The Viscount's Kiss. Margaret Moore
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pitcher of hot water.
“Good morning,” she said as she set it on the washstand. “All ready for an early start, I see. It’s a fine day for travelling, I must say. Breakfast will be ready shortly. I’ll just make up the bed, if you don’t mind.”
Nell quickly went to wash.
“Quite a fine fellow, isn’t he?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.
“Who?” Nell asked, although she was sure she knew to whom Mrs. Jenkins referred.
“Why, Lord Bromwell, o’ course,” the woman replied as she plumped the pillow. “You’re a very lucky woman, my dear.”
“We were fortunate he was with us with the coach overturned. We might have worsened Thompkins’s injuries if he’d not been there to tell us not to move him.”
“That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t born yesterday, my dear,” the innkeeper’s wife replied.
“He’s never brought a woman here before, though, nor have any of his friends,” she continued as she worked, “and a fine lot of scoundrels they can be, or so I’ve heard, all but the lawyer. He’s as grim as a ghost, that one. Hard to believe he’s married now, but then, I’d have said I’d never see the day Lord Bromwell would bring his—”
“I fear you’re under a misapprehension, Mrs. Jenkins,” Nell interjected, wondering why she’d let the woman go on for so long. “Lord Bromwell didn’t bring me and I am not his anything. I was merely a passenger in the same coach.”
Again, Mrs. Jenkins straightened, but this time she frowned. “Say what you like, my girl, but the floors creak something fierce. You weren’t alone in this room.”
“I was upset after the accident and couldn’t sleep. You simply heard me moving about. By myself.”
Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “There’s no point lying to me. I’ve never seen Lord Bromwell look at anything the way he looked at you last night, ’cept the time he caught the biggest spider I ever laid eyes on in the stable.”
“I hardly think it’s a compliment or a sign of affection if he regards me as he would a spider,” Nell retorted in her best imitation of a haughty young lady. “If indeed, he does regard me with anything more than mild interest.”
“You sound just like him, too, when he’s going on about his spiders,” Mrs. Jenkins said with a sigh, apparently not the least put off by Nell’s imperious manner. “Can’t follow the half of it. He’s got a lovely voice, though, ain’t he?”
He did, but Nell wasn’t going to agree in case the woman took that for additional confirmation of her suspicions.
The innkeeper’s wife fixed her with a worldly-wise eye. “And then, I saw him leaving your room.”
That wasn’t so easy to explain. Nevertheless, she tried. “He merely wished to ascertain if I had been able to sleep despite the accident.”
“You’re a smooth one, I must say,” Mrs. Jenkins replied with a wry shake of her capped head as she wrestled the featherbed back into place. “But there’s no need to lie to me. I don’t blame you a bit, even if others might. Why, if I was twenty years younger and unmarried, I’d be the first to…”
She cleared her throat and her broad cheeks pinked. “Well, I’m not, so never mind. I just wanted to say this before you go. He’s a good man, and a kind one, so I hope you won’t break his heart.”
“I am in no position to do so,” Nell firmly assured her, “nor will I ever be and I say again that he came to my room only to ascertain if I was all right.”
“Have it your own way then,” Mrs. Jenkins replied, clearly still not believing her explanation.
This situation was getting worse and worse, Nell thought with dismay. She was a decent, respectable young woman—or had been until six days ago. Now she could be branded a thief and immoral into the bargain, especially if Lord Bromwell paid for her accommodation.
On the other hand, Lord Sturmpole would never suspect the woman he was chasing was the same woman others believed to be the mistress of the famous Lord Bromwell.
“Have you informed Lord Bromwell of your conclusion?” she asked.
“If it was anybody else,” the innkeeper’s wife replied, “I’d have thrown them out the minute I realized what was goin’ on. Jenkins and I run a respectable inn, we do.”
So she had kept her suspicions to herself, which was a relief. “Thank you for your kindness and discretion,” Nell said. “Lord Bromwell and I are most grateful, especially if you’ll continue to keep our secret.”
“Worried about losing sponsors for his next expedition if word gets out, is he?” Mrs. Jenkins asked with triumphant satisfaction.
Nell hadn’t known the viscount intended to sail again, but she hid her surprise and nodded, for a scandal would surely hamper such efforts despite his previous success.
“Well, my dear, you can count on me. But mind what I said about breaking his heart, or you’ll have me to reckon with!”
“I shall,” Nell promised, even as she noted the good woman didn’t seem to care about the state of her heart. Perhaps Mrs. Jenkins considered her simply mercenary, with no heart to break. “Do you know where Lord Bromwell is now?”
“In the stables, I think, probably looking for another spider.”
Nell suppressed a shiver as she hurried from the room.
It didn’t take her long to find Lord Bromwell. He was standing by the stables, talking to one of the grooms.
He still wore no hat, and his hair ruffled slightly in the breeze. He also had on dark trousers, white shirt, light green vest and the same shining boots and well-fitting gloves. He leaned his weight casually on one leg, and she could hear him laughing.
His laugh was as nice as the rest of him.
She hoped he never found out the truth about her. That way, he might remember her with affection, as she would certainly remember him.
Before she could catch his attention, a large black coach with an ornate coat of arms on the lacquered door came barrelling into the yard. The driver, dressed in scarlet and gold livery, shouted and pulled on the reins with all his might to stop the coach, while the footmen at the back held on for dear life as it came to a rocking halt.
No one in the inn’s yard moved—not even the dogs—or spoke as one of the livered footmen leapt down, staggering a bit as he went to open the door of the coach and lower the step.
A tall, imposing gentleman appeared, wearing an indigo greatcoat with four capes and large brass buttons. As he stood on the step, his gaze swept over the yard until it came to rest upon Lord Bromwell.
As if announcing the end was nigh, the man threw out his arms and cried, “My son!”
Chapter Five
Of course Drury won the case, as expected. We’re having a little dinner party to celebrate, but nothing that you should mourn to miss.
I trust you’re handing your pater and mater with your usual savoir faire when you’re not taking refuge in your sanctuary, although how you can concentrate in such surroundings is beyond the limited powers of my comprehension.
—from a letter to Lord Bromwell from the Honorable Brixton Smythe-Medway
There had been many times in his life that Bromwell had craved his father’s attention.
This was not one of them.
“My lord,” he said, dreading what this sudden, unexpected advent signified as he walked quickly toward the Earl of Granshire, who actually deigned to alight in the yard in spite of the gawking servants, other travellers and the mud.