“Yes. He’s—” She considered telling him the truth. They were both “men,” after all, and the easy confidences between men she had just been observing might allow her to say, “He is a beast who has run off with my sister.” The innkeeper might bluster and express moral outrage and help her confront Theo. But what then? Backed into a corner, Theo would expose Clementine as a woman, and probably a woman passing herself off as a man was a greater scandal than a man running off with a girl to marry in Scotland against law, reason, good taste, morals, manners, and . . . She refocused her thoughts, which were going a little fuzzy, and concentrated on answering the innkeeper in a manner that would reveal neither her femaleness nor the true degree of her interest in the man with the unusual boots. “He’s an old friend I’d heard might be passing this way.” The floor lurched beneath Clementine’s feet as she slid off the stool, and she set a hand on the bar to steady herself.
“Fortune smiles on you.” The innkeeper pointed. “They’re in the last parlor down that corridor.”
“Have you a room for the night?” She hated to spend the money—the funds she’d stolen from Father’s desk were dwindling—but she could hardly march into Theo’s parlor without so much as a plan. She needed a moment to get her bearings.
There was a room to let, and when the innkeeper came back with a key, he was also carrying a plate of roast beef. “If you’re going to see them, do me a good turn and take this with you.”
“Oh, you must be mistaken. This must be for another party.” Theo hadn’t allowed the flesh of a dead animal to pass his lips for nigh on fourteen years.
“Nay, ’tis bound for your friends. They already finished a plate of beef and liked it so much they called for more. To my mind, my wife’s roast beef isn’t as good as . . .”
Anger drowned out the man’s next ode to his wife’s culinary skills and/or corporeal endowments. HowcouldTheo? It was almost as bad as his having run off with her sister. But on the other hand, was she truly that surprised? Something Olive herself had said to Clementine during Clementine’s first London Season came to mind:Most people will show you who they are if you only watch closely enough.
That observation had been creeping into Clementine’s thoughts a great deal lately, but it had been making her uncomfortable enough that she’d shoved it down every time.
And look where they all were now.
Clementine made her way upstairs gingerly, holding her breath so as not to smell the meat she was carrying. Once inside her room, she crossed to the window, hurled both the beef and the lamb pie out of it, and smiled in grim satisfaction when a pack of skinny cats came running.
She had to steady herself on the windowsill as she straightened. The trip up the stairs had suggested to her that perhaps it had not been shock, or notonlyshock, that had made her unsteady at the bar. She feared the ale had a hand in her discombobulation. She ought to wait until the effects of the drink faded before going back downstairs, but she could not afford to. She had no idea if Theo was staying the night or if he planned to be off again after hissecond helping of dead cow.
Resolved, she upended her satchel on the bed. She pulled out a novel, some dried fruit, and a dress—though she had made her flight from London in men’s clothing stolen from Father’s wardrobe, she had packed a dress in the hopes that once she rescued Olive, she could give up her subterfuge. Beneath the dress, she found what she was looking for—yet another item nicked from Father.
The rage that flowed through her carried her over to a mirror mounted on the wall. She rewrapped her bosoms and buttoned her too-large coat over them, tucked some errant strands of hair into her hat, and slid the flintlock pistol into the back of her breeches.
So perhaps breeches were good for one thing.
She allowed the rage to continue to direct her actions. It carried her down the stairs, through the tap room, and along the corridor lined with private parlors. The door to the last stood partially open.
In novels, this would be the climax. The moment of dramatic tension. The standoff. In novels, this was where somebody would get shot.
It was much easier than that, almost laughably easy. Clementine was able to sidle up to the door and peek in. Olive, and Olive alone, was in her line of sight. Theo was talking. Well, Theo was always talking. But here, now, he wasorating.
What had possessed her sister? Clementine had resigned herself to some of Theo’s more distasteful traits, but Olive never resigned herself to anything unless she absolutely had to.
“So you see,” Theo was saying, “on the Continent, there are other innovative thinkers, men on the vanguard of numerous movements. Having pondered it, I’ve decided a permanent move is in order.”
“You never said anything about that!” Olive cried. “I never agreed to leave England permanently!”
That made Clementine wonder exactly what Olivehadagreed to—and, once again and more to the point,why. Olive had entertained some flirtations last Season, her first, and, by her own account, enjoyed herself immensely—so much so that she’d declared herself disinclined to accept any suits until she’d had one more Season. Even had that not been the case, she could have had her pick of gentlemen who were much less . . . an acquired taste than Theo.
“I’ve decided we will find a warmer welcome for our ideas on the Continent,” Theo said.
“You meanyourideas.”
“All that I have is yours,” Theo said smarmily, and didn’tthatsound familiar? “Just as all you have is mine.” That part was less familiar, Theo not having been so bold as to state his philosophy so overtly to Clementine—at least until that last day.
Olive huffed an exasperated sigh that would seem more in keeping with not having received a coveted party invitation than the potential collapse of her elopement. Clementine supposed she should be relieved that Olive did not seem to bring out Theo’s dark side.
“Don’t sigh at me, Olive!” Theo shouted in concert with the sound of glass shattering. Clementine heard something unsettled beneath the surprise in her sister’s answering shriek.
Therewas Theo’s dark side. Clementine’s pulse kicked up, and her senses sharpened, allowing her to shuck off the lingering effects of the ale. She was that hawk she had seen circling outside, homing in on her prey. She would be damned before Theodore Bull laid a hand on her sister. She laidherhand on the butt of her pistol and crept closer to the crack in the door.
Olive looked over, and Clementine saw real fear in her eyes. She hadn’t seen Olive look like that since the day Mother died. The fear turned to shock as she registered Clementine’s presence. Her eyebrows flew up. Only momentarily, though, before she composed herself and looked away. Then, while Clementine was trying to think what to do, Olive looked back at Clementine and ever so slightly shook her head before turning back to Theo and pasting on a smile. “Theo, darling.” Olive spoke soothingly. “I’m sure you’re right about all of this.” She got up and disappeared from view, presumably going to Theo’s side.
“I should think you would know by now, Olive, that I am possessed of higher-than-average intellect.”
“Of course, my love. That is why I am here, is it not? You’ll have to be patient with me. You know I’ve never been exposed to a man so positivelybrimmingwith ground-breaking ideas.”
