Page 16 of The Lady’s No Angel

Comprehension dawning, the fellow’s eyes widened, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Oh, I see, my lord is travelling incognito?”

Hart sighed. “That’s the ticket, so if you would address me as Mr Cleaver.”

“Certainly, my l—I mean, Mr Cleaver,” Mr Kimble replied with an indulgent chuckle. “You will have your little joke.”

“Not a joke, precisely, I’d just rather keep a low profile.”

“Not a problem at all, sir. You’ll have your usual room?” he asked, brightening at the prospect of his finest room being let, for Hart was a generous patron and wasn’t shy about spending the readies.

Hart considered this and shook his head. “No. Something average. Like I said, I don’t want to draw attention.”

“Average, sir?” Mr Kimble echoed, looking appalled.

Hart regarded him steadily. “Incognita.”

“Yes, sir,” the fellow said despondently.

“I’ll be dining with friends this evening, so give us a good spread, and I’d like a bath as soon as you can arrange it,” Hart added, feeling sorry for the man. He considered ordering a bath for the ladies but suspected it would get him in more hot water than it would them if he were so presumptuous. “But do me a kindness and send the bill on to my man of business. I’m a little er… light in the pocket at present.”

Brightening perceptibly, Mr Kimble nodded. “Certainly, sir.”

“One more thing,” he added. “The friends I will dine with tonight are respectable females. Very respectable. You will ensure they are well treated but charge them a reduced fee for their stay. I’ll cover the rest. They’re a little sensitive about their finances. I’m sure I can rely on your discretion in this, Mr Kimble.”

The fellow puffed himself up, preening a little at this welcome observation, which was entirely true, to be fair. “Oh, indeed you can, my—Mr Cleaver.”

Satisfied, Hart allowed Mr Kimble to show him to his room, ordered a bottle of claret, and set about tidying himself up to dine with the ladies.

Chapter 6

Guard Dogs and Other Complications

The Rose and Crown, Tonbridge, Kent, 7th April 1816

Angel gazed at her reflection in the small hand mirror she had brought with her and sighed, remembering all the pretty gowns and bonnets she had left at home. She told herself not to be so foolish. What did she care if Mr Cleaver thought her dowdy? What he thought of her was a matter of complete indifference.

Liar.

Still, Milly had done a decent job with her hair, and if her green gown was now rather rumpled, it did fit rather well over her bosom, which was definitely one of her assets. Oh, stop it!

Crossly stuffing the mirror back into her carpetbag, Angel’s fingers met the soft cloth that she had wrapped around her pistol. Her dagger was in there too. Whilst this was a respectable inn, one never knew what kind of people worked in such places. If they poked about in her things, they might think it odd for a young lady and gossip about her, worse, they might take them.

So, she carefully wrapped both her dagger and pistol and then looked for a place to tuck them. As she moved, a floorboard creaked beneath the threadbare rug. She knelt and turned the corner of the rug back to expose the loose board. Perfect.

Satisfied that the items were out of sight of prying eyes, she turned to Milly, who had been occupied with putting on her stockings. Now she stood, smoothing down her skirts, her expression one of concern. Angel smiled as Milly looked up and noticed her watching.

“Are you ready, Mrs Pettigrew?”

Milly pulled a face. “I don’t know. Do I look fine enough to dine in such a fancy place? Is my hair all right?” she fretted, patting it with anxious fingers.

“Perfect,” Angel replied with a reassuring smile, for Milly seemed to have got herself in something of a lather about this evening. “You look lovely. Now stop worrying, its only dinner, and the place is not so fancy as all that.”

Still, Angel wished now she’d been more forceful about their choice of inn. Mr Cleaver might not worry overmuch about how much he spent, but she had to be more cautious. A place like this would cost more than she had bargained for. Still, if it came to it, she might find a card game and win some money that way, though how to do so in a respectable environment would certainly be a challenge. Whilst she was fully committed to the challenge Pops had set her, she was not eager to ruin herself in the process.

Locking the bedroom door behind them, Angel and Milly made their way across the landing, the smoky sconces flickering as they passed. A baby cried fretfully from behind a closed door, and the muffled sounds of an argument echoed from another as they reached the narrow stairs, taking care on the uneven treads. The distant murmur of voices below grew louder as they descended. When they reached the bottom, they stood to the side as a harassed maid bustled past with a tray loaded with empty plates, murmuring apologies as she went.

“Smells good,” Milly murmured as they approached the dining room. “You know, before last night, I ain’t never ate a meal I didn’t cook myself. Leastways not since my ma passed on.”

Angel took Milly’s arm and smiled at her. “I’m glad you are enjoying our adventure. I worried that you were wishing me to perdition.”