“We’ll have cheese and bread as well, and make sure my servants have the same, too. We have quite distance to travel today. Oh, and don’t forget the cat, Mr. …” Sir Ian lifted his eyebrows.
“Hobbs, sir, just plain Hobbs. I am the proprietor of this here Pig and Piper.”
Sir Ian dismissed the man with a courteous nod.
After more bowing, the host backed out.
“Do you often hide scruffy pets under your cape?” Sir Ian indicated one of the armchairs to Rose.
“It’s the perfect place for Merry,” she answered in a serious voice. “I can’t go anywhere without her. Do you think she is scruffy? We shall have to do something about that, shan’t we, dear Merry?”
“A less merry cat I have never seen. She looks half wild and certainly starved.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Sir Ian, for ordering a meal for her. Soon, I shall have to look and see if she is a she or a he.”
He almost smiled back. “A stray ‘he’ would be scarred. I would bet she is a she.” He lifted up the cat by the scruff of the neck and checked while the highly offended cat tried to bat him away. “She is a she. Why Merry? I would call her Bedraggled if I had the naming rights.”
“I’m an optimist. If I call her Merry, she will live up to her name. Won’t you, my sweet?” she said, holding the cat to face her. “I wonder what one does about her fleas?”
Sir Ian glanced heavenward as he slung his coat over a wooden chair. He placed his hat on the seat. Rose couldn’t bear to give up her gloves and cape just yet, with the fire barely flickering. The cat, somehow, had saved her from Sir [KW8]Ian’s disregard. During the journey he had deliberately snubbed her. Now he was tolerating her. Soon he wouldn’t be able to let her go. She swallowed, knowing she was being fanciful but she had always been an optimist.
Their two estates being proximate, Rose had known Sir Ian, but not well until after he had returned from Waterloo. Newly repatriated and still recovering from his injuries, he told her father he had returned a changed man, determined to take his place in parliament where Papa spent the greater part of the year. One night soon after he had taken his seat, he stayed for a meal to continue a discussion that interested both men.
Having recently made her debut, Rose was seated beside the hero for dinner, and her nineteen year-old self had been caught by the magnetism of the pale invalid. He treated her father with respect, he charmed her mother, and he patiently explained that the soldiers who fought in the battle of Waterloo had been heroes, every one of them. He was honored to have been singled out with a knighthood. His voice had thinned, and she hoped no one else would ever put him through the same questioning again. By the end of that night, she was completely besotted with him.
Since he never treated her as anything other than a young female person, she had no recourse but to flaunt her suitors, a very poor tactic, since they also had a tendency to worship at his shrine. He began teasing her about her worshippers rather than joining the ranks. Every time she tried to separate herself from the younger set, Sir Ian stared at her as though she was a child trying to imitate her elders. And every one of her suitors asked him about the battle, and he treated every questioner with the same careful patience as he showed the one before.
During the year, to prove to him that she would be a capable and mature wife, she had demonstrated her household skills, showing how efficiently she organized the indoor servants, how she could manage events, and she made sure the servants catered to every one of his needs. And instead of trying to make him see how many other men wanted her, she attempted to dispose of her suitors. Her mother had begun to despair of her. She was almost at the stage of despairing of herself.
Since she had tried and failed to lure Sir Ian, her best chance was to seduce him. This had proved puzzling in the coach this morning and now she had taken ownership of the cat. Nothing would annoy a gentleman as much as a cat-lady, but she couldn’t leave the poor thing to be thrown out in the cold, and starve.
The cat’s meal arrived first, via a young kitchen maid wearing a clean cap and apron. She put the dish of meat scraps by the fire and settled a plate of milk nearby. “Your meal is almost done, my lady,” she said in a careful voice. “And sir. My name is Susie.” She bobbed a curtsey to Sir Ian. “They wasn’t expecting trade today. The snow took them all by surprise. I was supposed to be making butter but had to come up from the farm to help for the day.” She backed toward the door, smiling at her feet.
“Yes, it does sound a little more noisy out there. Thank you for feeding the cat for us,” Rose said impulsively. “She is so hungry.”
Susie raised her gaze. “I have been feeding that cat for two days.”
Rose lifted her eyes heavenward and drew a deep sigh. “Surely you don’t think this is your cat?” She tried to sound haughty but she couldn’t keep the cat if someone else loved her.
“No, ma’am. She’s a stray.” The maid smiled and scurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Now a proud new cat owner, Rose put Merry in front of the dishes. Merry glanced suspiciously back over her shoulder before making a careful selection and choosing the milk first. When she had neatly emptied the dish, she started on the meat, eating so fast that Rose took the dish half-finished and placed it on the mantle. “It’s for your own protection,” she said in her mother’s voice. “You’re being too greedy and I don’t want to have to ask Sir Ian to wipe up the mess if you vomit.”
“Good God,” he said, standing in front of the fading fire to warm the back of his breeches. “Now you think your stray is my responsibility.”
“Your equal responsibility, and you are hogging the heat. I’ll never be able to get warm enough to remove my cape.” With that, she stripped off her gloves and stuffed them into her tapestry bag.
“I suspect that’s a hint for me to find more firewood. Stay in your cloak, and I’ll see what I can do. Since they’re busy out there, they have more than likely forgotten.”
His ‘doing’ consisted of leaving the room and returning with a boy holding an armload of wood. “I’ll stoke the fire,” he said to the lad.
The lad left and the fireplace was filled. Soon the wood started to crackle and the room began to heat. Rose put the struggling cat and the dish back on the floor. Merry only ate another bite and then she frowned at Rose, who picked her up again. “I can see you are going to be a demanding little puss, expecting me to cuddle you forever. Well, I will until you ask me to stop, because you keep me warm, too. There, I can take off my cape, now.” She glanced at Sir Ian, who silently took the cape from her shoulders and put the fur with his coat on the chair.
She settled back into the armchair with the cat. Sir Ian took up his position by the fireplace, his elbow on the mantle. She could feel his gaze on her, but somehow she couldn’t glance up at him. Instead she kept stroking the cat, whose tiny bones began to quiver under Rose’s fingers. “We’re expecting the snow to stop, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
Even as Sir Ian spoke, the sky outside the small window began to darken. Had not the male voices echoed from the taproom, the whole world would have been lost in a thick silence. “What if it doesn’t?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” He looked serious.
She dropped her gaze. “I suspect most of those noisy men are locals. I haven’t seen a carriage arrive since yours. I think we ought to book rooms for the night before the place fills to the eaves.”
He heaved a sigh. “Do you have any more orders for me to relay?”
“None I can think of at the moment.” She tried to soothe the fur on Merry’s twitching pelt.
Fortunately, the food began to arrive, bread and butter first, with a jug of ale and two mugs. Sir Ian poured himself a drink and glanced at her. “Would you like a mug of this?”
Having never tried ale, she said, “Of course I would. Sit here, by the fire, Merry, and keep my chair warm. I am about to be seated at the table for a feast.�
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Sir Ian pulled out a rickety chair for her. As she settled, an enormous plate of sliced meats arrived. Unused to eating large meals this early in the day, she glanced at the dish in horror, but the divine smell of roast beef was too much for her. Next came a dish of assorted vegetables, carrots, parsnips, artichokes, and peas. Sir Ian filled a plate for her and another for himself. She quaffed her ale and her cheeks warmed. “It’s horrible,” she said, “quite bitter, but not too hard to become accustomed to.”
He glanced carefully at her, and ate. Somehow the jug emptied and Susie came back. “Shall I take the dishes, my lady?”
Although Rose quite enjoyed being called my lady, she was Miss. She opened her mouth to say so, but Sir Ian stared at her, and she decided not to let the ale make her too chatty. “Thank you, Susie. Do you know how to get rid of fleas on cats?”
“At home, we gives them a lavender bath once a month, ma’am. Cats get miserable with fleas, and our cats are needed on the farm because of the mice that eat the grain.”
“Sir Ian will give you a shilling if you bring me a cat bath with lavender and a towel.”
Susie glanced at Sir Ian with a query on her face.
“Sir Ian will give you two shillings to bathe the cat for his lady.” He frowned at Rose.
Perhaps the ale had caused her to mention his name when he hadn’t done so himself. She waited for Susie’s quick nod and her promise to get the cat when all the meals had been served. “Mrs. Hobbs would have fits if I starts boiling water when we still have pies to make.”
Sir Ian glanced at the window again. “The weather doesn’t look too promising. Susie, could you send Mr. Hobbs to me when he has a moment?”
Susie nodded, took the dishes and left.
Mr. Hobbs arrived within a moment. “You enjoyed your meal, I see,” he said, rubbing his red hands together.
“Indeed. I hope we don’t need to stay, but in case this snow persists, I would like to book three rooms for the night.”
“Three?” Mr. Hobbs shook his head. “I have three bedrooms upstairs for guests in all, sir. I have already booked two. My wife and me live downstairs with the maids, and the lads sleep in the barn. Most of my customers are local and will go home. I have, in fact, only one room available.”
Sir Ian remained expressionless. “I will take the last room. In the meantime, will you tell your two customers that I am willing to pay them to give me the others?”
“I can, sir, but they’re not here yet. I doubt they would be willing to go elsewhere in this weather.” Mr. Hobbs turned and left.
“Are you taking the last room for me, Sir Ian? If we stay, where will you sleep?”
“I am imagining that if we are stuck here, and I’m yet not sure we are, I can buy the other rooms, one for me, and one for my driver and my groom.”
“Oh.” Rose swallowed. “You will probably have to pay Susie to sleep with me, too, to protect my reputation.”
“Of course.” He glanced at her as if she had suddenly developed a rash.
Rose sat and silently prayed that her reputation could somehow be lost, but she smiled sweetly. “It would be a shocking thing if a hero of Waterloo was found to have compromised the daughter of his favorite neighbor.”
Sir Ian heaved a breath. “I have carefully avoided using your name and mine. I have called you ‘my lady.’ Eventually, if we stay, at no time will your name be mentioned. You will remain uncompromised unless you do something to change the situation.”
She glanced at the cat. The cat had adopted a carefully nonchalant expression, apparently agreeing that changing the situation would be a very wise move.
* * * *
Despite the cold, Ian was unaccountably warm. He had discovered, after closely questioning Mr. Hobbs, the only other places he had available for the night were in the feed storage area attached to the stables. Ian’s driver and groom would use the space, if need be. Ian had been assured the place could be made comfortable with quilts and pillows. Ian had resigned himself to spending the night in his carriage, having inspected the sky minutely.
Snow still fell steadily but the rapidly darkening clouds in the distance warned of more to come. The closest inn was possibly ten miles away, but the closest inn would be little better than this one. Every traveler on the road today would have been taken unawares by the weather and every inn would be full, a true Christmas story.
Fortunately, his female travelling companion was not large with child. He tried to imagine beautiful Rose in that condition, and envied the man who would eventually have the right to hold her in his arms at night. Before today, he had kept his distance, knowing she was smart as well as charming, in fact, a trap for any man who was prepared to put his needs in front of his duty. When Ian married, he would need to choose a woman who would suit his political aspirations, not a frivolous young beauty.
Not ten minutes ago, the cat had been delivered clean and shivering to Rose. After being warmed by the fire, the cat slunk back onto Rose’s lap. Being confined to one room didn’t appear to worry either of them. “I wonder if I have a pack of cards in my bag,” Rose said to the cat. “Oh, yes, I do. Do you want a game?”
He lifted his gaze and saw that she was speaking to him and not the cat. “I think it’s time I collected more logs for the fire while you two play cards.”
Rose laughed. He had seen her smile, and he had heard a quick giggle from her, but he never seen a fully stretched, uncontrolled shout of laughter from her before. Her whole face lit with happiness. If she had been beautiful before, she was now magnificent. His chest thickened. No right-minded parent should leave this reckless charmer without a chaperone.
And no man who wanted his heart left unguarded would have deliberately packed off his valet, separately. He would have to plead complete and unmitigated idiocy.
However, he couldn’t stand around being besotted when she was clearly cold. The supply of chopped wood at the back door of the inn had dwindled to nothing.
Flakes of snow gathered on his eyelashes as he trudged through the drifts to the pile of logs behind the stables. He heard a coach, groaning and creaking, pulling to a halt. Harnesses jingled, horses stamped, and shouts shared by more than two men told him that at least that number, with servants, had arrived, more than likely the expected guests. He hoped their servants were also expected, since his would be occupying the last cramped space in the hayshed. However, distribution wasn’t his responsibility. He now had a greater problem. No bedroom.
Piling the logs into his arms, and with the melting snow dripping from his hair onto his shirt collar, he twisted his way through half closed doors back into the private room. Two untidy gentlemen wearing ill-fitting coats stood over Rose. Both turned when Ian entered. “Good,” the taller of the two said, showing crooked front teeth. “Put the wood there, man.” He stood aside while the other male, shorter, wider, and with mottled red skin continued his ogling of Rose.
“Thank you, dear,” Rose said, looking unconcerned. “We haven’t introduced ourselves, yet, but these two gentlemen say they were directed to this room. My husband, Sir Ian Temple, will explain the situation, sirs.”
Ian put his logs exactly where he pleased, one of which happened to drop onto the toe of the taller man. He straightened. “My apologies, sir,” he said with an inclination of his head.
At that moment, Mr. Hobbs came rushing into the room. “Can’t fit another soul into the inn tonight. I hope you don’t mind, sir, but you will have to share this parlor with Mr. Smith and Mr. Gray, who will be occupying the other rooms upstairs tonight.”
Ian made one last resolute try. “Gentlemen, would you be willing to let me pay for your rooms upstairs so that my lady can have a comfortable night with our servants close by?”
“What other accommodation do you have, Hobbs?” The fat one narrowed his eyes at the host, using his tongue in his cheek to help him consider.
“None, Mr. Gray, sir. You could sleep in this room.” Hobbs raised two hopeful shou
lders. “We could put the armchairs together for you . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Oh, I don’t think we could do that to these dear gentlemen.” Rose gave Hobbs her blinding smile. “We couldn’t take three rooms and leave them with no place to sleep.”
“That’s very generous of you, my dear,” Ian said through his teeth.
“I know,” she said, fixing her gaze firmly on his. “But we have each other, darling, and these poor gentlemen shouldn’t be put out for our servants.”
“Very well said, ma’am.” Mr. Gray turned to Ian. “Your wife is not only beautiful. She is also charming, you lucky dog. Now, Hobbs, what do you have in that kitchen of yours?”
“If you don’t mind, sir. Today we have more patrons than we can hold, and the kitchen is stretched to the limit. We would need to serve all your meals at the same time,” Hobbs finished with a rush.
“Of course,” Rose said, unwisely taking responsibility for the catering. Ian would prefer not to share his eating board with two men who looked far from wholesome. “In the meantime, sirs, would you like a game of cards?”
Ian lifted his gaze heavenward. This woman would be the death of him.
“Don’t mind if I do, my lady.” Mr. Gray settled himself into one of the hard chairs, gazing expectantly at Rose. “Primero?”
“Why not?” she said as casually as any card sharp. “We will play for woodchips. See? My dear husband has found quite a few in the wood basket.”
“Woodchips?” Trying to repress the expression of outrage on his face, Mr. Smith slid himself opposite Mr. Gray.
Rose blinked innocently. “Woodchips.”
While Ian wondered if she had been deliberately dense, he grabbed up a handful of woodchips letting Rose chose which man she would prefer to sit beside. She chose Gray, leaving Ian with Smith. Being particularly bad at the game, she lost her woodchips, which Ian wanted for the fire, anyway, and then she gracefully left the strangers with her cards on the pretext that the cat needed her lap. This was the Rose Ian was used to, charming, helpless, and beautiful, not the funny sweet person she had been for the hour or so previously.
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