Miss Debenham's Secret: A Husband Hunters Club Book Read Free Page A

have been mad. She was a glorious girl. Had he thought her not his type? Well, obviously his type had changed!
    He stepped inside, into the quiet of the cottage, and his mood sobered.
    Clarissa was a lovely girl, but she was rather lonely and certainly inexperienced when it came to men. He would be ungentlemanly indeed if he allowed her to fall in love with him. Not that he was a vain man, far from it, but Clarissa led a very sheltered life and, he supposed, he must seem to lead a far more exciting one. Such a young girl might easily be swept up in the romantic notion of a man who spent his life at sea, and Alistair was well aware it would end in heartbreak for her.
    He liked Clarissa Debenham. He enjoyed her company. He certainly did not want to hurt her, but neither did he want to leave the sea and live the life of a landlubber, not here or anywhere. For all the deprivations and trials it brought, the sea was his life.
    Perhaps a gentle warning? But what if she had no intention of attaching herself to him? She would be even more hurt, or insulted, and he would feel like a fool.
    Alistair flung himself down in the old shabby chair by the window and looked out. The tiny cottage, although comfortable and perfectly adequate, was rather neglected but the view made up for that. He could see the sea from here and now he fixed his eyes on it as if it would help him solve this puzzle.
    Perhaps it would be best if he simply mentioned his plans to return to the navy as soon as possible, that he had no idea of remaining here longer than necessary? Yes, that might do it. Then, if she was falling a little in love with him she would be forewarned, and if she wasn’t, then she wouldn’t be upset by his presumption.
    Pleased with this compromise, Alistair leaned back in the old chair, arms folded behind his head and stuck his feet up on the little table before him. The trouble was Alistair had never been able to settle down anywhere, not since he was a boy in Portobello. His home life had been unhappy to say the least and the thought of being in that sort of situation again kept him moving from place to place. The navy was ideal for him and when he was ashore there was never really time to put down roots, even had he wanted to. He would see his sister when he was able to, and he always enjoyed the visits, but they were very different people and he thought they would probably not get on as well if he were there more often. She had been quick to find herself a husband and a home and have children, whereas he . . .
    Alistair was a rolling stone. Or an ocean wave, perhaps.
    He always wondered if his father had been of a similar disposition and being forced on land to work and live had soured him. He was a miserable man, cruel in word and deed, but over the years that Alistair had been at sea himself he’d met many old sailors who’d known his father and they told stories of a man he hardly recognised. No longer in the navy of course, one old fellow had been a cabin boy on a ship with Alistair’s father and he told tales of a far different person to the bitter man Alistair had known. In his youth his father had apparently been happy, travelling up and down the coast, until a fall from the crow’s nest had injured his back so severely he was rendered unfit for life on board.
    He’d taken work with a cobbler and although the sitting didn’t help his back pain it paid enough to keep his family from want. But it didn’t sweeten his temper. Alistair had received many a backhander from the man, mainly when he tried to protect his sister from the same punishment. His mother had come from a far better life and ran off with his father for the sake of love. When that love was soured she grew more and more stooped and unhappy, withdrawing into her own thoughts. It was impossible to imagine them ever as a young couple with not a care in the world, believing that nothing mattered but their love.
    His parents were dead now and his sister had her own