These shabby accommodations were not the sort Abby had been accustomed to patronizing when traveling with her father. She tried to be receptive to Andres’s choice. Their financial situation was critical, and taking lodging in a private house was a sensible idea.
Still … so many cats?
Abby smiled and held her eyes wide, hoping no one noticed how distressed she was. Then again, she wished she could close her eyes, because closer inspection revealed a layer of dust and cat hair coating every table and cushion. It also didn’t help that apparently there would be fish for dinner. The smell filled the air.
She could feel Andres watching her, judging her. She refused to meet his eyes. He already had enough on his mind without thinking she was being critical.
Even if she was.
He took her arm, and they followed Mrs. Rivers to a small room with two separate beds. “Will this do?” she asked.
“It will be fine,” Andres said.
And it would be, Abby silently vowed. She’d muddle through … but it would have been nice if he had asked her opinion.
“We’ll be taking the morning Mail to Newcastle,” Andres said to Mrs. Rivers. “I believe it leaves early?”
“Oh, yes, earliest,” Mrs. Rivers said brightly. She had picked up one of her cats from a hall chair. It was a fat tabby with a disgruntled expression. She shifted the kitty’s weight from one arm to another. The cat growled its displeasure. “I’ll leave you alone, sir, while I set the table. I can see you are Quality. Who would have thought I’d have the likes of you here under my roof? Such an honor to have you here. Such an honor,” she repeated, backing out of the room. Abby and Andres were alone.
She was exhausted.
Her first action was to sit on the edge of the bed furthest away from the window. There was a meow, and a calico kitten dashed out from under the bed. It raced to the door but turned and froze, as if uncertain what to do, when it saw that the door was closed.
“He acts as if Mrs. Rivers doesn’t receive many lodgers,” Abby observed.
She’d meant the comment to be a lighthearted remark, but it didn’t come out that way. Her nose was starting to run and she sounded more pinched and annoyed than she actually was.
With an angry sound, her husband opened the door for the cat, who scrambled in his rush to leave them. “I need to see to something,” Andres said, not looking at her. He still wore his coat, but he’d lost his hat in the inn in Carlisle when they’d jumped out the window. “I’ll be back.”
Abby did not want to be left alone. “Must you leave?”
He stopped. From where she sat, she could see his jaw tighten. She wanted him to look at her. He didn’t.
“I must,” he said, his voice quiet—and she let him go.
The door shut. She sat still for a long time. She was tired. Defeated, actually. Yesterday she’d been so happy.
Today, she didn’t think she’d ever felt worse, and she sensed that Andres was experiencing the same.
Abby stood. She had to do something. She couldn’t just sit there. What she needed was to wash her face and brush her hair and feel civilized.
As she’d done since the beginning of the trip, she’d layered her clothes; even now she was wearing the day dress with the nightgown beneath it. Abby stripped down, thinking to take a quick sponge bath, and was not pleased to discover there was no water in the pitcher by the wash basin. She dressed again, leaving off her nightclothes, then picked up the pitcher and left the room.
Mrs. Rivers was singing at the top of her lungs from some point in the house. Abby followed the sound, which grew louder as the smell of fish grew stronger. Abby was not surprised to find her hostess in the kitchen cooking their supper. She was surrounded by very hungry, very demanding cats.
Ten of them.
They looked to Abby for support in commanding their dinner. Several jumped down from the chairs or turned from pestering Mrs. Rivers to rub Abby’s legs and yowl mightily.
“Ah, good of you to come,” Mrs. Rivers said. “Supper is almost ready.” She tossed a piece of fish from the pan onto the stone floor. The cats fell on it.
Abby’s stomach churned.
“I was going to wash my face,” Abby said. She held up the pitcher. “And I don’t know how hungry I am—”
“Nonsense, you must eat. You are paying for it. Ah, water! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” Mrs. Rivers took the pitcher from Abby and carried it to a bucket by a door leading to a small garden. She began ladling water as she chattered, “As to food, in these trying times, what with winter upon us, a wise traveler eats when the opportunity presents itself. I’m preparing my special buttered beans.”
Abby didn’t know if she’d like buttered beans. And while the advice was that nourishment was needed, she didn’t know that she could manage one bite surrounded by cats. She took the pitcher from Mrs. Rivers, saying, “I’ll see how I feel later.”
“Very good, missus,” Mrs. Rivers said.
Walking back to the room, Abby reflected that Andres had not used their titles. She was glad he hadn’t. Right now she wanted to be unknown. She needed time to adjust to this new station in life: poor nobility. As she washed with cold water, she decided it was humbling.
She’d just re-donned her day dress when Mrs. Rivers knocked. “I have food,” she said cheerily, speaking through the door. “I thought since you weren’t up to coming to my table, I’d bring a tray to you.”
Abby was tempted to pretend she wasn’t there.
Mrs. Rivers knocked again, and Abby knew pretense would be to no avail. She opened the door. Mrs. Rivers held a huge tray with a dishcloth over the food.
“May I come in?” Mrs. Rivers sang in her happy voice.
“Please,” Abby murmured, but the woman was already walking in. Fortunately no cats followed her.
Mrs. Rivers set the tray on the bed by the window. “Here now, you can enjoy your dinner and not worry for one moment that your husband has gone out without you.”
“He had an errand to run,” Abby said, startled by the woman’s words and her familiarity.
“Oh, you needn’t pretend with me. I was married a good long time, and, like you, to a man who made women look twice, if’n you know what I mean. Much as your own circumstances, there were many who wondered what such a strappin’ good-lookin’ man was doing with the likes of me. My George could have had any woman he wanted … and sometimes he did.”
Abby wasn’t certain she’d heard her correctly. She must have shown her confusion, because Mrs. Rivers nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “My George liked the ladies and they liked him. I know exactly how you feel.”
“I don’t believe you do,” Abby answered, not liking this conversation.
“But I do,” Mrs. Rivers pressed. “Women would stop in their tracks and watch my George walk by. Sometimes I overheard them whispering about how he could have done much better for a wife than myself. You know, someone who was pretty.”
This was not a conversation Abby wanted. It hit her insecurities.
“And George told me he was fond of me just the way I was. Of course it helped that my father owned this house.” She looked around the room with satisfaction. “And as time went by, George calmed down. He thought I didn’t know when he’d snuck out to sample a bit of the neighbors. I could always tell.” The smile left her face. “He’d say he was going to a public house and I would smell the whiskey on his breath … but I knew different. Those women were always after him and he didn’t hesitate to dip his wick whenever he had a chance—”
She broke off as if coming to her senses. “I don’t know what I’m going on about. George has been dead these past ten years and more, God rest his soul. I’d give all I own to have him back, although I sleep better at night now than I did when I had to worry over whose bed my husband was visiting. A man that is so good-lookin’ can be a curse.”
Abby didn’t want to be keeping tabs on her husband all the time … but she also didn’t know
what to do with the sudden rush of jealousy and fear she was feeling.
What if Andres had left her? If he’d thought he could manage better alone? He’d expected her inheritance. If she didn’t have that, what good was she to him?
Her stomach twisted painfully.
Mrs. Rivers didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Enjoy your meal,” she chirped and left the room.
Abby collapsed on the edge of her bed. Darkness had fallen. This small haven against the turbulent events of the day was growing cold. There was no fire in the grate here, no warmth at all save for the light of a single smoking candle on her bedside table.
She didn’t move toward the food or to prepare for bed. She waited for Andres, praying he hadn’t abandoned her.
Or left her for another.
Funny how the night before she’d been mesmerized by what he’d been able to make her feel. She liked being with him. Loved him.
There must have been something about her that was unlovable. After all, Freddie had professed to love her and had chosen another.
She should never have let Andres make love to her. She knew they’d had to consummate the marriage to make it binding, but her feeling right now might have been more independent and less jealous if she’d kept herself separate from him. As it was, she could close her eyes and feel him deep within her.
Abby didn’t know how long she sat there. She didn’t eat. She couldn’t. Her mind conjured one disastrous, terrible scenario after another—all of them including women as beautiful as Lady Dobbins seducing Andres away from her.
And it didn’t feel good. It hurt to be so vulnerable.
It hurt more than when Freddie had left her—
A step sounded outside the door.
“Abby?” Andres knocked lightly on the door, as if he’d been a stranger. The door started to open.
Uncertain, she stood abruptly.
He came into the room. “You are awake,” he said, as if surprised. He took off his coat and tossed it on the bed by the untouched tray of food.
“Shouldn’t I be?” Her voice sounded strained.
He looked very tired, and his hair was disheveled, as if he’d run his fingers through it—or someone else had. He shrugged at her comment. “I had thought after the day we’d had, you would be asleep.”
“I waited for you.”
He nodded as if distracted. “Have you eaten?”
“No … I’m not hungry.”
Andres picked up the towel covering the food and frowned. “I don’t think I am either. Is there water?”
“Yes, in the washbasin.”
He nodded and picked the tray off the bed opposite hers, carrying it over to the bedside table between them. As he passed, she caught a scent of whiskey.
“Have you been to a public house?” she wondered.
His brows came together, as if he was irritated that she should ask. “I have.” He crossed over to the washstand and began undressing.
Abby watched him remove his shirt and fold it. He began washing his face, using the bar of homemade soap on the stand.
She waited for more information or explanation as to where he’d been all this time.
He didn’t offer it.
Turning from him, she started to ready herself for bed, but Abby was not good at holding back questions. They’d been building inside her all evening, making her crazed with curiosity.
Finally, she could take it no longer. She faced him as he sat on the edge of his bed, tugging off his boots. “Where have you been?”
The words burst out of her, carried by overwrought emotions. She sounded shrewish, and she wished that she could have called them back or that she had tempered her tone—but she didn’t like the way she’d felt keeping them caged inside her.
He set his boots aside. “I checked on the Mail times.”
“You were gone quite a while.”
“I had another errand to perform,” he said evenly.
“What sort of errand? One that took you to a pub?”
He muttered something in Spanish under his breath, then answered, “Yes, it did. Now, we are both tired. This has been a hard day. Go to sleep, Abby. We will talk tomorrow.”
“I may not feel like talking tomorrow.”
It was a challenge. She wanted him to talk to her.
His eyes were as brooding as storm clouds. She didn’t waver. She held herself steady.
“I don’t feel like talking now,” he said. “Good night.” He then proceeded to climb under the covers, turn his back on her, and fall asleep.
Abby could have shouted in frustration. She wanted to grab the pillow off her bed and pound him soundly with it.
But she didn’t, because that would have told him she was jealous.
And told herself she was weak.
Instead, she climbed into her own bed, so agitated that she didn’t think she could sleep. But she did. The moment her head rested on the pillow, her eyes shut. Her last thought was that she hated the smell of Mrs. Rivers’s cooking.
Abby woke the next morning to Andres shaking her arm.
“Palomita,” he said gently. “Wake up. We must hurry to board the Mail.”
She moaned her protest. Her eyes felt as if they’d been sealed shut.
“You must wake now,” he insisted. He pulled the covers off her. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. He was already dressed and had taken time to shave.
“Come, Abby,” he coaxed.
She climbed out of bed, and he helped her dress in her layers of clothes, as if she’d been a child and needed the help. Her arms and legs felt as if they had turned to lead. She polished her teeth, tied back her hair, and they set off.
The streets were still dark when they reached the inn yard. The Mail had not yet arrived. Andres purchased a jug of cider and two hot rolls for their breakfast. Abby yawned as she ate.
Of course, with food and awareness came memory.
She was angry at him. She’d almost forgotten.
The Mail arrived. They heard the horn announcing its arrival first. The inn’s ostlers scurried forward with fresh horses. Time would not be wasted changing teams.
Other travelers came to their feet, ready to jump in and take the best seats. Andres grabbed her arm. “It’s going to be a clear day, although a bit cold. We should ride on top. I paid for the seats.”
Here was her chance to let him know she was not pleased with him. “I don’t want to ride on top.”
“But, Abby, you don’t—”
“I don’t want to ride out in the cold,” she said, not looking at him.
“The air will be fresh,” he argued.
“Fine. You have made up your mind. Why ask me?”
Andres took a step away from her. She could feel him looking at her. She offered him her shoulder. He wasn’t the only one who wanted matters his way.
The maroon-and-black Mail coach came thundering into the yard. The driver pulled up and jumped down, seemingly in one movement, then went into the inn while the ostlers changed teams.
“Do you want to sit on top?” she overheard Andres say to some gentlemen.
They weren’t as picky as Abby and gratefully accepted the opportunity.
“I paid extra for those seats,” Andres grumbled.
Abby pretended not to hear him. Maybe next time he would consider her opinion.
Two passengers had been traveling with the Mail and already had their seats. The other passengers at the inn quickly jockeyed for the seats that were left.
Andres took her arm and more or less muscled his way to a corner seat for her. He sat next to her, taking the middle seat—a very uncomfortable position, considering the fact that the other passengers were also good-sized gentlemen. One was a ruddy-faced man, who introduced himself to them as Deacon Daniel. The other gentleman, a thin, nervous type, offered his name as Mr. Barnesworth. He was a clerk and carried papers that were obviously very important to him, since he kept his rather large leather portfolio in his lap at all times.
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The rest of the passengers, including Abby and Andres, kept their names to themselves.
In all there were eight of them crowded into a space that could have comfortably sat six small people.
Abby found herself crushed against Andres’s side. She realized now that he’d created a bit of a haven for her, and she was grateful.
The driver came out of the inn still chewing his food and wiping his mouth. The guard-in-charge jumped down from the boot and hurried into the inn, passing his weapon to the driver.
“Hey there, lads, ready now?” the driver demanded of the ostlers.
They mumbled something that he didn’t like. He walked around the coach, peering in the windows at his passengers. He paused in front of where Abby sat and doffed his hat with a toothy smile—until he saw Andres’s frown. Then he moved on.
“I’m sorry,” Andres muttered. “You should not have to be part of this.”
Abby didn’t answer. She didn’t think she should have been part of this either. “What time is it?”
Andres shrugged. “Around seven o’clock.”
“What does your watch say?” she wondered. Before, he’d always checked his watch when she’d asked what time it was. Now she realized how he’d paid for the tickets. “You don’t have your watch. You sold it.”
He proved her accusation by ignoring her.
Abby hunkered down into her corner, thankful she had the brim of her hat to hide the shame she felt.
The guard came out of the inn. The horses were in their traces. With a snap of the coachman’s whip and a blow on the horn to warn everyone out of the way, the coach took off with a heaving jerk.
Movement didn’t make those inside the coach any more comfortable. Abby leaned her head against the coach’s glass window and pretended to watch the passing scenery. What she was really doing was feeling very guilty.
Andres noticed her withdrawal. “It wasn’t a very good watch,” he said. It was too early in the morning for conversation; he kept his voice very low, speaking in her ear.
She looked up at him. “Did you sell it in the pub last night?”
“It is the best place to go. There is always someone willing to buy something there.”
His Christmas Pleasure Page 15