by Gaelen Foley
Lord, what else can go wrong?
The poor Frisians had now spent twelve hours under harness, and as for Paulson, this whole trip was no doubt turning out to be much more than the poor driver had signed on for.
As the coach struggled forward at a crawl, they’d be lucky if they didn’t all freeze to death.
“I am so sorry about this, Paulson,” Serena said with a wince. “I know this was not how you were expecting to spend your evening.”
“Ah, no need to apologize, milady. It’s my duty,” he said, his teeth no longer chattering as he warmed up, though his round cheeks were still red with the cold. “An early snow is not unusual up in these hills. Besides, the weather’s been mad all year.”
“I suppose. You’re kind to say so. This day really hasn’t gone quite as planned.”
He smiled. “Sometimes it just doesn’t, to be sure.”
“Would you like a blanket? His Grace keeps a lap blanket under the bench you’re sitting on.”
“No, I think I’m ready to go back out—I can feel my face again!” With a chuckle, Paulson opened the carriage door a crack, mumbling that the window was frozen shut.
At once the wind gusted in, flinging a load of flurries into the coach.
“I’m ready whenever you want me to come back up there, sir,” the coachman hollered to his master.
“No need,” Azrael shouted back from the box. “There’s an inn ahead. I’ll see if they can take us. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Serena said as Paulson pulled the door shut. The large, hardy man sat there looking uncomfortable at this reversal of roles.
“His Grace was always a dab hand with a coach-and-four,” he said after a moment. “Understands animals. You could swear he reads the horses’ minds.”
Smoothly and surely, Azrael guided the no-doubt-exhausted Frisians under the archway over the entrance to the cobbled yard.
Within the stone walls, the enclosed space was coated with a few inches of snow and crowded with numerous stagecoaches whose passengers, drivers, and horses alike, she surmised, were all stranded there for the night, just like them.
“I do hope they can take us,” Serena murmured.
“I must go assist His Grace,” Paulson said, and jumped out. He shut the door firmly behind him.
Serena waited, peering out the window, unsure if it would be worth her while getting out into snow up to her ankles.
Stable boys ran out carrying lanterns; Paulson checked on the horses while Azrael sought to secure accommodations for their party, though what sort of bribe he offered them, Serena did not know.
She saw a sum discreetly change hands.
Then Azrael marched back to the carriage and opened the door, peering in at her, his cheeks red with cold, his pale hair blowing and tossing in the snow-embroidered wind.
“Good news. They can squeeze the horses in. Let’s hope they can fit us, too.”
Serena quickly grabbed her reticule, pulled her mantle more tightly around her, and moved toward the carriage door.
“Here. You needn’t get your feet wet.” Azrael swept her up in his arms off the edge of the coach where she stood, shoved the door with his elbow, and carried her toward the entrance of the inn.
She held on to his neck, startled but pleased at his gallantry.
His grip was firm, his strides sure. The snow crunched under his feet as he carried her across the yard to the double doors beneath a wooden sign that read The Rose and Crown.
The hanging placard swung in the wind, creaking on its hinges.
The last thing Serena saw over Azrael’s shoulder was the stable boys helping Paulson unhitch the team and lead the spent horses into the stable.
The coachman went with them.
Then Azrael asked her to get the door latch. Their eyes met briefly and held as she reached down to open the door. With that, he stepped over the threshold and into the crowded, chaotic madhouse that was the Rose and Crown.
CHAPTER 12
First Snow
When they stepped inside, Azrael set Serena down on her feet, blinking against the warm light after the wintry darkness outside. His face was still numb from the cold, but he was relieved to have delivered the lady as well as his driver and horses to the safety of the inn.
Unfortunately, one glance around the thronged, noisy taproom dimmed his hopes of finding a room for the night.
The passengers of several stagecoaches, which must’ve been loaded to capacity, had all been stranded there. Azrael wanted to plug his ears against the clamor, and stiffened at the crush of so many bodies jammed into one room.
Everyone seemed grumpy and disheveled. Nearby was a large family with fighting children, a screaming baby, and a harried mother snapping at everyone around her.
An itinerant linen-draper clutched his case of samples, eyeing the baby like he was worried it might throw up all over his wares.
A rotund man nearby had apparently eaten something unpleasant for dinner, judging by the cloud of awful smell around him. The people nearby looked thoroughly disgusted.
At least the half-dozen soldiers loitering in the corner were jolly, though, loud and boisterous, as their breed tended to be. He overheard them telling the serving wench that they were from a Northamptonshire regiment and were on their way home.
Apparently accustomed to the chaos of war, the veterans took the delay in their homecoming in stride and used the opportunity to start getting drunk together.
And who could blame them? They had much to celebrate. Azrael stared a few of them down from across the room, however, when he noted the men eyeing Serena.
“Come along,” he murmured, taking her by the elbow.
The two of them began weaving through the taproom, hoping to find somebody in charge.
The innkeeper’s servants, potboys and serving maids alike, made their way through the crowd of stranded travelers like galley cooks on a ship in the high seas, buffeted about by countless questions, complaints, and requests tossed at them from all directions.
Azrael was beginning to wonder if he and Serena would end up sharing a stall with the horses, a la Mary and Joseph, when he finally managed to capture one of the innkeeper’s lads. “I say, there, young man.”
“Can I ’elp you, sir?” The boy’s tone was polite, but he looked overwhelmed, his eyes rather frantic. He was only about ten, delivering drinks and such to customers.
Azrael rested a steadying hand on the potboy’s shoulder. “Would you kindly point me toward your employer?”
“There’s Mrs. Marney, the landlady.” The lad gestured at a stout woman in an apron, directing traffic near the kitchen door.
“Thank you. Do you know if there are any rooms left in the house?”
“No idea, sir.” The lad shook his head and darted off to see to his duties again.
Azrael took Serena’s hand. She held fast to it as they traversed the crowded taproom. He couldn’t help wondering how she felt now about her earlier notion of taking the stagecoach by herself, for she clung to his hand in a manner that gave him the distinct impression she was desperately glad he was there.
For his part, he couldn’t help taking command of the situation. It was instinctive. Unlike Serena, he was taller than most people in the room, which made it a good deal easier for him to lead the way over to the landlady.
In short order, he managed to get her attention, and inquired about getting a room for the night.
Mrs. Marney knew members of the Quality when she saw them. In a heartbeat, her gaze had skimmed Azrael’s expensive greatcoat, tidy cravat, and gentlemanly bearing, then darted behind him to note Serena’s luxurious cashmere shawl, satin reticule, and velvet bonnet.
“You’re in luck, sir. I’ve just one room left. You and your wife are welcome to it, but I’m afraid it’s the most costly room we ’ave. The only one that ain’t been taken.”
“Of course,” Azrael said. “We’ll take it.”
“Your name,
please?”
“Er, Dane. Mr. and Mrs. Dane.”
Serena glanced up quizzically at him, no doubt confused by the oblique Hamlet reference. It was the first thing that had popped into his mind.
“Let me send my girl up to make sure it’s all ready for you, Mr. Dane. Would you and Mrs. Dane like a cup of warm negus while you wait?”
“Yes, please.” Azrael nodded. But as Mrs. Marney turned to order one of her maids to go prepare the room, he felt a tug on his sleeve.
He glanced down at his “wife.”
“Yes, dear?” he said with a sardonic smile.
“We can’t take their last room,” she said softly.
He stared at her. “Why ever not?”
“There are women here with small children. Babies. That one hasn’t stopped crying. He probably has to nurse, but the mother can’t feed him in front of all these people. Let them take the room.”
Azrael stared at her, startled. “Darling, they can’t afford it.”
“Well?” she said. “Surely neither of us could sleep in comfort knowing these little ones are down here spending the night on hard benches, surrounded by men getting drunk.”
Uncomfortable with crowds as he was, Azrael was flabbergasted by her request. Bloody hell.
Just then, Mrs. Marney returned, beaming. “We’re all ready for you now, Mr. and Mrs. Dane. If you’d like to follow Constance, she’ll show you to your chamber.” The woman gestured at a waiting maid with frizzed blond hair and a frazzled expression.
“Er,” he said, frowning as he hesitated, torn.
“Something wrong, sir?” Mrs. Marney asked.
“My, er, wife would like to offer the room to the women over there who are traveling with small children.”
The landlady’s eyes grew as round as saucers, and frankly, Azrael couldn’t believe he was saying it himself.
“But sir—”
“I’ll pay for it,” he grumbled.
The smile Serena bestowed on him for his begrudging compliance almost made up for it all.
Almost.
He harrumphed while Serena stepped around him to confer with the landlady and Constance the maid, who was as shocked by this change of plans as Azrael was.
“I daresay it will be more peaceful in here for everyone once the children are settled,” Serena said.
“Why, that is remarkably kind of you, Mrs. Dane, both of you.” Mrs. Marney looked stunned. “But if you’re sure, I’ll see right to it.”
“We’re sure.” Serena nodded firmly.
Constance was sent to go and discreetly gather up the two or three women with small children present to advise them that a room had been made available for them.
Azrael watched their expressions. The mothers looked exhausted, and the children were beyond tired, thus the infant’s angry squalling and the two young siblings’ grappling over a toy.
They were obviously poor. Saving up money for a stagecoach trip had probably taken the women weeks. This delay due to bad weather must’ve put them in a position to have to choose between food and shelter while they waited to continue their journey.
The serving maid explained the situation, and the women looked over at him and Serena in shock. One got tears in her eyes. Azrael was too late to tell the maid that he didn’t want any credit for it; he just bowed his head.
The women gathered up their broods and followed the maid out of the taproom, which instantly got a great deal quieter, to everyone’s relief.
When Azrael glanced at Serena, her gaze glowing with pride in him warmed him more than any roaring fire. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks, but he rolled his eyes and shrugged off his good deed, feeling self-conscious.
People all around the taproom were lifting their glasses to him and thanking him for all their sakes.
Where that left him and Serena for the night, Azrael did not know. The two of them glanced at each other and shrugged. What more could he do but gesture at one of the long wooden tables near the hearth? He spotted one whose benches had a few open seats.
“I had no idea you were such a do-gooder,” he murmured wryly as they trudged over and sat down across from each other.
“I’m full of surprises, Mr. Dane. I’m proud of you. See how much calmer it is in here now?”
The soldiers sat down to play cards a few tables away. The linen-draper finally put down his case of samples, and the stinky fellow stepped outside to dispel his gases in the fresh night air, much to the relief of everyone around him.
Paulson came in to inform them the horses were settled in for the night and none the worse for wear. The coachman reported that he had been given a comfortable cot in the long, snug dormitory above the stables for the drivers, footmen, and grooms traveling with their employers. Meals were also brought out to the carriage staff, so he would soon have some supper.
Paulson seemed startled and concerned, however, to hear that Azrael and Serena would have to make do with a bench in the taproom. They assured him they’d be fine. Indeed, it was probably for the best, Azrael reflected.
Spending the night in a bedchamber together could be highly dangerous, as much as the notion appealed.
They told Paulson to get a good night’s rest. Weather permitting, they’d press on in the morning. The remainder of their journey should take no more than two or three hours, provided the roads weren’t covered in ice and snow.
It seemed to take a very long time for Constance to return with their refreshments, but when she finally came over to their table carrying two cups of negus on a tray, she leaned down to whisper some news. “Mr. and Mrs. Dane, my mistress bade me tell you another room’s just become available, if you’d like to have it.”
They looked at each other in surprise, having already resigned themselves to spending the night on the hard bench.
“Yes, that’s excellent news,” Azrael said, then they took their drinks and followed her.
They left the taproom, climbing a creaky staircase all the way up to the top floor of the galleried coaching inn.
“This way,” said Constance.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did this come about?” Azrael inquired.
“Mrs. Marney forgot about the old master chamber until you arrived. We’ve been using it for storage,” Constance explained. “We never get so crowded as we are tonight. Usually, it’s the last room to be let, because it’s our grandest—and most expensive. But you did such a nice thing for those poor women in the taproom, it dawned on her we could ready it up for you two right quick and push some of the boxes out of the way. She wanted me to tell you we apologize for the dust. Me and one of the other girls were just up here giving it a quick tidyin’. It’ll be better than those hard benches downstairs, anyway.”
“We appreciate this,” Serena told her.
“Yes, please give your mistress our thanks.”
“I will, Mr. Dane.” Then Constance opened the door at the end of the hallway and stepped in, holding up her candle to show them into the large chamber with green walls and heavy plum-colored draperies. “I just made the bed up fresh and got the fire started. We should’ve had the room ready before, in truth, but no one ever takes it on account of the price. If you don’t mind ignoring those boxes and crates by the wall there, they’re nothing but extra dishes and table linens and so forth.”
“We don’t mind a bit,” Serena assured her.
Constance smiled shyly and used her candle to light a few tapers in the room. “Can I bring you anything? Busy as we are, I’m not sure the servant bell will bring service right away, but I’d be happy to take your order if you want something to eat.”
“Yes, please,” Azrael said, “your house bill of fare for two will do nicely. And a couple of bottles of wine.”
“Very good, Mr. Dane.”
“Would it be possible to get a bucket of warm water?” Serena asked. “I am desperate to wash up.”
“Aye, ma’am. I’ll let the kitchens know about your supper and then
bring you hot water right away.”
Constance curtsied at the door, but Azrael gave her a shilling before she left. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the coin in her hand.
Azrael caught Serena smiling at him as the girl hurried out.
Slowly, he closed the door after the maid had gone, and they looked at each other, incredulous at their good fortune.
“You see?” Serena teased. “Your kindness was rewarded.”
“My kindness? I wouldn’t have even thought of it if you hadn’t said something about those little screamers.”
# # #
Serena chuckled at his quip, but once Constance had left them alone, acute awareness sparked to life between them, making her self-conscious.
Azrael slipped off his greatcoat and hung it on a wall peg. Serena set her bonnet down on the chest of drawers and took off her loose gray mantle with a weary sigh.
They glanced at each other uncertainly. An awkward silence dropped like a cloak over the room and filled the space between them.
Serena gulped and forced her gaze downward, trying not to stare.
Azrael also lowered his head and turned away, and then seemed inspired to busy himself by taking action. “Perhaps I can coax the fire a bit.”
He marched over to the fireplace and picked up the poker, giving the blaze a few purposeful pokes, pumping the bellows a few times. Then he nodded at the hearthstone. “They’ve left water bottles here to help warm…the bed.”
They exchanged a searing glance at that word.
Serena felt her cheeks redden and did not know where to look. “Perhaps we should figure out where we’re each sleeping?”
He looked startled at the question. “Yes. Yes, of course. You must take the bed, obviously.” He cleared his throat and swept to his feet again. “I’ll arrange myself on this armchair. It looks comfortable enough.”
He proceeded to take hold of the cushioned chair and drag it closer to the fire’s warmth.
Serena bit her lip, since this hardly seemed fair, given that none of this was his fault. “What if you wake me up halfway through the night and we could trade places?”