25 September 1822
Bedfordshire
“We’ll stop at that inn.” Fitz couldn’t free up his hand to point, as busy as he was managing his pair of high-steppers. “The horses can’t go on.”
Nor could she, but he knew she’d never admit it. Best to appeal to her consideration for the dumb beasts. Though he’d put up the hood of his phaeton, it couldn’t protect them from the downpour. The skirt of her gown was soaked, as were her half boots. Not that she’d complained.
While a groom led the horses to shelter, the innkeeper ushered Fitz and Mel into a private parlor where a fire had been lit. Miss Parker removed her wet bonnet and gloves and stretched her hands over the rising warmth.
“I’ve ordered tea. If you wish, I’ll withdraw to the common room—”
“For the sake of my reputation?” She waved a hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s a dining room. There is no bed or chaise longue in sight. Tell them I’m your sister if you’re concerned.”
That gesture was very like the old man’s that afternoon. One could believe she’d been raised by her grandfather, though she’d only just met the man. He carried two chairs over to the fire for them.
She sat and stretched her feet to the fender. “I’m not important enough to have my reputation ruined. I’m not likely to marry. I’d planned to live on the money my father left me. And if my grandfather adds to that, I’ll live quite comfortably.”
She’d be able do so in a small cottage in a small village, far from civilization. But how she’d manage her investments from there, he couldn’t imagine.
“Mr. Sawley didn’t seem entirely heartless. What could have happened that he won’t leave you more? That he won’t leave your mother anything?” It was none of his business, but the question had been plaguing him. Duty to family had been drilled into him and his siblings since birth by both of their parents.
She leveled a long look at him, her dark eyes filled with intelligence but no anger. “My grandfather knows your father. You truly don’t know?”
He searched his memory. “Father isn’t a gossip. Neither is Mother.”
“Are you?”
“I can respect a confidence.”
She nodded. “At fifteen my mother eloped to Scotland, and my birth came quickly enough to assume that she and my father anticipated their vows. There. I’ve told you everything.”
“He never forgave her? What if she’d been abandoned? Or left destitute?”
She turned back to the fire, her mouth firming. He’d finally gone too far. Or…there was more she didn’t wish to share with him.
“My father was an officer in the King’s Army and an honorable man. He always provided for us, and when he died, he wisely tied up her dower to provide her with a steady income. No one in their right mind would hand my mother a pile of money.”
The former Mrs. Parker must be like his late friend Glanford, who’d diligently spent every penny that came his way and then some.
She sighed. “In truth, her new husband is not penniless. Though I imagine part of the reason they went to Bordeaux was to stretch their shillings.”
Or dodge creditors. That was often the case. “It’s a wonder they didn’t take you with them.”
A shiver went through her. “I’d spent much time with Lady Hermione and her late husband through the years when Papa was away. They were childless, you know, and always welcoming. As soon as Papa was buried and the will settled, I happily let Hermione gather me up and take me home to her cottage in Hampshire.”
A maid entered carrying a tray.
“Oh, good.” Miss Parker stood. “Come along, Brother, and I’ll pour.”
She busied herself, silently serving until the door closed. “Your parents aren’t gossips, Mr. Lovelace, but I’ll ask you again, are you?”
She leveled another long look, one that hinted of a vulnerability that touched his heart.
“You saved me today, Miss Parker.” Let her believe that. In truth, he’d been plotting for days, seeking a way to spend more time with her. “I owe you my silence, and yes, I’ll tell you again, I’m capable of keeping private matters private. You have my word as a gentleman.”
She studied him a long moment, color rising in her cheeks, before reaching her hand across the table and grinning. “We must shake on it.”
Her face lit with an intelligence, and playfulness, and open-hearted good nature that stirred him. A man might be comfortable with a woman like Miss Parker.
He took the hand offered, flipped it over, and pressed his lips to her palm in a kiss that set her whole face aflame and his own heart beating wildly.