No Duke of Mine, page 2
She’d heard enough complaints upon her arrival to know that more road-weary travelers could be expected soon. The roads surrounding the village were known to flood because all rivers and streams nearby tended to break their banks all at once. So she was lucky to have secured a room for tonight. But she could be here for days if the bad weather continued, and she hoped her funds did not run out.
She worried even more about anyone still out there in the storm when another crack of lightning shook the ground the little inn stood upon.
She had just pulled out a book from her pocket to check its condition when a married couple entered the dining room with a flurry of anxious words and reassurances that the storm would pass. The pair glanced her way, commented upon the foul weather, but kept a distance, hovering near the fire instead, flicking water off their traveling cloaks.
Maggie observed the pair discreetly. She could tell they loved each other deeply by the way they fussed. Love, patience, and consideration were writ large over their faces, and she envied them such a settled life.
Maggie checked her own attire discreetly. She was not so much wet as damp all over. During her journey today, she’d invited a young child to perch on her lap to spare a tired mother juggling two. The mother had been grateful, and for that short time, Maggie had pretended that the child was really hers. But when they were gone, she’d buried the yearning for motherhood and a family as usual because it hurt too much to think she might never have that.
She would have to wait until she had the privacy of a bedchamber before she attempted to dry her gown, cloak, and boots. She had been unlucky to be given a carriage seat on the edge of the bench and had traveled by the door, where the bad weather and rain had seeped through.
She devoted her attention to her book again, and let the couple converse with each other.
As half an hour passed in waiting, Maggie fretted that the innkeeper had given her room away, and fought a shiver. When he finally arrived, all gruff and apologetic about the wait, he took the married couple away first, promising to return momentarily for Maggie.
She walked to the fire, holding her hands out to the warmth of the flames, slightly disappointed since she’d been first to wait for her room. But as she stood there fighting her impatience, she became aware of raised voices beyond the private dining room.
Curiosity drove her across the chamber to the door to see what the commotion in the taproom was all about.
When she opened the door a crack and put her eye to the gap, she instantly spotted a new group of men standing about, dripping water all over the taproom floor.
They were cross and road-weary, and obviously caught out by the storm. The leader was arguing with a servant, demanding rooms and food for them all immediately.
Maggie could feel the man’s frustration from where she stood, sensed too that he was used to getting exactly what he wanted, when he demanded it, and it had better be the best on offer. Likely a wealthy man, unused to the hardship of difficult travel, despite his bedraggled appearance.
But whoever he was, he was in for a very, very rough night. Maggie suspected the inn would not have enough rooms for everyone in need who stopped here. It was not that large an establishment.
The fellow started toward her.
“Sir, please, you can’t go in there. There’s a lady inside. She should not be disturbed by men in such a state.”
Maggie froze, her eye still peeking through the gap as attention turned toward the private dining room door. The tallest among them glared in her direction, clearly seeing her silhouette through the partly open door. He muttered something she could not hear but instinctively understood. He had cursed—and Maggie opened the door wider, incensed by his lack of manners and rude speech.
They stared at each other for a long moment. But then…something about his curse, the mud on him, the shape of the jawline under that drooping felt hat, tweaked her memory.
She concentrated only on the taller fellow of the group as he continued to glare, compelled to challenge him for some reason.
She felt she knew him. From where, she could not say yet. He was not a recent acquaintance but someone from her past, someone from long ago.
Maggie had met many young men as her father practiced his profession. Of course, if it were long ago, he would have been a great deal shorter, but he had been equally filthy, wearing mud and muck, and in a temper then, too.
Maggie stifled a laugh as his identity became clear.
Dear God, she had stumbled upon Algernon Sweet, up to no good. Covered in mud and just as cross about it again.
It had been such a long time since she’d seen her father’s old pupil, or seen him in such a disgraceful condition. Of course, the last time had been entirely the fault of his ego, but given the weather today, she did not think he was entirely to blame for his current state.
He took a pace toward her, eyes flashing anger, but it seemed very likely he had not recognized her. That was a great disappointment, because Algernon had been unforgettable…and her only friend once.
She became aware of the innkeeper speaking to her.
“I beg your pardon,” Maggie murmured, turning her attention to the man.
The innkeeper looked between her and Algernon, frowning severely.
But even before he opened his mouth, she knew what he wanted from her. To leave the taproom and his patrons immediately. The taproom was no place for a proper lady.
“I trust my room has been made ready, sir,” she said with a haughty tilt of her head.
“It is. If you will follow Mrs. Roper now,” he said firmly, glancing into the taproom once again.
She nodded, her eyes returning to Algernon once more. She seemed to have captured his interest now, because a small smile was playing over his lips.
She winked at him. “Well, I had best depart so these road-weary travelers can claim the private dining room.”
“Thank you,” the innkeeper said, as his wife arrived looking harried and tired.
She escorted Maggie away into a hall and toward the staircase leading to the upper floors.
Mrs. Roper stopped and faced Maggie. “I apologize for my husband’s surly manners just now. We get all sorts here, but I can see you’ll be no trouble.”
“Of course not.”
“I also hope you were not offended by the gentleman’s boldness in the taproom, either. It’s been a terrible day, and everyone is in a bit of a temper over the lack of accommodation.”
“I do understand, and I’d advise you leave your husband to deal with that particular gentleman, if I were you,” Maggie said—and then gasped and looked around, “Oh, one moment please!”
Maggie dashed back into the private dining room, glad the room was still unoccupied, to where she had left her travel case and snatched it up.
She rushed back out of the room as she heard the heavy tread of boots approaching. She slipped back into the hall unseen, but paused to listen to her once-upon-a-time friend take possession of the chamber and start giving out orders.
She noticed his voice was deeper, but he complained a lot more about the bad weather than he used to at twelve. As he urged his men to dry off, a shiver raced over her skin that had nothing to do with being damp and cold, or his concern for his servants. “Make sure the horses are rubbed down and have the carriage wheel looked at. I hope to be away from here at first light.”
She grinned. Algernon had been in a tearing hurry every day that she’d known him, except when he was reading a book in the library with her. She had often teased him that he’d miss something important if he did not slow down.
But she would do no teasing of him anymore. He was important, and she was no longer a child of his tutor’s, running nearly wild through a grand house and on the manicured grounds with him. Algernon was wealthy and destined for a dukedom, being the oldest son and heir, and Maggie might have become a dutiful wife at best, had her father provided a dowry for a woman at her advanced age of six and twenty.
She climbed the stairs, following the innkeeper’s wife, glad to know her old friend was still largely as she remembered. But Algernon might not want to see her again. Not after the trouble she’d caused him that last day at Ravenswood. Now that she was older, she understood better the scandal that could have erupted over her growing friendship with a duke’s son and heir.
Their stations in life had been extraordinarily different, as were the expectations for their futures and behavior. The laughing boy she’d known, Algernon, had been destined for greatness, while Maggie’s station in life continued to sink lower.
She entered her rented room and withheld a sigh. Barely a closet with only a small window set in the wall. There was no fire, but the room felt surprisingly warm. Besides a single bed—a plain wooden box—an aged mirror hanging on the wall, and a pair of candlesticks, it was bereft of embellishment.
“You’re against the chimney from the kitchen, so you should be right cozy in here tonight. Hang up your wet things on the pegs on that wall and they could be dry by morning,” the woman promised. “There’s another pair of blankets in that box at the foot of the bed, and I’ll send up something warm for your supper later.”
“I did not pay for supper,” Maggie confessed, wincing.
“I can see you’ve fallen on hard times, love, and it’s all right. My husband will never know.”
Although she was surprised by the offer of charity, she wasn’t so proud as to refuse a meal. But all she really wanted was to dry her clothing and sleep the night away.
The innkeeper’s wife rushed off, promising to send up warm water to wash with in the morning, and then left Maggie to deal with the remaining travelers downstairs.
Maggie locked the door and began to remove her damp outer garments, eager to be rid of them. She hung her cloak and gown on the pegs and pressed her hands against the warm brickwork. With luck, her clothing might be dry enough to put back on before the promised dinner tray arrived.
Maggie removed her footwear and wrapped a blanket around herself before going to the tiny window. Her chamber overlooked the road, and the river that wound around through the small hamlet could be seen and also offered her a glimpse of those who arrived. She craned her neck to look farther afield. There was not much to see until a carriage being pushed and shoved came into view. It was being directed toward the side of the inn, where the stables were likely situated.
The carriage was clearly damaged as it was listing to one side rather badly, held up by a handful of struggling men. She winced as she thought of the dripping-wet lord downstairs, a viscount when she knew him, and how his poor servants fared, too. Algernon’s carriage must have broken down on his journey to somewhere important. He was either coming from London or going to it, similar to her situation, she supposed, and that was unfortunate. It seemed like the worst luck to be traveling the same road this week.
She turned from the window and considered getting into bed and staying there. But as she caught sight of her reflection in the square of mirrored glass hanging crookedly on the wall, she nearly died of embarrassment on the spot.
Her bonnet was a limp wreck, she had a black smudge on her cheek and nose, and some of her dark hair had escaped its moorings on one side of her head. Worst of all, the damp weather had made it stick straight out.
She was the most bedraggled woman in existence, and so embarrassed. No wonder the married couple had kept a distance, or that Algernon hadn’t recognized her. Maggie looked like she was headed for Bedlam.
CHAPTER THREE
Algernon glared out the front door of the taproom. “Would you look at that? Would you just look at that? Will this infernal rain never end?”
“Not according to the innkeeper,” his valet warned, shivering beside the taproom fire, unwilling to give up his spot.
The rain had been coming down hard since yesterday, great sheets of it, obliterating the view and turning the road into a never-ending stream.
Algernon was irritated. He was still damp, and he was tired, having not slept well last night due to the lack of available rooms. A chair in the dining room was all very well for a light doze, no more than an hour, but it was a soft bed he craved under him at night.
At least he was clean again, and more presentable.
But with the rain coming down and the roadways flooded, there was no chance of any room becoming available anytime soon. The other guests could hardly leave, or want to share their chamber and bed with a stranger.
Although if that pretty woman from yesterday showed her face again, he might be in luck. He’d been hoping to spot her again, but she’d taken supper in her chambers last night and, to his disappointment, remained abovestairs still.
He turned back to the taproom. The locals had gathered around the room and were silently sipping ale and talking amongst themselves. Algernon listened discreetly, thankfully ignored for now.
“This is nothing compared to the flood of seventy-four,” an old man said.
“Oh, the one of eighty-eight was much worse,” another argued. “Trapped for nearly a month that time.”
Algernon tried not to groan.
Sims leaned toward them. “Did the bridge wash away completely?”
“No, not the bridge. The roads that led up to it washed away, though. Took forever to get our side done, and then the other side took their sweet time, too.”
“Brilliant,” Algernon said under his breath. “That’s all I need to hear.”
He might never reach London at this rate, and he might not be able to return home by Christmas, either.
Another fellow came in, and Algernon realized, judging by the way he looked around, that he was not a local but one of the few guests who had secured a room upstairs.
The man came his way. “Dashed nuisance, all this rain, isn’t it? The name is Keane, Charles Keane.”
“Allan Sweet. Yes, a great nuisance indeed,” Algernon agreed.
“Ah, well. Glad I’ve got my wife with me for company.” The man chuckled. “It would be a dull few days without the conversation of my family, wouldn’t it, sir?”
Algernon agreed with him. When he traveled, he usually had a brother with him. Most often Nash, but he would go nowhere without his wife and children these days. Jasper was needed to run the estate in his absence, and Stratford, while Algernon adored him, would have blathered the whole way to London. He had his valet, of course, but traveling with a servant paid to agree with you was not the same at all.
Algernon normally preferred to travel light and as inconspicuously as possible anyway, without using his title, but he regretted that now. A duke could have commanded the best room in the inn, had he looked like one upon his arrival.
“And the other woman traveling with you is comfortable upstairs, too, I suppose?”
“Other woman? I have no—oh, you’re talking about the young lady in the chamber beside ours, aren’t you? Yes, yes. You must be. Quite a retiring little thing, but handsome. Haven’t seen a peep of her since we first arrived, though.”
“I saw only a glimpse,” he said, hiding the truth. Algernon had been unable to tear his eyes from her face.
“A widow, I suspect,” Keane continued. “My wife is very disapproving of her staying in her room so much. Barely spoke a word to us yesterday, and the woman kept her nose in a book the entire time. My wife prefers conversation to reading when we travel.”
Algernon’s hopes soared. An amenable widow traveling alone might be interested in a gentleman’s company after dark. And bookish women had always appealed to him. “I have yet to meet this particular lady.”
“Hasn’t she come down yet again?”
“Not that I’ve seen.” And he’d been looking for her, too, and anything else to divert his attention on such a gloomy, damp day.
“This bodes well for a lively dinner this evening, then.” Keane grinned. “You’ll have to tell me what you make of her after your first meeting.”
“Perhaps,” Algernon said, but he usually guarded his opinions of others for those who deserved to hear them.
“Now, I know I should go up and check on my beloved wife soon, but I think an ale is in order first. Will you join me?”
“Indeed.” Algernon ordered an ale for them both and sat with his back to the view of the road, deciding that as long as he could hear the rain, there was nothing else to see outside.
He was nearly done with his first tankard when a small figure appeared in the distant dining room, whose doors had been left open to allow others to freely use the space to stretch their legs. She paused in the doorway and looked out into the taproom, and their eyes met again.
Algernon felt a jolt of recognition. The same as he had yesterday. But he couldn’t imagine why he thought he knew her.
He leaned across to the other guest and asked, “What was the lady’s name?”
“I don’t know that I ever heard it. We were in a bit of a state yesterday and eager to reach our room. Introductions were not performed, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Perhaps my wife could find out for you. I could go upstairs and ask her.”
The woman suddenly beckoned him to join her in the dining room.
“No, that’s quite all right,” Algernon said quickly, immediately rising to his feet, irrationally compelled by that small, demanding hand to obey. “Do excuse me, Keane.”
The fellow muttered something in response, but Algernon’s whole body was fixed on meeting the bookish widow who could hopefully enliven his day.
He hurried towards the dining room, entered the space and, on instinct, shut the door behind him.
The widow was at the window, her back to him. She had dark hair and a nice figure—somewhat shorter than him—and was well-dressed. Well…reasonably well-dressed. She was obviously not a wealthy widow.
