A knock at the door interrupted them. It creaked open, revealing a portly woman with silver hair pulled tightly into a bun. She bore a tray laden with food and smiled warmly.
“Good evening,” she greeted. “I do hope you’re hungry.”
“Famished, actually,” Lord Wilton said.
She set the tray on the table and adjusted her apron. “I’m Mrs. Hodgkins, the innkeeper’s wife. If you need anything, all you need to do is ask.”
With a polite nod, she departed, leaving the scent of fresh bread in her wake.
Theodosia eyed the tray—thick slices of brown bread, ribbons of ham, wedges of cheese. Her stomach growled, but she held back. It wouldn’t do to appear ravenous.
Lord Wilton gave her a pointed look. “Not hungry, after all?”
“I am,” she admitted. “But you should eat first.”
He arched a brow. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I allowed that?”
“Not a very good one, I suppose.”
“Indeed. Go on.”
With his encouragement, she moved to the table, pulled out a chair, and began assembling a modest plate. A slice of bread. A thin portion of ham. A sliver of cheese.
He took the seat across from her and studied her choices. “Is that truly all you intend to eat?”
“I only wanted to ensure there was enough for you.”
A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “There’s enough here to feed a small regiment. You won’t deprive me.”
“Well, in that case…” She reached for another helping of meat and added it to her plate. “Thank you.”
He began serving himself, then asked, “Is this your first visit to a coaching inn?”
She winced. “Was it that obvious?”
“Only a little. You looked… uncertain in the main hall. Most of the men mean no harm.”
She caught his phrasing. “Most?”
He didn’t flinch. “Just stay near me. And lock your door tonight.”
A chill passed through her. “I’ve never traveled far beyond my village before this.”
“A pity,” he said as he bit into a piece of cheese. “There’s something thrilling about travel. New places. New experiences.”
“Perhaps. I never saw the need.”
“Now you have one,” he said easily. “And I think you’ll enjoy London.”
She tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. “What do you think I’ll like best?”
He considered her for a moment before saying, “Hard to say. My sister swears by the circulating libraries. And shopping, of course.”
“I would imagine that shopping in London will be quite a different experience than shopping in my small village,”Theodosia remarked as she tore off another piece of bread, the crust crisp beneath her fingers.
“I do believe so,” he agreed.
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery and the occasional pop from the fire. She was not one to feel burdened by silence. In fact, she welcomed it. Not every conversation needed to be filled with polite discussion. Sometimes, a quiet meal shared between two people was more telling than a dozen exchanged pleasantries.
