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“Hannah’s good, but she doesn’t like to be rushed, if you see what I mean, Mr. Jennings.”
Lucas loomed even closer, forcing the old man to shrink back. “One hour, Mr. Drake. One. Hour.”
Mr. Drake nodded his head vigorously. “I shall do my best, sir. You have my word.”
“Just make sure that it happens,” Lucas snapped. He felt as if he were acting in a farce at the moment. “Go see to the food and the iron,” he said.
“Right. Food, iron, and rags.”
“Now you’re beginning to think straight,” Lucas said. He pulled one of the chairs—the one his breeches had been draped across—a few feet from the fireplace and sat.
“I shall return shortly,” Artie announced.
Lucas waved a hand in his direction.
“Decorum it is from here on out,” Artie added.
Lucas said nothing.
“And privacy.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Drake.”
The key in the lock turned, and the door opened and closed.
Lucas slumped in the chair and closed his eyes. It had been an exhausting day after an uncomfortable night with little sleep. He wanted to crawl into bed but didn’t dare—not while the women had his clothing. Lucas didn’t relish waking up hours later to find his trust misplaced, his traveling companions gone, and his clothing missing in action.
Closing his eyes in an overwarm room was not a good idea, he thought drowsily.
A knock at the door awakened him with a start. Blast, he’d fallen asleep, he thought as he tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain. If he were still in Spain, he would be dead by now.
The person on the other side of the door knocked again. “Supper, as was ordered,” a female voice called.
He lunged to his feet, grabbed a blanket off the bed, and wrapped it around himself before opening the door. He wasn’t about to miss supper, regardless of his fatigue or lack of attire.
“Over there, please,” he gestured to the red-faced serving girl, who hurriedly set down the tray and exited with the quickest curtsy Lucas had ever seen, not that he blamed her.
He quickly polished off the surprisingly decent mutton stew and bread, then placed his dishes outside the door, unwrapped himself from the blanket, and proceeded to make himself a bed on the floor.
Mr. Drake was an odd old duck—a fitting play on words—but he seemed harmless enough. Miss Broome huffed and puffed about but reminded Lucas more of his own old nurse than a sinister character. And while tiny Miss Weston definitely had a devious streak, she was too old and frail to be much of a threat.
Now, Lavinia, on the other hand . . . She was an entirely different matter. She was still traveling in disguise, for one thing. She was also much younger than Lucas had originally thought—most likely in her midtwenties, if he were to venture a guess—only a bit younger than himself. Despite her young age, however, she was definitely the leader of their little group. What had brought them all together was still a mystery, but he was developing a theory. And soon enough, he would put his theory to the test.
His traveling companions were an entertaining lot. And if they made off with his clothes? Now that he’d eaten and was feeling more rational, he realized that if they did abandon him, his situation wasn’t the end of the world, for he still had his saddlebag, which now held his money, and there was enough to see him to some clothing and boots if necessary. He would get the innkeeper to assist him in the purchases.
At any rate, Lucas was fairly confident now that Mr. Drake would return soon enough with his clothes in tow.
He lay on one side of the blanket and pulled the rest of it over him on the floor, his saddlebag at his side for safety’s sake; he wasn’t an utter fool. He plumped the pillow beneath his head, sending a few goose feathers from their confines and floating past his eyes. How had he ever managed to sleep this way during all his years in the army? Even with the brief nap, he was exhausted.
He punched the pillow again and swatted more feathers from his face. The plain truth was that one simply learned to deal with one’s circumstances. Just as he was going to have to do when he reached home and faced his family—and Isobel.
He had done everything in his power to suppress any thought of her during his years in the army. Isobel, with the golden, blue-eyed looks of a porcelain doll. She had gazed at him adoringly when they were children; she had made him feel strong and manly, even as a boy. Their childhood friendship had blossomed into youthful love, and they had vowed to love each other forever.
Oh, Isobel, he thought as his eyes drifted shut. And then he thought no more.
* * *
“Whaton earthwere you thinking, Artie?” Lavinia stopped pacing the small confines of the room long enough to direct the question to him with a good deal of emphasis. “We’re supposed to look likenormalpeople, and a normal person doesnotallow ladies to enter a room where gentlemen are . . . are . . .” She waved her hand up and down, trying to come up with the proper word and failing—not that it mattered. They were all perfectly aware of what Lucas’s state had been.
