“How do you expect to preach propriety to the children when you are—”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Grace muttered. “When will I have another chance? Answer me that. All I want is to spend some time with him. What is the harm in that?”
Water dripped off the greatcoat of Mattheus, Earl of Worthington, as it had dripped off his hat earlier. A puddle had to be forming at his feet. He was not particularly impressed with the small inn. Although he’d passed it every time he made the trip to Town, he’d never stopped here before. If it weren’t for the weather, he wouldn’t have done so now.
“I can add more wood to the fire in the common room, my lord,” the landlord said. “But me parlor’s already got a guest.”
He glanced over at the fairly large space. Even with the shutters closed, the windows rattled. Cold and drafty. “Would you please ask your guest if he will share the parlor for a short time?”
“Couldn’t do that, my lord.” The older man shook his head. “I could send the meal to your room, but I ain’t got an extra table. Once it warms up, you’ll be right comfortable in the common room.”
He sincerely doubted that would be the case.
“Mr. Brown . . .”
Matt turned at the sound of the low, well-bred, no-nonsense female voice. He suspected it would belong to an older lady, perhaps a governess, most definitely not the vision of loveliness standing before him. Before he could even thank her, she gave a curt nod and closed the door.
“I’ll show ye to yer room, my lord.” The landlord grumbled as he picked up Matt’s bag.
“Thank you. It will be nice to be dry again.” Halfway up the stairs, he stopped as a memory played hide-and-seek with him. He knew her, but from where? London. During the Season. He shook his head trying to knock the memory loose, but nothing more came to him.
“This way, my lord.”
“Coming.” It was her hair that stuck in his mind. It shone like a new guinea coin.
The landlord held a door at the end of the corridor open. “Thank you.”
“I’ll send one of my boys up with warm water.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Brown set about lighting the fire.
Matt didn’t know many ladies who would offer to share their parlor with a complete stranger. The feeling that they had met before grew stronger. Who the hell was she?
“There ye be, my lord.”
Once the door closed behind the landlord, Matt began shedding his damp clothing. The sooner he got back downstairs, the sooner he’d know who his mystery woman was.
* * *
Less than a half hour later, Matt made his way downstairs and knocked on the parlor door before entering. He bowed. “Thank you for agreeing to share your parlor and your meal. Permit me to introduce myself. Worthington, at your service.”
Nothing like sounding pompous.
He was almost surprised when she smiled and rose instead of turning her pretty nose up at him. “How could I refuse to assist a fellow traveler and in such dreadful weather as we are having?”
Graceful.
That was the first word that sprang to mind as Matt watched her glide to the bell-pull. When he had entered the parlor, the table had already been set up for tea. She took a seat, motioning him to the chair opposite her. “Please. There is no need to stand on formality.”
She handed him a plate, and in a few moments a young girl brought in a pot covered in a brightly colored cloth, set it down, then left.
“Do you take sugar?” the lady asked, glancing from beneath her long gold-tipped lashes.
It was clear the lady, for she was certainly gently bred, had no intention of telling Matt her name. “I do, Miss—”
“Milk or cream?” she responded hastily.
