“Here,” he said gently.
“What is it?”
“Brandy. I think you could use a little, yes?”
She took a swig and coughed. But it brought a little color to her cheeks.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the bath and a procession of buckets of hot water. The chambermaid left towels and a cake of hard soap.
“I’ll leave you to your bath,” he said. “Do you require help with your laces before I go?”
She shook her head.
“Lock the door behind me,” he said and left to go and check on his horse. He stayed away for half an hour, and judging that was long enough, he returned to the room, knocking for readmittance. “It’s me.”
After a few moments, she unlocked the door and let him in. She had changed into a robe over a nightgown and her hair was down in a plait—the same as when she sat vigil with him over Ewen that night. “They just brought the meal,” she said, indicating the dishes and plates on the table.
He joined her at the table, conscious of the constraint between them, but unsure how to bridge it. She seemed disinclined to talk. He wasn’t sure if that was from fatigue or some other cause. In either case, he was ravenous and fell to with enthusiasm. The meal was plain but good fare. A thick meaty stew, fresh bread and butter, with cheese and fruit.
She ate quickly, too, as if half starved, and he wondered when she had last eaten.
A red wine of reasonable quality accompanied the meal, and she drank the glass he poured for her as quickly as she had eaten the meal. He topped up both their glasses and sat back in his chair, regarding her over his glass. She toyed with hers but stared at the fire as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room.
“Were you going to Bath?” he asked gently.
She shook her head.
“Your aunt isn’t dying?”
“She’s already dead,” she said flatly.
“Did you leave because of me?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said, sipping her wine and transferring her gaze to the glass, twisting it about as if watching the play of light on the blood-red liquid.
He closed his eyes a moment, a lance of pain in his chest. Then, leaning forward, he took her hand. “I never meant to drive you from your home. If my proposal was that abhorrent to you—”
“No!” She looked at him then, her eyes full of some kind of deep sorrow he could not comprehend. “You just tempted me beyond reason!”
“I don’t think I understand, Annis. Will you please explain?” he said gently.
She looked down. “Yes, I suppose I owe you that, having put you to so much trouble as to come after me.” She drew in an unsteady breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not sure I know where to start.” She paused as if considering. “Do you recall when we visited Kegworth? And we took a stroll up the street? You noted that I was pale and asked me if I was well?”
He nodded. “Yes, you were as white as a sheet. I was quite concerned about you.”
She swallowed. “Yes, well, I fancied that someone was watching me. Have you ever had that feeling? A kind of prickling between the shoulder blades as if someone were staring at you very hard?”
“Yes. Not often, but I have felt it.” He leaned forward, watching her face intently. So many emotions were flitting across it, he was having trouble keeping up. Whatever was going on here had been provoked by more than his proposal.
“It turns out they were. Watching me that is. I—” She stopped, her throat working. She took another sip of wine. “When I explain, my lord, you will understand why I refused your proposal and why being here with me at this inn will be—must be—the last time you see me. Tomorrow, you must let me go.”
He opened his mouth to protest and shut it again, his mind baffled by her cryptic words. “Go on,” he said a mite grimly.
She looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap and took another one of those breaths.Whatever this was, it was difficult for her.He gave her his full attention.
“Seven years ago, my aunt died. On her deathbed, she gave me something—a ring.” She drew a chain from beneath her robe and showed him a plain gold ring with a flat oval top, as if it ought to have something carved into it but didn’t. “It belonged to my father, apparently. I don’t know who he was, she didn’t tell me. I gathered, though, that he was a member of the aristocracy.” She swallowed, looking down at her hands. “Up until that point I had believed myself to be the daughter of Aunt Janet’s brother and his wife Adela. Aunt Janet raised me, you see.”
“The Pringle Academy for Young Ladies in Bath.”
