‘But it was fun though, wasn’t it?’ Her smile was wistful. ‘I wish we could be like that again.’
Chapter Seven
‘This doesn’t look like York.’ Charity had only visited the city once several years ago and certainly had no recollection of the vast expanse of rolling hills and meadows. While it was nowhere near as urban as London, York had more buildings than this place did. Considerably more.
‘How very perceptive of you.’ Griff offered her one of his dry half-smiles as he opened the carriage door and jumped out. ‘That is because it isn’t.’ He stretched, rolling his broad shoulders to alleviate some of the inevitable stiffness from the journey before holding out his hand to help her down. ‘This is Appletreewick.’
‘What a quaint name.’ The second his fingers brushed hers all her nerve endings danced exactly as they had done with giddy abandon since Lincoln. If he experienced the same, he hid it well and no sooner had her feet touched the ground than he let go to assist his sister.
‘It’s a quaint place apparently. Scenic, quiet and well off the beaten track. And this inn has been recommended to me more than once which is always a good sign. The food is exceptional, or so I am told, and the accommodations charming. Exactly what you need for the next few days.’
‘Few days?’ She frowned, trying to recall which day it was and failing miserably. ‘We’re staying then...not just stopping for luncheon?’
‘We are indeed.’
‘But I have to be in York by the...’ She frowned again, her addled brain not quite working despite the three cups of strong and bitter coffee she had forced down over breakfast and despite her deep loathing for the stuff.
‘The twenty-ninth. Yes. I know.’ His hand grazed the small of her back, sending more ripples of awareness down her spine as he gently manoeuvred her and Dorothy towards the extremely old and charmingly lopsided inn while their carriage lurched forward to follow the signalling young ostler, who appeared to be the only inhabitant of Appletreewick. ‘Which means we do not have to get there for four days. Assuming we’ll need one of those days to travel, that gives you three blissful days of peace to recuperate.’
‘I don’t need to recuperate.’ Even though she felt dead on her feet despite it being only noon.
He shared a knowing look with Dorothy who grinned, then stared at her blandly. ‘Forget the date. What day is it, Charity?’
‘It’s...um...’ She had definitely played her fourth and final concert in Manchester on the Saturday before they had headed directly to Leeds. With another three there and one...no, two...dinner parties interspersed on the off days organised by the cities’ dignitaries in her honour, both of which had been surprisingly dull affairs. ‘Sunday?’
‘Not even close. It’s Thursday. Which if my maths are correct, which they obviously are as I’ve always had a head for numbers, means you haven’t stopped to breathe in exactly three weeks. It’s been nonstop since Lincoln and with all the additional impromptu and unnecessary performances you have been adding...’
‘They are hardly unnecessary if the places are full, Griff, and I don’t want to leave anyone disappointed. You have seen the crowds.’ The shoeless masses in those smoke choked industrial cities had broken her heart. People who could barely afford food let alone a ticket to the opera but who had come out to see her anyway, hoping she might reward them with a song which might make one day in their hard lives brighter. She had been raised with a social conscience so how could she refuse? When a couple of songs in a grotty inn, which cost her nothing but time, gave them so much pleasure.
His stern expression softened. ‘You have a good heart, Charity, and it does you credit, but you also need a break from it all. You are running yourself ragged and it’s starting to take its toll. If I took you to York now, you’d be singing for your supper twice a day and that’s before the proper rehearsals even start. It is my job to save you from yourself, remember?’
She didn’t argue. Not only did she not have the energy to do so, she was also rather touched by his concern. He had been her rock these past three weeks, not only shepherding her around, but looking out for her too. Since her ‘wobble’ in Lincoln, they had both made more of an effort to understand one another and be more tolerant of each other’s quirks. And in turn that had made them appreciate one another more for the first time in years. He now knew she too worked hard to hone her craft and was more forgiving of her theatrical tendencies and her constant lateness and began to enjoy them rather than despair of them.
He had also made it his mission to look after her at the theatres both before and after a performance, taking her mind off her nerves at the outset and spiriting her rapidly back to the inn once she was spent. She had lost count of how many times he had saved her from having to politely humour the more determined members of the audience who used their influence or their wits to get them backstage, acting as an immovable barrier who demanded that she needed to rest at the exact times that she had absolutely nothing left to give.
Griff had also deviated substantially from his meticulous travelling plan, stopping shy of the prearranged inns to protect Charity from over-exerting herself at more of the impromptu free concerts she had taken to giving. What had started as a way to annoy him had swiftly become a huge inconvenience, as more and more crowds gathered outside those inns along the Great North Road awaiting her arrival, all expecting to be entertained and who grew quite petulant if she only sang a few songs and became quite forceful in their demands.
That had been all well and good when the only singing she had to do was for them, but since Lincoln and with theatres packed with patrons who had paid for the privilege, she couldn’t risk straining her voice on all those additional performances indefinitely and he had realised that long before she had. Thanks to Griff, she hadn’t sung to a soul on the Great North Road in over a fortnight because he had found them different inns a little way away from it. She also hadn’t run Griff the merry dance she had promised herself either. Frankly, she hadn’t had the time and certainly didn’t have the energy to muster the enthusiasm. Right now, trailing after him into the inn with a slightly knitted brow was about as much rebellion as she was capable of.
‘ʼOw do.’ The no-nonsense innkeeper barely inclined his head as they entered the taproom and was as gnarly as the ancient oak beams supporting his haphazard ceiling. A ceiling so low, poor Griff had to hunch a little to stop his head from hitting it.
‘Good day, sir. We have several rooms booked. You should have received my message yesterday.’
The innkeeper acknowledged this with one curt nod. ‘Then I assume you must be Mr Philpot and these must be your sisters?’
‘They are indeed. This is Miss Dorothy Philpot and this...’ Griff shot her a warning glance which dared her to contradict him ‘...is Miss Charlotte Philpot.’
‘And you only stipulated the one room for your two servants. Are they brother and sister too?’
‘Husband and wife, sir.’
The innkeeper jabbed the air with his finger. ‘They had better be for I don’t tolerate any funny business under my roof!’ Then he eyed the three of them suspiciously. ‘We don’t get many London sorts ’ere. What brings the three of you to Appletreewick?’ The innkeeper flattened his palms on the bar and curled his lip in disgust. ‘If you’ve come expecting the Onion Fair, you’re two months early.’
‘Oh, that is a shame.’ Griff’s fake sincerity in the face of such open hostility made her lips twitch. ‘But I am sure we will find other diversions in its absence. We are travelling around Yorkshire, sir, and taking our time exploring the Dales, on our way to visit family in Northumberland.’
‘We don’t get many tourists here, either.’ Then the innkeeper shrugged and huffed as if their presence was all a great inconvenience before he attempted a hospitable smile which fell woefully short of the mark. ‘But I suppose there are some fine walks hereabouts if walking is yo
ur thing. ’Appen there’s some pretty views from Simon’s Seat over yonder too, if you’ve the stamina for the climb...’ Although his expression as he pointed out of the window to the huge hill in the distance said he sincerely doubted Griff did. ‘And Troller’s Gill is a sight to see and less of a slog—just make sure you well clear of the place afore dark in case the barguest gets you.’ He then pulled a horrified face as if such a thing were a fate worse than death. ‘But you and the lasses will be safe in t’daylight and he never wanders further than t’gill so you’ve nowt to worry about elsewhere.’
‘What’s a barguest?’ Because it already sounded fascinating to Charity.
‘A huge, snarling black devil dog.’ The innkeeper shuddered, his gnarled face knotted. ‘Who prowls there at night and who’ll turn you to stone if you are unfortunate enough to look at ’im in those blood-red eyes of his.’
Charity grinned, she couldn’t help it. Devil dogs and onion fairs were a far cry from Bloomsbury. Her amusement earned her an insulted frown from the innkeeper and a sharp nudge from Griff.
‘We’ll be sure to heed your advice, sir. In the meantime, we could all do with some refreshments. It has been a long journey.’
‘We only do stew on a Thursday for both lunch and supper. If you want owt different then you’ll have to go to Burnsall two miles yonder which welcomes tourists.’ By the look on his face, he would much rather they went to Burnsall anyway and left him well alone.
‘Then we’ll take three of those please.’
‘It won’t be ready for a good hour.’ The innkeeper belligerently folded his arms in case anyone had the audacity to argue. ‘Food’s always served at one here and we make no exceptions.’
Because something about Griff seemed to raise the surly innkeeper’s hackles, Charity offered him her sunniest smile, the one which always cracked even the hardest nut. ‘An hour will give us plenty of time to freshen up, sir, so perhaps you would be kind enough to show us to our rooms instead? For I confess, I am itching to see them.’ She touched his arm for good measure before she greased the wheels further with some interested flattery.
‘Your establishment came so highly recommended from some friends of ours who passed this way last year and it is so very pretty. I’d even go as far as saying it’s the prettiest inn we’ve encountered and we’ve stopped at many. You must work very hard, sir, to keep it so nice when so many of the inns we have stayed at have fallen wide of the mark.’
For a moment his expression twitched, as if he was trying to ascertain which of the underused muscles in his cheeks he needed to chivvy to smile, until the ingrained frown eventually flattened and only the one side of his mouth curved upwards. ‘Thank ye, lass. Me and the missus work hard to keep it that way. This inn’s been in our family for nearly two hundred years.’
‘You are a credit to your ancestors, sir.’ Dorothy’s well-timed compliment earned her an almost smile from the innkeeper too, but then he glared at Griff as he grabbed three keys from beneath the bar.
‘Follow me.’
The innkeeper led the way upstairs and allocated the three bedchambers on the oak-beamed landing according to whom he liked the best. Poor Griff, who he had instantly taken a dislike to for some reason, got the smallest with a narrow single bed, Dorothy got a bigger one next door to him and Charity was led to the largest of the three, with a delightful old four-poster bed and spectacular views of the Dales.
While she waited for her baggage, she happily stared at it, feeling lighter than she had in days. She sensed Griff behind her before he spoke.
‘If you’d rather we stayed somewhere else...’
She shook her head. ‘No, Griff, this is perfect.’ And exactly what she needed. ‘Unless you want to move elsewhere.’ The wicked grin was spontaneous. ‘You have been given the short straw with that tiny room.’
‘I’ve slept in worse.’ The boyish smile which accompanied his resigned shrug did odd things to her insides. ‘It’s clean and despite its diminutive size, the bed is surprisingly comfortable so I shall grin and bear it—unless you are feeling as charitable as your virtuous name suggests and want to swap.’
She pretended to ponder it before she shook her head. ‘As I am still not fully over the Brighton kite incident, you deserve to suffer.’
His exasperated arm fold was spoiled by a smile he couldn’t cover quick enough. ‘And I will do so happily if you promise me that you will try to relax while we are here. You look so pale and tired—I am worried about you.’ Then he seemed embarrassed to have admitted that. ‘So is Dottie.’
‘I shall only promise it on one condition.’
‘Which is?’
‘That in the absence of the Onion Fair, you promise to take me barguest hunting...in the dark.’
* * *
Three days in and the colour had returned to her cheeks and she was back to being Charity again. Mischievous, adventurous and unstoppable. And while Dorothy had started complaining halfway up the steep hike up to Simon’s Seat, Charity had taken it all in her stride, exactly as she had their nocturnal but fruitless barguest hunt last night which she had, of course, instigated.
‘Isn’t it beautiful, Griff?’ Fearless as always, she was stood on a rocky outcrop and smiling in wonder at the rolling, untamed countryside laid before them.
‘It is.’ Though nowhere near as beautiful as she was today, with her thin summer dress plastered to her lush figure by the warm hilltop breeze and her windswept golden curls tousled and shimmering in the sunshine.
‘You forget how pretty England is when in its cities, don’t you? Yet the air here is so fresh it almost makes you giddy.’ She closed her eyes to inhale it deeply, which was just as well as the gesture inappropriately drew his eyes to her pert breasts as they rose and fell in time with her breathing before he tore them away. When she finally opened them again, she stared at Dorothy below and shouted over the wind, ‘You are missing something wonderful, Dottie! The view is spectacular. Come on up and stop being a spoilsport.’
‘I am scared of heights!’ His sister pouted stubbornly. ‘And I am happy on this blanket reading my book and guarding the picnic from the birds. Just looking at you on that rock is making me dizzy.’
Charity slanted him an exasperated glance, because they both knew his usually affable sister could be intransigent when she set her mind to it and she had never been one for the great outdoors or for testing her boundaries. Traits which had never hampered Charity. ‘Then it is just you and me for the summit, Griff...unless you are another lily-livered Philpot too and would prefer the safety of the picnic blanket?’
Griff folded his arms, feigning offence. ‘Do I look lily-livered? When have you ever known me to shy away from a challenge? I’ll have you know I build exploding steam engines for a living, so this piffling little hill doesn’t faze me.’ If one could consider a fifteen-hundred-foot hill piffling.
She pretended to consider it, her eyes raking him from top to bottom and inadvertently reminding his body that it was male. ‘But are you up to it, Griff? That’s the question.’
He stared at the wall of giant boulders piled on top of each other, some significantly taller than him, and shrugged with feigned arrogance. ‘That’s more a bracing walk than a climb.’
She grinned, mischievous eyes twinkling and flashing her distracting dimples, completely unaware, for once, of how lovely she was. ‘Then I’ll race you to the top and the loser has to forfeit their dessert tonight.’
She was off before she finished the sentence, skirts hoisted to her knees and clambering up the towering pile of millstones for all she was worth, giggling like a child. When she reached one so high it defeated her, she shamelessly used him as a step, not caring one whit that her walking boots left dusty marks on his breeches or that she wasn’t being the least bit ladylike in her determined quest to beat him or that she had left him no choice but to manhandle her up that last foot
. As she disappeared over the flat expanse of rock above him, he was left to fend for himself, and by the time he had hauled himself up she was sat cross-legged in the middle of it, smiling at the view and apparently completely at one with the world. ‘I believe your treacle sponge and custard is now mine, slow coach.’
‘Only because you cheated.’ Griff sat beside her and then immediately wished he hadn’t because it suddenly felt too intimate. They were all alone and out of sight, just the pair of them, the cloudless blue sky and the wind, and she fair took his breath away.
‘It’s funny...’ She didn’t turn from the view. ‘I never understood why my mother always insisted she had to take a few months off between performances even though people were still clamouring to see her and why, halfway through a run, she seemed to live for that respite. Even if you had asked me a few weeks ago, I would have said that her attitude baffled me because I have always believed you need to grasp such things with both hands and strike while the iron is hot in case the opportunities disappear. The only theory which made any sense was that leaving them wanting more guaranteed her more attention because absence, apparently, makes the heart grow fonder. But now that I’ve lived it, properly lived it, I realise my theory is nonsense and her logic makes perfect sense.’
‘How so?’
‘The strange life of the stage is all consuming and it is easy to lose yourself in it completely and forget what is important. If these past few days have taught me anything, they have reminded me of what is important.’
‘And what is important?’
She shrugged as she smiled at him with uncharacteristic awkwardness and no hint of her usual bravado. ‘Myself, I suppose. What I am...how I truly feel...what I want. Others are important too, Griff, obviously...’ She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. ‘Before you accuse me of complete self-absorption and shocking vanity, though I don’t mean it that way and you know it.’
How Not to Chaperon a Lady--A sexy, funny Regency romance Page 7