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Aria scrutinized her new surroundings. The Cackling Rooster hardly resembled a castle. It didn’t even resemble the townhouse her father had rented in Bath. Sadness moved through her.
She was supposed to be with the duke, her one true love. She was supposed to be meeting with the housekeeper and learning how to manage a castle. She was supposed to be writing menus that would incorporate the duke’s favorite foods. She was supposed to be wandering through the long hallways and entering every guest room to ensure each room was equipped for potential guests. Lastly, she was supposed to be examining the gardens, making certain her favorite flowers were planted.
She wasn’t supposed to be still wearing her wedding dress, crouching in a carriage, while a man she’d never even been introduced to was booking accommodation for them. She shouldn’t even be in the same room with a man she’d never met.
Her throat tightened.
She hoped she was doing the right thing.
If only her husband had been good and kind. If only he’d been everything he’d seemed to be in the letters. If only she hadn’t been so easily fooled.
She’d known better. Too many people were eager to count a princess amongst their friends, even if they didn’t actually have much in common, and even if every conversation between them was awkward and strained. The duke had been the first person who’d seemed to adore her simply for being her. He’d been interested in what she was reading, in what she thought.
Sweden’s top echelon didn’t understand how her mother could be from India. They were bewildered by Aria’s occasionally overly vibrant clothes, at least in comparison to the subdued color palette Swedish modistes favored. Aria felt far more at ease with Lucy Banks than she did with any of the children in the palace she’d been raised with. They were both foreigners in England.
Perhaps she’d been so happy in England that she’d relaxed more than she should have. She hadn’t been as observant, and she’d spent time telling Demon she didn’t require a bodyguard instead of appreciating that she was a person of interest, a person with vast amounts of money, a person that people might desire to harm.
She’d been a fool.
An acid taste invaded her mouth.
Horses trotted behind her, and she turned around. It probably wasn’t the duke. But it was odd for someone to stop at a public house early in the morning. Surely no one should desire a tankard of ale at this time of morning, and even the public house might not be open. It would be odd if Mr. Andrews and she were not the only weary travelers who wanted to get a room past dawn, instead of the normal time—before sunset.
She looked around carefully.
Then she saw . . . them.
Her husband was scouring the carriage park, accompanied by two men she didn’t recognize. The men were younger and more muscular than her husband, and something about the cut of their clothes made her think that they might be servants.
Her heartbeat quickened. She’d stolen one of her husband’s carriages. He was going to notice it. He was going to see them. He was going to grab her and kill her and...
Her heart galloped in her chest.
She grabbed hold of the reins. Perhaps she just needed to move the carriage.
It wouldn’t work. She knew that. Her husband would see her—this was his carriage. Besides, the horses might go too slowly. Or worse, they might recognize her husband and his servants and listen to their commands.
Perhaps if she sneaked from the carriage... But she couldn’t do that. Or at least, not without abandoning Lady Octavia and Galileo, and she had no intention of doing that. She wasn’t sure how an angry husband might treat them, but she doubted it was with the care and affection they deserved.
The horse trots grew fainter, until eventually, she couldn’t hear them at all.
Perhaps it was a trap.
Perhaps if she turned around, they would still be there. Perhaps her ears were being deceitful, and for some odd reasonn, had decided to connive with her murderous husband.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, footsteps sounded.
She searched for a weapon, but there was nothing. She didn’t even have a valise to throw.
“Princess!”
Aria jerked her head to the side. It was Mr. Andrews.
She put a wobbly finger to her lips, and he frowned. He didn’t, though, say anything. Instead, he looked around the area. Then, he carefully slid into the carriage beside her.
“What’s the problem?” he whispered.
“I saw the duke and two men on horses.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “Do you think they noticed you?”
“I don’t know,” she said miserably.
He ducked his head back, then returned. “No one’s here. They must have left.”
She nodded.
Mr. Andrews didn’t tell her she’d been mistaken. He didn’t say she was imagining things, and he didn’t say she was being silly.
Other men were quick to dismiss her. Demon had always said she was too innocent to understand things, but he’d never attempted to educate her. Most of her interactions with him had been listening to various monologues in which he detailed his success at impaling Norwegians and Danes during the war. Similarly, her father viewed her fondly, but still as a child.
Instead, Mr. Andrews said softly, “I want to show you something.” He extended his hand, and she took it, pretending she didn’t feel a sudden heat swirling through her body at his touch.
He led her to the rear of the carriage and pointed.
She stared. Various branches were placed on the back. “Camouflage.”
He nodded. “I thought it was best.”
She stared up at him. “Thank you.”
“Next time, though, we’ll go in together. I don’t want you to be alone again. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be an issue.”
“I’m not an expert at having a murderous husband, either.”
“It’s not an expertise most would desire to cultivate.”
She hesitated. “Just how far are we from London?”
His face sobered. “Perhaps five more nights away.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped.
“We could perhaps take the stagecoach,” he said.
“The duke’s men will probably be waiting where the stagecoach stops,” she said.
“It’s certainly possible.”
There was a moment of silence.
“We’ll manage,” he said. “They’re traveling ahead of us now.”
She nodded. Mr. Andrews was correct. She was beginning to think that was not precisely an unusual thing for him.
Aria followed Mr. Andrews to the carriage. Mr. Andrews took Lady Octavia in his arms.
“You may want to put Galileo in the basket,” he said. “Pets aren’t allowed at this establishment.”
“Oh.” She blinked, then hastily put him inside. Then she took Lady Octavia and added her to the basket.
“They have been getting along well,” Mr. Andrews said.
“Yes,” Aria agreed, smiling. “Is the place nice?”
“It’s tolerable. I didn’t see a single rat.”
She giggled. “I suppose that’s good.”
“One spider though,” he said.
“Maybe the spider was scaring the rats.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Even a rat might be flummoxed by all their extra legs.”
“Darting in every direction,” she said.
“And making traps at a moment’s notice.”
“Not strong enough traps to deter a rat.”
“But would they know that?”
She smiled. “Perhaps not.”
Mr. Andrews opened the door to the inn. “Enter.”
Aria stepped inside, clutching the basket to her. Galileo thrust his nose upward, perhaps smelling an assortment of pleasant scents. She certainly smelled that, and she didn’t have a superior nose that always took joy in sniffing things. She pulled her shawl back over the basket.
The inn was cozy, despite its drab appearance outside. Dark wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling and honey floorboards sparkled, despite the windows’ smallness and overall paucity of light. Relief moved through her, and her shoulders relaxed.
Galileo poked his head from the basket.
“Is that a...dog?” a strange woman’s voice asked, and Aria’s heart sank.
Then Galileo began to bark. Heavens, he’d been quiet this entire trip, but now he thought it vital to perform vocal exercises.
Galileo leaped out of the basket and paraded through the public house. A barmaid screamed, and a tray fell down to the ground, a plate breaking apart in a large clatter.
“No, Galileo,” Aria cried.
Most of the occupants seemed amused by Galileo’s presence, but some of them squealed, and others stared at Galileo with open disgust, furrowing their brows and wrinkling their noses.
Rupert’s face whitened.
The publican pointed. “You have a dog.”
“S-sorry,” Aria stammered and sprinted after Galileo, who’d tired of examining the tables with his snout.
“Er—yes.” Rupert swallowed hard. “We assumed this establishment allowed them.”
The publican raised her nose up in the air. “Then you assumed wrong. Dogs must be tied up outside, where they belong.”
Aria shot her a mournful look. “I can’t do that.”
“Then you can sleep in the barn, should you prefer.” The publican’s eyes twinkled, as if particularly pleased at her suggestion. “That’s where the other animals sleep.”
“We know what a barn is,” Rupert said.
Aria gathered Galileo in her arms. “We’ll go.”