They rowed through a heavy mist to reach the wharf and, as Rafe helped Alix up, he explained that they would stop at a little inn just up the street for some tea while Jervis arranged for a coach to take them up to London. As they walked, the mist began to turn to drizzle and Alix tugged her cloak more closely about her. Glancing about the busy streets she saw others do the same, men pulling their hats more firmly down around their ears, ladies with umbrellas opening them, and those without drawing their shawls around their heads. Rafe pointed out the sign for the inn, just as the drizzle turned to a steady driving rain.
The hem of Alix’s skirt became sodden from the grimy water sluicing past her along the cobblestones. She watched enviously as people ducked into the doorways of their homes, or climbed hastily into their carriages, wondering if it was possible for her to look or feel any more bedraggled. As if in answer, two elegantly clad women with a small boy in tow dashed into a doorway. Casting a charming smile at Alix, the little boy quickly turned and stamped his foot in a puddle, splattering the front of her skirt with mud.
“Oh, darling, look what you’ve done to your stockings,” she heard one of the women fuss, as the door closed behind them.
Rafe glanced down at Alix’s once-smart traveling gown. “It seems we’ll need to visit a seamstress as soon as we reach London,” he said reassuringly. “But for now, let’s see if we can’t get you warm and dry. As luck will have it,this is our destination.” He held open the inn door through which the women and the boy had passed.
The walls inside were white, the ceiling beams low and darkened by decades of smoke. A fire burned in the large stone hearth and groups of people sat around tables covered in good linen, talking and laughing over plates of food. Rafe whispered in her ear, “This place is famous for its scones, people come from London just to try them. I’ll make certain they have a plate waiting with our tea.”
As she surveyed the room, it struck Alix that the customers seemed more upscale than she would have expected in a busy seaport. Though there were a number of men who looked to be sea captains and merchants, there were a quite a few more dressed in the fine wool and silks of the quality. Groups of tastefully clad women, who appeared fresh from a day’s shopping, chatted over tea, exclaiming over the contents of prettily wrapped parcels.
Rafe cast a worried look at Alix, then at the dining room, then back to Alix, as if noticing for the first time how truly travel-worn her gown appeared. He hadn’t seen any familiar faces among the shoppers, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been recognized. This was not the way he wanted society to meet his bride, he reflected grimly. “I’ll see if I can’t arrange for a private dining room for us,” he said.
He’s embarrassed to be seen with me, Alix thought as Rafe stepped away to speak with the innkeeper. She found herself wishing she could disappear between the cracks of the wide planked floors. Even the serving girls, in their crisp white aprons and mobcaps looked more reputable than she.
“Sweetheart, you may have your soldiers after you’ve had your tea.”
“But I want them now,” Alix heard a child whine. She turned and saw the little boy who’d splashed her staringdefiantly at a heavy-set blonde in a red brocade gown that was too formal for afternoon.
“After tea, dear,” the woman cooed in a tone of strained sweetness.
“Now!” the boy demanded in a voice that threatened to become louder.
The woman glanced around with some embarrassment to see who might be listening to the exchange and as she did so, her eye fell on Alix. She studied Alix briefly then dismissed her with a sniff that suggested a disreputable odor had somehow made its way across the dining room.
The woman turned back to the boy and Alix heard her say, “Very well sweetiekins, you may have your soldiers, there’s a good boy; now let mother and Auntie Harriet enjoy their tea.” She cast another look about then demanded in a piercing tone, “Where is the serving woman with our tea?”
A young girl in a crisp white apron slipped past Alix carrying a tray laden with tea things. Placing the tray down, she carefully but quickly set out cups, saucers, and plates heaped high with cakes and scones. Alix couldn’t help staring, not at the women, but at golden brown scones and the delicately iced cakes. She was, she realized suddenly, ravenously hungry.
As she turned to see whether Rafe had returned for her yet, an overly loud whisper from the woman in the brocade dress reached her ears. “Look at the shabby looking creature that’s come in with Moreham.”
Her companion, a pinch-faced brunette in a canary yellow dress, turned her sharp eyes toward Alix. “Who do you think she is?”
“Well, I haven’t the slightest idea, and I doubt Lady Anne does either,” the blonde said, leaning toward her companion but raising her voice so her words clearly carried. “They say the earl invited Lady Anne to his countryestate and was all set to propose when poof, he hied off to France without a word. The ton is buzzing with the news; everyone was certain his lordship was finally going to come up to scratch. Of course Lady Anne, being the quality that she is, hasn’t said a word, but you know she must be fit to be tied. She isn’t getting any younger.”
Both women were staring openly at Alix now. “Do you think she’s the reason the earl didn’t propose?” the woman in yellow asked incredulously.
The heavyset woman stifled a snort of laughter. “Well, they do say he likes his French pleasures. Perhaps he’s decided to import them now that they’re having all those troubles over there.”
The yellow clad woman tittered. “Well if he did, then the price couldn’t have been too dear. She looks like something the rag vendor cast off.” Both women snickered into their handkerchiefs.
“Oh Georgie sweetheart, don’t eat all those cakes so fast, you’ll get a tummy ache.” The woman in the brocade turned her attention to the boy who was now busily stuffing his face with sweets, and the conversation shifted away from Alix to the importance of a healthy appetite in the young.
Rafe reappeared and led Alix to a private room that had been set with a light repast. She followed, her brain chattering with this latest piece of information about Rafe Harcrest. Or was it the Earl of Moreham? She glared at his broad shoulders as he pulled the chair out for her. All the time he was making love to her he had a fiancée, or something quite close to it, at home. The man was a perfect cad.
He poured her some tea and held out a plate. “Would you care for some cakes, or perhaps some scones with jam?”
What she wanted to do, she thought fiercely, was toupend the jam on his head. Instead, she smiled politely and took a slice of cake.
They ate in silence for a moment, and Alix wondered when and how Rafe would reveal the truth.
“You know,” she said sweetly, “you’ve told me about your sister Elizabeth and your stepmother, but you’ve never spoken about your home. Do you live in London?”
Rafe busied himself with his plate. “I have a place there.”
“Oh,” Alix said, “is it above your shop, or are your living quarters separate?”
“Separate,” he said, “Would you care for more tea?”
