Free The Tory Widow by Christine Blevins Page B

along.
    They tramped along in silence. Coming up to the little lane her shop was located on, Anne tugged Jack to a standstill and pulled him to the side.
    â€œMr. Hampton—I would ask a favor . . .” she began, then dropped her chin to her chest.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    Her fingernails bit into his palm, and before his very eyes, she crumpled like a piece of newsprint. Shoulders shaking, she cried and cried for what to Jack seemed an eternity, all the while clutching his hand. For lack of knowing what else to do, he was about ready give her a good hard shaking, when she caught a breath and gazed up at him with sad eyes saturated in shame.
    â€œPlease . . . can we not keep this . . . incident betwixt ourselves?”
    â€œOh . . .” Jack shook his head. “I don’t know about that . . . For one, we ought to make a report to the provost so . . .”
    â€œ No! I beg you—not a word to the provost. Not a word to Sally. N-not a word to anyone—you understand?”
    â€œBut the city militia at least should be made aware of . . .”
    â€œPlease, Mr. Hampton.” Her grip tightened. “Promise me, not a word to anyone, ever.”
    Jack shrugged, nodding. “Alright. Not a word.”
    â€œSwear it.”
    He pried his hand from her grip and crisscrossed his thumb over his heart. “I’ll never tell a living soul.”
    â€œThank you.” Her face softened in relief. “Now I’d best carry on alone. Sally is bound to ask questions if I show up with you in tow.”
    â€œWait.” Jack produced a handkerchief. “You know,” he said, wiping her face dry, “Sally is nobody’s fool.” He dabbed the moistened fabric at the thin line of blood beaded where her neck met her collarbone.
    Anne fiddled with her neckerchief, pulling and fluffing the fabric to mask the slight cut. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and held out her hand. “I owe you a debt, Jack Hampton, and I can’t see how I’ll ever be able to repay it.”
    â€œWell, you know,” Jack said, “I could use a good cup of coffee now and then.”
    At that Anne almost smiled. She slipped her hand free and turned the corner.
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    THE next morning, Jack shuffled in with the morning crowd. The Cup and Quill was doing a brisk business and Sally buzzed from table to table with her coffeepot. Anne came in from the kitchenhouse, tying an apron round her waist. She seemed to have gained some strength and ease by virtue of being within the bounds of her own domain. Scanning the crowded room, she spied Jack as he took his usual seat, and called to Sally, “I’ll take care of Mr. Hampton this morning.”
    â€œMr. Hampton should just wait his turn, aye?” Sally snapped.
    Anne bustled over to set a steaming cup, a full bowl of lump sugar and a brimming creamer on the table. She tapped a finger to the brooch she wore pinned to the neckline of her gray dress. “Good morning, Mr. Hampton.”
    â€œGood morning Mrs. Merrick.” Up close Jack could see a golden curl of hair encased beneath a crystal and framed with a circle of seed pearls. He gave her a nod, sharing some secret he did not quite understand. “It does me good to see you so fit and happy this morning.”
    â€œA good night’s sleep works wonders sometimes.”
    Jack raised a dubious brow to the fare she’d laid out. “This all looks . . . grand.”
    She smiled. “I prepared everything special for you.”
    Jack laughed, and dropped two lumps into his cup. “Sally appears a bit out of sorts.”
    â€œShe grows snippy when worried.” Anne let the tray rest on her hip. “While I was out yesterday, an officer came by asking for me by name.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd it bodes ill. She’s certain he means to arrest me as a Loyalist and commandeer our home for quartering.”
    â€œYou’re no