “What would that be?” Esme prodded. “What would be your heart’s desire?”
    Miss Smythe yawned again. “I do beg your pardon. I traveled quite a distance