After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(21)
“But—”
“Whatever you do, you mustn’t tell them we are married. We are not husband and wife, understand?”
Her eyes widened. “I—do—you—” She looked flummoxed. “Are you the sort of man who cannot bear to be contradicted? Because I can understand not wanting to think about what just happened, except… You do realize we are married?”
“Contradict me all you like,” Adrian told her. “But that ceremony just now? It doesn’t matter what words they said about us. We’re not husband and wife, not if we don’t want to be.”
She licked her lips. “I don’t think that is how reality works. It doesn’t change because you wish it would. I should know; I’ve tried hard enough.”
“They held a pistol on us, Miss Winters. They may have wanted us married; we don’t have to be.”
“I…” She looked down and sighed. “As you say. It’s late. We haven’t eaten.”
“We have to agree in order to be married,” he said. “Nobody else can agree on our behalf. I’m sure Lassiter and Miles think that we’ll continue to agree after the pistols are no longer pointed at us, but their plan has done us enough harm. We don’t have to continue.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Adrian said, “that when we are finished, I’m going to feel sorry for everyone who helped this happen.”
* * *
They arrived at the inn forty minutes later. It was late, but not so late that the place was unlit.
Adrian opened the door to find an entry alcove. A little table, empty but for a bell and a book, stood in front of them. In the room beyond, firelight cast a flickering glow. The rumble of conversation from the other room was distant enough so as not to resolve into actual words.
He set the valise down and gestured for Camilla to enter ahead of him. She did; he followed, and let the door shut behind them.
He hadn’t had time to even ring the bell before the innkeeper came darting to the front.
“Welcome!” She had a smile on her face, one that faltered—slightly—when she caught sight of Adrian. She glanced at him, then at Camilla, then back at Adrian.
If this were America, she’d likely have thrown Adrian out in that first instant. Here in Britain, though, away from London, she probably saw black men seldom enough that she’d not had a chance yet to decide what to do if one threatened to do something so dastardly as to frequent her inn and give her money.
Adrian was used to this dilemma; he made it easy on the woman by making up his mind on her behalf.
“My good woman.” It took a bit of a conscious effort to attempt to mimic his mother, but no more than he’d made to copy the lower-class speech he’d been using up until now.
He made a show of producing his wallet. It was made of fine leather, and he paused to let the innkeeper see the quality of it before withdrawing a coin slowly enough that she could also see that there was far more where that came from.
He flicked the coin to the innkeeper. “For your trouble. I know it’s late to arrive, and we must have inconvenienced you and your staff.”
“I—”
“I will need a room for the night,” Adrian said. His mother would have said require, not will need, but haughtiness never worked for Adrian the way it did for a wealthy white woman.
The innkeeper’s glance shifted to Camilla behind him. “Sir. I… I…” Her chin squared.
Adrian intercepted that thought before the woman could start nattering on about the usual nonsense—respectable establishment and so on.
“Ah, are you referring to Miss Winters? We met by chance on the road; she’s on her way to serve as a governess to the Smiths in Lower Mackford. She had been given ill directions to an inn for the evening after being let off in the wrong town entirely. We’ve only arrived together because I knew where to go and she needed some help with her valise. She’ll be getting her own room, I suppose.”
Camilla’s eyes widened at this speech, but she jolted forward. “Yes, please, if you will. I’m sorry to be a bother.”
The innkeeper took her in—those wide, luminous eyes, the old valise of cracked leather, the cheapness of her dress coupled with the niceness of her speech. Governess was the best Adrian had been able to come up with. The position wouldn’t command much respect, but it would hopefully command enough that she’d be treated as if she were a respectable woman.
“Please,” Camilla said, her eyes fluttering shut, “please, I don’t wish anyone to know. If the…um, Smiths find out I was lost, they’ll wonder if I went astray on purpose, and…” She swallowed. “It’s very late out.”
The innkeeper nodded in decision. “Of course, you poor child. Of course. Let’s get you in and warm you up. But if you don’t want word to get out, maybe eat in the kitchen?” She glanced at Adrian. “As for you, sir…”
“Mr. Hunter.”
The innkeeper bit her lip. “If I send either of you into the common room for dinner, there will be a bit of a ruckus.”
“He can eat with me in the kitchen.” Camilla looked down. “I would have been lost without him. Nobody else would help me—they saw a woman alone, and…” She looked up. “It doesn’t seem fair, does it? If he can’t have a bite.”