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She vigorously brushed and braided her hair, pinning it on her head and replacing the cap, ignoring him and allowing him time to return to his senses. When she was done, she tossed her brush in her bag and closed it. “Have you learned anything about an inn called the White Hart nearby?” she asked. She had to crane her neck in order to look up and see his face. Gracious, but the man was tall.
“About that,” he said after clearing his voice. “I did make a few inquiries this morning. Apparently there is a pub called the White Hart a mile or so from here, not to mention an inn called the White Hart farther north on the way out of Barnet. Popular name hereabout, it would seem. I’ve arranged for us to have breakfast in a private dining room downstairs, after which we will assume your friends went to the inn, and I shall take you to them.”
“I don’t require—”
“But I insist, Miss Fernley,” he said, holding up a hand to silence her. “After the unique circumstances that threw us together last evening, I feel honor bound to see you safely to your friends. A gentleman would do no less, nor would your nearest male relative allow you to continue on your way unescorted—even an honorary male relative such as I.” He grinned briefly.
His words and humor squeezed Lavinia’s heart. Her father had been the only real family she’d ever known, not that he’d been a good father—quite the contrary—and he’d been gone for over three years now at any rate. She could barely remember her mother. “I have imposed on you too much already, Mr. Jennings.”
“Nonetheless, I will see you reunited with your friends.” He picked up his saddlebag and slung it over his shoulder, then paused. “I do understand now why you chose to travel incognito last night; the cap alone is a definite necessity if you wish to remain anonymous. Your hair is . . . er,vividand clearly recognizable. I am glad you chose to forego the face paint this morning, however. You are exceedingly lovely without it.” He opened the door for her and then picked up her bag. “After you, Mrs. Jennings,” he said.
Ruby Chadwick would have flirted and teased away his comment, but Lavinia, as herself, could not. “Thank you,” she said as she passed him on her way through the door, and then they continued on along the corridor and down the stairs of the inn to the private dining room he’d arranged for them.
She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake in choosing not to wear the cosmetics today. She was counting heavily on the fact that they would soon leave London behind them and that Mr. Jennings was correct in saying her disguise had drawn attention to her rather than maintain her anonymity.
She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake in trusting Mr. Jennings’s words. She had only his honorable behavior of the night before to go on, and if there was anything Lavinia had learned in her twenty-four years, it was that men ingeneral were not to be trusted and eventually showed their true colors.
