by Farr, Diane
These fell words struck new dismay into Lilah’s heart. “My father’s bride! Do you really think it will come to that? It sounds so—so—” she bit her lip. “So un-Papalike!”
Chapter 2
The White Swan, at Bytheway, was the only inn for miles in any direction. This was the secret of its success, if success it could be called. Its proprietor, Mr. Hopkins, was not accumulating wealth at the same rate as other innkeepers along the turnpike. On the other hand, he was not sinking into poverty at the rapid clip his spectacularly lax management deserved.
When crossing Mr. Hopkins’s threshold Lilah lifted her skirts a little higher than usual. The Swan had an aura of neglect that made one look carefully before one stepped. She halted in the low-ceilinged foyer and, as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, glanced about her with distaste. Mr. Hopkins’s attempts at cleanliness and order fell woefully short. The floor felt sticky underfoot, the walls and ceiling were black with smoke, and daylight struggled to penetrate the film of grime that coated the windows.
Miss Pickens tiptoed up and clutched Lilah’s arm. “My dear Lilah, this is a nasty place,” she whispered. “Are you quite, quite certain—”
“Yes, I am,” said Lilah shortly. “Although I wish we had some alternative. Look at the cobwebs on that chandelier. Disgusting!”
As if called by this remark, Hopkins himself waddled out from the tap room. His eyes brightened as he recognized the daughter of the most important landholder in the neighborhood, and he came forward at once, wiping his fat hands on the dish towel tied at his waist—futilely, Lilah thought, since the rag was far from clean.
“Miss Chadwick, is it not? Yes, yes, yes, I would know you anywhere! An honor, a privilege to see you, miss, I’m sure. How may I serve you today? And Miss—ah—”
“Pickens.”
“Yes, yes, Miss Pickens, how d’ye do? What can I do for you ladies?”
Lilah gave him a bright, businesslike smile. “I require your best traveling coach, Mr. Hopkins, as speedily as you can provide it.”
If she was expecting his obsequious manner to translate into prompt action, she was disappointed. The landlord’s face fell ludicrously. “Oh, dear. What an unfortunate coincidence. I’m afraid I’ve only one left. Yes, indeed, only the one, and it be far from the best. Business being what it is, you understand. And—”
“Well, never mind,” said Lilah, her heart sinking. “Whatever its condition, I’ll take it.” An unpleasant vision of Miss Pickens and herself having to scrub the interior before boarding flashed through her mind, but she sternly banished it. This was an emergency. She would do what she must.
The landlord licked his lips nervously. “Well, that’s just it. I’m afraid you are too late. As I say, I’ve only the one coach left. And I promised it, not ten minutes ago, to Lord Drakesley.” He flapped his towel in the direction of the tap room.
Lilah’s brows snapped together. “Who?”
“Lord Drakesley.” Mr. Hopkins drew himself up with an air of importance. “An earl, no less,” he confided. “Peer of the realm.”
Lilah’s foot began to tap with annoyance. “I know what an earl is.”
Thus deflated, Mr. Hopkins shot her a glance filled with resentment. “Yes. Well. At any rate, his lordship’s curricle lost a wheel, and he hasn’t time to wait while it is repaired. He—”
“What! He has a curricle with him, and you gave him your last remaining coach?”
Mr. Hopkins swelled like an injured toad. “Certainly I did,” he huffed. “He wanted one. I had one. He offered me a handsome price. And why not? Curricle’s not driveable until the wheel is fixed. Gent’s in a hurry—got plenty of rhino—peer of the blinking realm! Meaning no offense, ladies, I’m sure,” he added, as Miss Pickens clucked at his deteriorating language. “At any rate, you’re too late. It’s all arranged. Promised and paid for. His lordship’ll be off as soon as—”
“He is still here?” Lilah’s eye brightened.
“Aye, he’s in the tap room. But—”
Lilah did not wait to hear the end of his sentence. She swept past Mr. Hopkins and into the tap room. Ivy covered most of the windows, so the tap room was even more dimly lit than the entry hall. She hesitated on the threshold.
The room had only one occupant, an extremely large and unkempt man who sat with his back to her, draining a tankard. Lilah thought he looked more like a highwayman than an earl. There was nothing the least bit elegant about him. He appeared to be dressed all in leather, and he was exceedingly dusty. She could easily imagine him pulling a pistol on her and demanding, “Yer money or yer life.” Still, she did not care to show disrespect to a man of his rank—assuming that this odd specimen belonged to the aristocracy. She infused a note of polite deference into her voice as she addressed him.
“Lord Drakesley?”
He did not immediately respond, but continued swallowing. He must be slaking a fearsome thirst. Perhaps he had not heard her. She took a step closer and tried again, a little louder.
“Lord Drakesley? May I have speech with you?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swiveled halfway round on the bench. His expression was anything but welcoming. Her first impression was of thick, bushy brows drawn down over fiercely gleaming eyes. He looked like a hawk disturbed while feeding.
“Who in blue blazes gave you my name?” he growled.
She drew back, startled by his brusqueness, then stiffened her spine. It was absurd to let him frighten her. “The landlord, of course,” she said coolly. “Why? Is it a secret?”
The man’s scowl became downright menacing. He rose slowly off the low bench, the gradual straightening of his body somehow more intimidating than a hasty movement would have been. “From the likes of you, it is.”
Lilah’s eyes widened in astonishment. “The likes of—what on earth do you mean?”
He did not deign to answer her. The derisive expression on his face struck Lilah as insulting. Her brows snapped together in a frown. Did he not perceive that she was a gentlewoman? A fine attitude, from a man so thickly powdered with dust that it was impossible to tell the color of his hair! She felt her temper rise. “Perhaps you misunderstand,” she said crisply. “I am not some farmer’s daughter. I am—”
“I don’t care who you are,” he interrupted rudely. “And whether your father is a duke or a ditch-digger, he should have taught you not to bother strangers. Particularly men. More particularly, lone men. And most particularly, lone men in public inns.”
Lilah’s jaw dropped. “How dare you? No one speaks to me in such a tone—let alone a stranger! Who gave you permission to take me to task?”
“You did. You began this conversation, not I. Let it be a lesson to you.” He tossed a coin down on the table to pay for his drink and gave her a brief, dismissive nod. “Good day.”
He would have strolled past her, but she caught at his arm. “Wait! If you please,” she added, catching the look on his face. “I see that I have offended you. Pray believe that I would never have approached you, were the circumstances not extraordinary. But really, my lord, I must speak with you.”
He towered over her. She had to tilt her chin to look him in the eye. He was younger than she had first thought—probably less than thirty. It was his massiveness, his solidity, and his arrogant air that made him appear older. And, of course, the scowl that was twisting his features at present. The scowl added years to his face.
“Now, look here,” he said evenly, as if hanging on to his patience by his fingernails. “I’m a busy man. You are the fourth numbskull today who has wasted my time, wanting something from me. It’s not that I dislike being manhandled by a pretty woman—”
Lilah hastily let go of his sleeve.
“—but, frankly, I have nothing to say to you. And whatever it is you want to say to me, I’m betting I don’t want to hear it.”
He was right. How annoying.
Lilah glared at him. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Hostility was getting her nowhere. With an effort, Lilah pasted a pleasant expression on her face and tried a gentle laugh. “Now, Lord Drakesley, I know you don’t mean to be disobliging,” she said archly. “I should not have addressed you without an introduction, and especially not while you were swallowing. There! I apologize.”
“Good of you,” he said mockingly. “Now add to your goodness by stepping aside.”
“I will,” she said, giving him her most winning smile. “But first, I must request your assistance in a trifling matter.” She saw the refusal in his eyes and quickly added, “As a gentleman, I’m sure I may rely on you.”
He looked suspicious. “Rely on me for what?”
Lilah pressed her palms together and tried to look apologetic. “I am very sorry to inconvenience you. But apparently Hopkins has only one coach available today, and you have hired it. I need it.”
“What a pity.”
“Yes. But I understand you have a curricle, and need only wait for a wheel to be repaired.” She smiled encouragingly. “I daresay a wheel repair won’t take so terribly long, and then you may be off.”
One of his brows arched, in amusement or disbelief—she wasn’t sure which. “Oh, I’ll be off sooner than that. Hadn’t you heard? I’ve hired the landlord’s coach. Good day.”
“But—surely you won’t insist on—surely you won’t take it for yourself?” Lilah was flabbergasted. “Don’t you understand? I need it.”
She had instinctively caught at his arm again. He gave her an exasperated look. “So do I. Kindly release my sleeve.”
Was he dense? She tightened her grip, planting her feet in the way of a mule. “There is only one coach,” she reiterated, trying not to lose patience with him. “You must not take it. I want it.”
“Nevertheless, you cannot have it. I am taking it. Immediately.”
“But my need is greater than yours!”
“No, it isn’t. And don’t confide your troubles to me,” he added. “I haven’t the remotest interest in why you need the coach.”
“Then I will only tell you that—that my errand is urgent,” she stammered, not knowing how to combat his blighting indifference. “And it is! Terribly urgent!” She heard her voice rising and struggled to lower her pitch to a more reasonable-sounding level. “My lord, where, oh where, is your chivalry?” she chided him. “You cannot, you will not, be so churlish as to take the last coach.”
“I will be exactly that churlish,” he assured her, not in the least discomposed by her attempt to shame him. “Let go of me.”
“But I need it!” cried Lilah.
“Yes, you have said so. Over and over. But the fact remains that I hired it, and you didn’t.” He reached across his broad chest with his free hand, and plucked her desperate fingers off his coat. “Bad luck for you, but I daresay you’ll survive it. Good bye.”
Lilah was outraged. The ruffian, or earl, or whatever he was, actually turned his back and strolled out the door to the yard, having brushed her off as if she were no more important than a fly buzzing round him. She marched after him, head high and cheeks aflame with indignation. The yard was muddy from last night’s rain, forcing her to halt on the stone steps outside the tap room door.
“You are the rudest person I have ever met,” she shouted at his retreating back. Curious faces appeared in the windows of the inn, but Lilah ignored them. To her surprise—and gathering wrath—the rudesby actually chuckled.
“What a pampered life you must lead,” he remarked. “Not accustomed to having your will crossed, eh?” He turned to look at her, letting his gaze travel insultingly over her form. “Yes. You look well-spoiled.”
Fury choked her. She placed her fists on her hips and glared at him. “And obviously you never go out of your way to oblige anyone.”
“I do have that reputation,” he agreed.
“Detestable man!” she exclaimed. “I see what it is. You enjoy being disagreeable.”
“Frequently yes, I do.” Was that a grin flickering at the edges of his mouth? “Some occasions are more entertaining than others, of course.”
The lad-of-all-work employed by Hopkins appeared round the corner of the inn, leading two horses. Lord Drakesley turned his attention to the battered traveling coach leaning on its poles near the White Swan’s doorway. He peered into one of the windows and pulled back, grimacing. “This thing stinks.”
“Serves you right,” muttered Lilah.
She had not expected Lord Drakesley to overhear her childish remark, but the man apparently had the ears of a bat. He shot her a derisive look, then indicated the Chadwick barouche which stood, piled with luggage, on the other side of the yard. “At any rate, you will not be forced to walk to your destination. You obviously have a barouche at your disposal.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Lilah. “I cannot dawdle along in an open barouche all the way to London.”
“You need only ‘dawdle along’ to the next posting inn.”
“In a pleasure carriage? It would take hours! And besides, what would become of me if they also had no vehicle to hire? No, no, I must take Hopkins’s coach.”
Lord Drakesley’s exasperated scowl returned. “I am taking it, you knaggy little widgeon! I’ve already paid for it.” He surveyed the shabby berline digustedly. “Overpaid for it.”
“I will reimburse you,” she said quickly, deciding her best course was to overlook his unflattering characterization of her. “I will—I will pay you extra. To compensate you for your trouble.”
“No.” He glanced at her, and something in her face caused him to relent a little. “I’m sorry,” he said grudgingly. “But you’ll be more comfortable in your barouche than in this smelly old bone-rattler. And probably safer.”
“Its aroma, pleasant or unpleasant, is immaterial to me,” said Lilah stiffly. “And I do not care if it rattles my bones. I cannot stop to consider such trifles; I must be off without further delay. I will pay you whatever you ask.”
Irritation darkened his features again. “You’ll catch cold at this game,” he informed her. “Money means nothing to me.”
Lilah tossed her head. “A noble sentiment!” she scoffed. “Take care your pride does not beggar you.”
“It won’t. I’m rich as Croesus.”
He said these words off-handedly, seeming to neither boast nor joke. Indeed, he turned with perfect impassivity to watch the horses being hitched up, as if he had completely lost interest in Lilah and her plight. She folded her arms and looked down her nose at him. “If you’re as rich as all that,” she opined, “you should buy a new coach and let me hire the smelly one.”
The sarcasm in her suggestion did not go over Lord Drakesley’s head. He looked at her again, a glimmer of humor detectable in the depths of his hawk-like eyes. “I said money means nothing to me. Time, on the other hand, is the very stuff of life. And I don’t intend to kick my heels in this repulsive backwater an instant longer than necessary.”
He tossed a coin carelessly to the boy, who had completed the hitching of the horses, and bent to inspect the wheels. “Ugly, but sound enough,” he remarked. He glanced over his shoulder at Lilah. “By the by, if you’d like to borrow my curricle I’m told it will be ready no later than Wednesday.”
“Thank you,” said Lilah icily. “It may have escaped your notice, but I am a lady. I required a closed carriage. And it will not be convenient for me to wait until Wednesday, as I think I may have mentioned.”
“I had that impression,” he agreed, straightening. “Oh, well.” He then leaned lazily against the coach, an attitude that struck Lilah as maddeningly possessive. She felt her bosom swell with indignation.
To her left, the main doorway of the inn disgorged Hopkins, who halted in the door yard, bowing and scraping and clearing his throat. Miss Pickens spilled out behind him, her anxious face telegraphing that the bulk of Lilah’s conversation w
ith Lord Drakesley had been overheard.
“Ahem! Lord Drakesley. If I might be so bold, milord,” began Hopkins, turning a dull red.
The earl’s forbidding scowl descended. “What now?” he barked, rounding on the landlord.
It was not an encouraging response. Hopkins bowed lower, pursing his mouth nervously. “Ah—p’raps your lordship might not know—these ladies are very respectable females. Most distinguished persons, my lord, and highly regarded in the neighborhood. I mislike to offend them in any way. Begging your pardon, I’m sure, but you must know I’ve got to live here, and can’t afford to cause ill will—”
“What the deuce are you saying?”
Hopkins’s voice took on a whining note. “I’m only saying, my lord, and meaning no offense, that a compromise would be preferable to this brangling, if a compromise might be found—”
“I hope you are not talking about the coach.” Lord Drakesley folded his arms across his powerful chest. The stance was not only intimidating, it made him look enormous. “I’ve heard just about enough regarding your stinking coach.”
“Well, as to that, my lord, the vicar had it last, and his wife is powerful fond of onions—”
“Do not prate to me of your wretched vicar and his utterly uninteresting wife.”
Hopkins blanched. “No, my lord,” he stammered. “Certainly not. But I was, in fact, speaking of the coach. It appears that the ladies are in urgent need of transportation—”
“No.”
“But, my lord—”
“No.”
“—you have not yet heard what I mean to say!” finished Hopkins in a rush.
“If it has anything to do with my giving up this vehicle—”
“No, no, upon my honor! But I have just found out, my lord, that the ladies are traveling to London.”