The Innkeeper's Daughter

by Michelle Griep

  A round of, “Hear, hear!” circled the table like a chant.

  “And to you, my fine fellow and soon-to-be cousin-in-law.” Robbie angled his cup toward Alex, the flush of his face indicating he’d had more than enough wine already. “May you find satisfaction with the prize that is sure to be yours.”

  Most guests smiled and tipped back their glasses, but a few brows scrunched at the cryptic tribute, wheels spinning fast to figure it out. Only he and Louisa could possibly know the meaning—and she gave the loudest, “Hear, hear!” of all.

  Not to be outdone, the viscount stood. The movement—or perhaps his glower—drove Robbie back to his chair.

  Lord Coburn cleared his throat, then bowed to his daughter and Alex in turn. “To the happy couple, despite the turbulence of the times, I wish you a life of peace.”

  This time there were a few amens.

  Flipping out his tails, the viscount sat. Heads swiveled toward Alex, closing his throat. He’d have to say something. But what? This was not the right time, the right place, and definitely not the right woman that he wanted to speak highly of.

  Slowly, he stood on legs that felt a-sea and forced a smile. “To the beautiful Louisa, a bride any man ought to cherish and dote upon. And”—he turned toward the viscount—“to Lord Coburn, a force to be reckoned with—especially at the card table.”

  Laughter filled the room. Even the viscount chuckled.

  Alex tossed back his drink and sat while everyone went back to chattering. This was supposed to be a happy night, as evidenced by the merriness of those around him. But happiness for him was out of reach, even if he strained to grasp it. He stifled a groan, though he needn’t have bothered. No one would’ve heard him anyway. What a sham. What a sorry, wicked, farce he played out, sitting next to the woman he was to marry while only hours ago professing love for another.

  Louisa’s fingers appeared on his sleeve, and she gave his arm a little squeeze. “Don’t look so glum. This will soon be over.”

  He grunted. “Sooner than you think.”

  “Oh?” Her gaze sought his.

  Setting down his glass, he absently ran his finger around the rim. “Apparently you’re not aware your father has decided to skip the banns and has attained a bishop’s license ready for me to sign—tonight.”

  The whites of Louisa’s eyes expanded, much like a horse pushed to extreme excitement. “But you cannot!”

  He shrugged. What else was there to do? If he could get Robbie alone, he could plead with the man to elope with Louisa tonight—but the fellow had been as slippery as a cutpurse in a crowd. Alex sank back in his chair. Even if he did persuade Robbie, that would defeat the purpose of Ford’s assignment. He couldn’t very well let the two he suspected most escape at large. No matter which outcome, none were good.

  Louisa pulled back her hand. “Well I certainly will not sign such a thing.” She was a spitfire, he’d give her that. “I’m afraid, sweet Louisa, that you already have.”

  She frowned, and for a moment her eyes glittered cold and shrewd. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father signed it for you.”

  She tapped her lip with a perfectly manicured nail. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Now, now.” A large grey-haired lady—the major general’s wife—bustled over, stationing herself between them. She smelled of far too much rose water mixed with the leftover scent of pork. “The time for lovers’ whispers is not yet. Come along, Louisa. Take leave of your man.”

  Louisa smiled at the woman, though she spoke under her breath for him to hear. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”

  Alex watched all the painted ladies with their swishing skirts disappear out the door, leaving the men behind with their port. Some stood and arched their backs. A few immediately broke out large cigars from glass cylinders they’d been pocketing. The viscount and Major General Overtun secreted themselves off to a far corner, backs toward the rest of the company and clearly engrossed in some sort of espionage. Alex smirked at the thought, but then leaned forward. Perhaps he’d not been so far off the mark, judging by the way they bowed their heads together. The two hardly spoke even when given the opportunity at the gaming table and were total opposites in personality and stature. So why the bosom friendship?

  Robbie’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. At the far end of the table, the man had gathered the rest of the gentlemen, and was currently embellishing a ribald tale of his conquest of Lucy Starr, a known slattern over on Parson Lane.

  Despite being in a room full of people, emptiness washed over Alex like a North Sea breaker, drowning the life from him. Air. He needed air and lots of it. Taking great care to edge back his chair without garnering any looks, he stood and skirted the table, sticking close to the wall. He moved on silent feet, and had nearly gained the door when a deep voice stopped him on the threshold.

  “No matter how crafty you are, you’ll not be able to steal Louisa away from the women.”

  Blast! He turned to face Lord Coburn.

  The viscount clapped him on the back. “But I would steal you away. Won’t take long.”

  The man bypassed him into the hall and led him up to the first floor. Alex followed, knowing the way to the man’s study by rote. Each step carried him farther from the party below—and from any chance he might’ve had with Johanna.

  Lord Coburn ushered him into his private quarters, then closed the door and strode over to his desk. “Might as well get this part of the deed done, eh?” He held out a pen like a sword.

  A cold sweat broke out on Alex’s brow. This was it. The moment he’d either lose or gain all, but this time it wasn’t a trifling pot of gaming money on the line. It was his life. He’d never before gambled what he could not afford to lose. Was the gain really worth the risk this time?

  “Having second thoughts?”

  He met the viscount’s gaze. “Yes, actually.”

  “Excellent.” A slow smile curved Lord Coburn’s mouth like a scythe. “I’d worry if you didn’t.”

  Sucking in a breath, Alex forced his legs to carry him across the room. The marriage license lay on the desk like a mantrap, ready to snap him in half if he got too close. But what were his options? Renege and lose all the confidence he’d built with the viscount? Sign away the rest of his life? Or pray for a lightning bolt to take him out now? He’d been in hard places before, but never one as deadly as this. Blast Ford for being such a high-handed employer!

  He grabbed the pen, his grasp nearly cracking it in two. Signing this document was far more than any occupation ought to require—and therein lie the crux of why he stayed when every muscle in him screamed to run off. He owed Ford more than merely being a dutiful employee. He owed him his life for taking him in after his parents’ brutal murder.

  Swallowing a bitter taste, he bent and signed his name, then threw the pen down. The only thing to save him now was that hopefully this document wouldn’t stand in a court of law with the pseudonym of Morton.

  The viscount shoved a glass tumbler into his hand. “Here.”

  He slugged it back—then immediately coughed. A trail of fire burned from mouth to gut.

  Lord Coburn smirked. “I thought you’d appreciate an aged cognac.”

  Alex thumped his chest with his fist, balancing out the pain. “Indeed.”

  The viscount sank into one of the chairs near the hearth. “I took the liberty of setting the date for the wedding one week from today. That gives Louisa enough time—and me, for I have some preparations of my own which need tending before that.”

  “Oh?” Setting his glass on the desk, he took the other chair and was glad for the support. His head was starting to spin, a distinct disadvantage when it appeared the man was finally going to say something of importance.

  “I’m expecting a shipment to arrive on July third.” Flames from the hearth painted a hellish glow on the viscount’s face. “I should like you to join me in seeing that it arrives safely.”

  “A shipmen
t of what?” It took all his strength not to lean forward. Appearing too eager might shut the man down entirely.

  Lord Coburn swirled the brandy around in his glass for a long time—long enough that Alex was glad he hadn’t held his breath or he’d be blue in the face.

  “Better that you don’t know,” the viscount said at last. “Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “As I’ve said … I have many enemies about. If you were to be targeted because of me, ignorance could be your best asset.”

  He grit his teeth. It was far better to see what demon you faced than come up against one blindfolded. “My lord—”

  The viscount held up his hand. “Edward.”

  “Edward, I assure you I am capable of dealing with enemies. If you want my help, then you’re going to have to be straightforward.”

  The swirling stopped. The glass clinked onto the table. The viscount leaned forward, his dark eyes studying every inch of Alex’s face. “You’re not bluffing.”

  Alex angled his head. “No, I am not.”

  “Very well. Your blood be on your own hands then, if it comes to that.”

  “I would have it no other way.”

  “Well, then …” The viscount deflated back into his seat, the leather shifting beneath his weight. “On the morning of the third, meet me here just after daybreak. We’ll ride to Ramsgate to meet a ship arriving from Woolwich. Your job is to keep a sharp eye out and have your gun handy along the way. Not that I’m anticipating trouble, but one never knows with Boney’s minions about. Nasty little infiltrators.” He clicked his tongue as if expelling a seed from his teeth. “We board the ship to ensure it arrives safely in Dover before sunrise, which gives you plenty of time to freshen up before a ten o’clock wedding ceremony later that morning. Is that straightforward enough?”

  Alex mulled over the information. It was the most the viscount had fed him at one time, but a queer aftertaste remained. “Why me?” he asked. “Surely a redcoat accompaniment would provide better protection. Why not have your friend the major general supply you with a few good soldiers?”

  “And draw attention?” Lord Coburn shook his head. “No, you and I alone. We’ll simply be two dockhands on the road to Ramsgate, looking for employment opportunity. So dress appropriately. No finery.”

  Risky—yet not surprising. The viscount was particularly dodgy at the gaming table. Why not in life?

  “All right,” Alex conceded. “I understand. This shipment must be very profitable to assume such great personal risk.”

  “Oh, I assure you, it’s more than personal. It’s of national value. So what do you say?” Lord Coburn’s gaze burned into his. “Can I count on you?”

  Of national import? This was intriguing—and perhaps may be the very reason Ford had sent him here to begin with. Though the viscount still hadn’t divulged the cargo, once aboard, Alex could surely slip away and sneak a peek. Bag the traitor. Dodge the marriage.

  He quirked a brow at the man. “Absolutely. I’m your man.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Blowing an errant curl from her damp brow, Johanna filled two more pitchers and elbowed her way back into the crowded taproom. Even after a full night’s sleep and a busy day preparing for this evening’s Punch and Judy performance, she still hadn’t been ready for this onslaught. Half of Dover crammed into the public room. The puppet show had yet to begin, and already her feet ached abominably, her apron strings hung half tied, and her hair drifted down her back. From now on she’d take better care of what she wished for.

  She topped off half-empty mugs, collected more coins, then retraced her steps to the kegs. As much as she hated to admit it, she had to give Mr. Quail credit. His idea attracted more customers than the Blue Hedge had seen since her father died. But would the profit be enough to pay off Mr. Spurge?

  Please, God, make it so.

  She prayed silently as she shoved her way through the crowd. Nearest the stage, Mr. Nutbrown sat at attention on a bench, front and center, his little puppet quivering at the end of his arm. Now and then, when the stage curtain rippled from a jostling by Mr. Quail or one of his men behind it, Mr. Nutbrown let out a small cry. A dog with a mutton chop couldn’t have been more delighted. Hopefully he’d be able to restrain himself and not join the puppeteers. But who knew? Perhaps that would be as entertaining.

  From this angle, she stood on tiptoe and scanned from head to head, looking for two in particular. One golden brown, and the other with a shock of hair above a freckled face. She frowned. No sight of Alex or Thomas. If they didn’t hurry, they’d miss the show.

  Skirting the room as best she could, she worked her way back and was just even with the front door when it flung wide. A spray of freckles hobbled in on a crutch, accompanied by a golden-topped mountain of a man.

  Johanna quirked her brow at them. “I was beginning to worry about you two.”

  “Aw, Jo.” Thomas screwed up his mouth as if he sucked dry a lemon. “Quit bein’ such a girl.”

  “Aah, but she can be no less. She is too beautiful to be otherwise.” Alex tussled the boy’s hair, then faced her with a slow grin. “My apologies. On our way back from posting the last of the handbills, I stopped off for this.”

  He held out his hand. A small, wrapped package sat atop his palm.

  She looked from the brown wrapper into his brilliant blue eyes. “What is it?”

  Alex cocked a brow. “Only one way to find out, hmm?”

  Cradling her empty pitcher with one arm, she reached for the gift. A single string held the paper together. She tugged it loose and poked the paper aside with her finger. The scent of roses wafted out, a welcome diversion from the sweaty patrons.

  “Rose petal soap,” she murmured, then shot her gaze back to Alex. “What’s this for?”

  “A good soak will be just the thing after this.” He swept out his hand, indicating the clamoring customers. “Don’t you think?”

  She blinked, completely tongue-tied. Had ever a man treated her so kindly? With so much consideration and thoughtfulness? He’d taken his time, his money, to stop at a store with the sole purpose of purchasing her a comfort item, that at the end of the night she might strip off her soiled clothing and—

  Fire blazed across her cheeks. Had he thought of her undressed in a tub of water?

  He leaned close, the warmth of his breath whispering across her ear lobe. “Exactly the effect I was hoping for.”

  The rogue! She retreated a step and lifted her chin. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The show’s about to start.” Thomas tugged at her apron. “Did you save us seats?”

  She frowned down at him. “Look about you, Thomas. Do you really think I had the time?”

  “Not to worry. You shall have a great view.” Alex bent and hoisted Thomas up to his shoulders, then winked at her. “I didn’t really want to see it anyway.”

  Wedging his way past her and the other guests, he gave Thomas the ride of his life.

  Johanna couldn’t help but smile at the man, the boy, and the soap in her hand.

  “Miss!”

  A call from a back table turned her around. “Coming.”

  But her steps slowed as she passed two ladies seated next to one another, deep in conversation, for one of them pointed at Alex.

  “That’s him. That’s the one!”

  The woman beside her shook her head, the netting holding up her hair jiggling from the movement. “Can’t be. Yer daft.”

  The first lady leaned forward, squinted, then sat back. “I’m certain of it. He’s the man. My sister were in attendance last night and told me all about it. Quite the affair.”

  Johanna edged closer.

  The hair-netted lady reared back her head. “Law! What she doin’ rubbing shoulders with the likes o’ such?”

  “She’s one o’ the hired help at the manor whene’er a big affair is afoot.”

  Though empty, the pitcher in Johanna’s arms weighed her
down heavy with guilt. She ought be serving patrons and collecting coins, not listening to two gossipmongers rattling on.

  Laughter rang out from the first lady’s mouth. “You know when it comes to men, she’s got a keen eye. Take a look for yerself. She told me that the man had eyes the brilliance of a June sky, hair the colour of honey taken fresh off the comb, and he were tall and broad enough to make a brigand think twice before aiming a muzzle his way.”

  The other lady’s eyes widened. “Sure looks like him.”

  Jo agreed.

  “O’ course it is.” The first lady elbowed her friend. “She got a good gander at him, ’specially when he stood in front of God and man and gave his speech.”

  “Miss! O’er here!”

  Duty called, but so did the lure of these two women speaking about her Alex. She froze. Her Alex? Where had that come from?

  “They’ll make a handsome couple,” the hair-net lady said. “But one wonders why he boards here.”

  Couple? Her stomach clenched. Surely she hadn’t heard right. On the pretense of passing the ladies, she circled to the back of them, then leaned close.

  “That’ll change. The viscount’s daughter wouldn’t set a slippered toe in this place.” The first lady chuckled. “She’ll be leading him around on a leash in no time.”

  Sickened, Johanna darted back to the kegs. Such chinwagging natter! It had to be. Nothing but pure, wicked rumours that couldn’t be true. With a huff, she shoved the soap into her pocket.

  Though it would explain why Alex had looked so fine when he’d left the inn last night.

  Funny how dismantling things always took less time than the building—in puppet stages or in life. Alex smirked at the thought as he pried out nail after nail, demolishing the stage. The leftover stench of so many bodies lingered on the air, but at least it was silent now.

  While he worked, Johanna bustled between kitchen and taproom, clearing away the last of the mugs and straightening chairs. It was a companionable rhythm they labored in, and for some reason, it caused an exquisite ache deep in his soul.