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“We have sat in the public room before,” Josephine told Emma, settling in the chair in the quiet room. “But I am glad for a little peace just now. I have always loved visiting the inn. You will love their apple tea and biscuits.”
“Do you think I might have stew instead? I think my insides need as much warming as my outer bits.” Isleen moved closer to the little wood-burning metal stove in the corner. She rubbed her hands together to try to warm them. “When do you suppose the air developed such a bite to it?”
The thump of boots on the stairs alerted them to new arrivals, and when the door swung open, Sir Andrew and Simon entered the room. They made their way swiftly to the stove, removing their gloves and hats as they came.
Isleen retreated to the table to sit, narrowly avoiding a brush of shoulders with Simon. He barely looked at her. Whatever had caused his strange silence in her presence, she did not like it. It was as though their blossoming friendship had wilted overnight.
“It doesn’t look good, Josie.” Sir Andrew sat down next to his wife, his forehead creased with concern. “The rain is more ice now, and it’s falling fast.”
Simon released a weary sigh as he sat in the last empty chair, between his sister and Isleen. “Better we are caught in it here than halfway home. Though I can’t imagine the rain will let up anytime soon.”
A woman of middling age entered the room, a tray on her hip and a broad smile making her expression quite pleasant.
“Your lordship. My lady. Sir and miss.” She curtsied before coming further in, removing plates of biscuits from her tray to the table. She put down a large, hot teapot, too, above a small tea candle. Then she put cups before them. She moved with efficiency and energy.
“Mrs. Bloom.” Lady Josephine leaned forward with a friendly look. “It is so good to see you. How are you? How is your family?”
“We are well and happy, my lady. And sure happy to have you here again.” She nodded to the large window overlooking the street. “Especially if it means keeping you out of that unpleasantness. What would His Grace say, if you’d have tried to make it up the hill in that?” She tsked and swept to the fire, opening the little door to add in more wood. “What more can I bring to the table for you, sirs and ladies?”
“Have you any hot soup or stew?” Josephine asked before Isleen could. “Perhaps rolls? You have always made such delicious rolls.”
“Don’t be lettin’ your fancy cook find out you like ‘em so much,” Mrs. Bloom said, her cheeks turning pink. “After word got to him how you felt about my gingerbread, he came down the hill in a huff, wantin’ to exchange recipes.”
Sir Andrew laughed. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want a visit from him again.”
“Oh, he’s all bluster, but he scares my daughters somethin’ fierce.” She chuckled. “We’ve a nice roast beef stew and fresh bread. I’ll bring you up a fine, hot meal in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Josephine nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Bloom.”
Then the four of them were left to themselves, though they heard the sounds of conversation drifting up from the room below. The crackle of the fire, the room growing warmer, gave Isleen reason to relax into her chair.
A gust of wind blew the rain into the window, and it crackled as ice met glass. The daylight dimmed, and Simon and Andrew both frowned at the window.
“I haven’t seen weather turn this fast in ages,” Simon murmured, pushing his hand through his damp hair. “Do you remember the storm a few years ago? We were stuck up at the castle for days.”
Andrew nodded grimly, but Josephine glowered at her brother. “Are you worried we will be trapped at the bottom of the hill instead? Come, Simon. Stop looking so morose. Even if it is a terrible inconvenience, we are warm and safe. We will be fed. And even if it takes a day or two before we can get back up to Clairvoir, we will return unharmed.”
“You are too chipper about this, Josie.” When Andrew spoke, his tone was strained, and it was only then that Isleen took a closer look at his concerned expression. There was a tightness about his eyes, a tense look to his posture, that spoke of more than worry. There was a protectiveness there, too.
Isleen glanced at Simon, wondering what he made of this exchange. His eyes were averted to the window, his brow drawn down, his lips pressed tightly together. It seemed he was either as worried as his friend or else preoccupied by something else entirely.
To be sure, it was sweet to see a man so protective of his wife. But something niggled at Isleen’s thoughts that told her there was more to it than that.
“And you are too dour.” Josephine’s smile softened. She laid her hand over her husband’s on the table. “I am well and unworried, Andrew. I promise.”
Mrs. Bloom appeared again, with a much younger version of herself following behind. “Beth, put the cutlery in place like I’ve shown you.”
The girl beamed at her mother before putting on a frown of concentration. She laid out spoons, forks, knives, and squares of linen while her mother came behind her with bowls of thick, meaty stew. Another girl, older than the first, came into the room with a basket full of rolls and a dish of butter. After they arranged the feast on the table, they disappeared again.
Simon moved first, taking the basket of bread and offering it first to his sister and then Isleen, before helping himself and passing it to Andrew. It was the longest Isleen had ever heard him remain silent. Not that he chattered overmuch, normally, but he usually made at least some attempt at conversation.
“Has the weather frozen your tongue, my lord?” Isleen asked, her voice soft even though only the four of them were in the room, and all three of her companions had certainly heard her question. “Or are you unwell? I cannot think why else you would stay so silent.”
His lips briefly quirked upward, but the smile died before it truly formed. “I have a lot on my mind.”
The unspokenand I am keeping it to myselfmade her heart sink. Had she done something to offend him? Surely, he could not be upset with his friend or sister. Given the look the married couple exchanged, heavy with concern, they didn’t understand the reason for his quiet either.
Silly Isleen, she told herself as she spread butter on her bread.Not everything is about you. If a duke’s heir has a lot on his mind, as he says, it’s likely to do with his position in the world. Not an Irish interloper.
