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Lucas wandered toward the men, who were a little deeper in their cups than they’d been a few short minutes ago, and casually seated himself at a nearby table. He drew his mother’s letter from his pocket and pretended to read it so as not to appear to be eavesdropping on the men and their game. Lucas wanted more information if he was to determine the right approach to take with the new “Mrs. Jennings.”
After several minutes, however, it became apparent that they were merely a passel of spoiled, wealthy young cubs who undoubtedly spent their time in pursuit of pleasure and entertainment and little else. During the course of their conversation, they did mention a few of England’s elites, including Lucas’s good friend Anthony, Lord Halford, but it was done mostly by way of idle gossip. The one who’d seemed to recognize Miss Fernley earlier looked at him suspiciously, Lucas noted.
Lucas tipped his head at him in greeting, making the man scowl, but he returned his focus to the game, which he appeared to be losing.
Nothing helpful to be learned from this pathetic lot.
“Last call, gentlemen,” the innkeeper announced. “I’m locking up for the night.”
The young men held their glasses out to be refilled, and Lucas returned the letter to his pocket and proceeded back to his room, arriving just as two maids did, one carrying a tray of food and the other holding a pitcher of hot water with towels draped over her arm. When Lucas opened the door for them, he saw that Miss Fernley had seated herself in the upholstered chair by the fire and appeared to have fallen asleep.
He held his finger to his lips, and the maids quietly set down the food and water and left. The tray included a loaf of bread, some cheese, and two apples—not precisely a sumptuous feast but enough to curb hunger until morning.
He shut the door with a soft thud.
She jolted at the noise and sat up straight, raising a gloved hand to her face before turning to look at him.
“You’re back,” she said in a voice husky from sleep. She cleared her throat. “I was just wondering when you would . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the tray of food on the table near the door. “Oh. It appears I must have dozed.”
“Yes,” he said. He gestured toward the tray. “I suggest you eat. And then we are going to talk.”
She moved to sit at one of the two wooden chairs next to the table and tugged off her gloves, revealing a large ruby ring. He pointed at it. “It appears I’m a rather generous fellow, giving you such a lavish betrothal ring.”
“Not so generous,” she replied before slicing a bit of cheese for herself. “It’s paste.”
It was a saucy answer from someone in a vulnerable situation, and the ring’s appearance added another curious element to this already curious situation. “May I sit?” He gestured to the other wooden chair.
“Of course you can,” she said. “It’s your room.”
“I’m glad you remember that.” He adjusted the chair so it faced her rather than the table and then sat.
She ignored his actions, however, and, while still keeping her head down, tore a piece of bread from the loaf.
He reached over and tore off a piece of bread for himself, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “Your gentlemen acquaintances are still downstairsand don’t appear to be in any hurry to leave,” he said matter-of-factly. “So unless you plan on tying the bedsheets together and escaping through the window, it appears we are stuck here together, at least for the time being. Unless I simply invite you to leave.”
She stopped chewing. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Whether she was telling him or asking him, Lucas wasn’t sure, but he definitely had her attention. “That remains to be seen, ma’am, but certainly not before you have eaten and had your say.”
She nodded and helped herself to more of the cheese while Lucas pulled out his penknife and sliced up one of the apples.
“Apple?” he asked.
She took the slice he offered.
Her dress, he observed, was a shapeless gray sack that hid her physical attributes. Since Lucas had briefly held those attributes in his arms, he was aware that she was slender but not thin. She still wore her cloak—also gray. Her hair was entirely covered by the ghastly cap she wore, which was overlarge with a huge lace ruffle that also managed to conceal a good share of her face.
From what little of her face he could see, it seemed the sallowness of her skin was due to the use of face paint, which was odd. She had a straight nose and full lips, nothing out of the ordinary, he thought, just the sort of features one would find on many females. Her eyes remained hidden by the cap.
How he, of all the other people in the public dining room, ended up being the one shackled to this drab gray goose of a woman for the night he could not imagine. It might delay his return home, but beyond that, it was simply a bother.
Eventually, she sat back in her chair.
“Have you eaten enough?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
“In that case, you may proceed with your explanation.” He crossed his ankle over his knee and waited for her to speak.
