Even though she herself was somehow unaware. Joseph had initially thought her thick; how could she not know? But after spending the day romping about Icknield Court with her, doing his best to impress her with his knowledge and manners, he realized she was sharp-witted and possessed plenty of common sense. She only lacked the polish of worldliness. Something that was his by birthright, as the son of a duke.
With his lower legs he gently squeezed his horse, who responded immediately by switching to a trot.
The coaching inn was a generous size for what it was, and impressively maintained. The yard was dry and flat, with large stables nearly the size of the inn itself. Although there was no mail coach or stage waiting, it was by no means quiet; horses whinnied and doors creaked, and somewhere an unseen man called out to another, who in turn responded in the affirmative.
A large wooden sign swung gently from its hinges, protesting like an elderly man being forced up and out of his favorite chair. The Bit and Bridle, it proclaimed, boasting a decent enough depiction of a horse’s head in full tack.
A nagging, childish worry of being found out by the Earl of Ipsley arose in his head, but Joseph banished it, holding himself rigidly in the saddle and setting his jaw in an expression of cool disinterest. His curiosity about Rose Verdier and her life had never been far from his thoughts these past three years. How did she live, and did she suffer as he had? Emboldened by his facial hair, he rode on.
A man strode out of the stable, wiping his face on his sleeve. He straightened up when he noticed Joseph approaching, and pulled a flat cap from his trouser waistband before shaking it out and setting it upon his head.
Joseph nodded at him.
“Traveling, sir?” the older man asked, the guttural quality of hisr’s suggesting his birthplace was across the Channel.
“No. I’ve just ridden over from Icknield.”
Recognition settled upon the man; his face blanked momentarily, and then he was nodding. “Care to take a rest, then?”
“Not quite. I’m looking for someone. Miss Rose Verdier.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before narrowing, his face darkening even as his tone remained deferential. “Sir?”
Ah. Protective, Joseph mused as he held back a smirk. The older man must be a relative.
“Yes. Is she not at home?” Feeling cocky, he withheld any explanation, looking over his shoulder at the inn alongside him. On the second story there were several windows filled with tiny, diamond-shaped panes, some with a more greenish tint than others.
“She is,” grunted the man, suspicion on his face. He reached for the reins.
Joseph took that as good enough permission to dismount. However, before he turned on his heel to further his search inside, the man barked out her name.
“Rose!”
Joseph paused and looked back to give him a pained smile. The man glared back, loosely gripping his horse’s reins with no apparent inclination to move for the stables just yet.
Not just a relative. A father.
Well, not really a father. A foster father of sorts. His interest piqued, Joseph stared, unaffected by the menace that emanated from the man in waves.
“Are you the proprietor, then? Mr. Verdier?”
The man nodded slowly, his eyes still dark, then looked back to the inn. He stepped closer to Joseph’s horse. With a hand on the beast’s flank, he shouted once more. “Rose! Outside,rapidement!”
So many questions flooded Joseph’s mind, but he refrained from asking. Instead he continued to stare, wondering if the man wore any answers on his face—the large nose, the lines between thick brows, the brownish chops of wiry hair. Had his wife cuckolded him, or did he marry her after the earl had finished with her? The notion of the effete, ginger-haired earl mounting any woman seemed dubious to Joseph.
Mr. Verdier looked back at him, his mouth set dangerously close to a frown. Did he even know the girl wasn’t his?
With a loud slam, the inn’s front door flew open.
“What?” Rose came forth, exasperated, hands on her hips. She wore an apron over her simple skirt and shirtwaist, her sleeves rolled up, displaying freckled arms. She caught sight of Joseph almost immediately, and her demeanor tightened, her posture straightened. But even as her lips readied an apology, she froze, recognition sparking in her hazel eyes.
Something like excitement rose in him. He stepped back. He hadn’t expected that.
“Miss Verdier,” he said, placing a steadying hand on his stomach.
“Mr. Palgrave,” she breathed. She possessed an undeniably bewitching voice. He hadn’t recalled that. But just as he was different now, so was she. Taller, with a willowy elegance to her form, and less awkwardness. Her face had thinned, but her lips were rather full. Fuller now? He couldn’t say. He didn’t think he’d even noticed them before, but they stood on the precipice of adulthood now. Things had felt simpler three years ago, even as he’d been—somehow—even more miserable.
They regarded one another, with Joseph lost in his memories of that day. He wondered what Rose was thinking. Had she revisited it as often as he had? Only yesterday he would have scoffed at such a childish notion, but now, staring at her vibrant hair as it fell messily out of its braid and into her face, her lipsbarely open, waiting… Joseph had thought about her constantly since then, but not like this. Not with this pull toward her, with him wanting to stare at her face, at those inviting lips.
