The musicians glanced at the crowns in their hands with obvious surprise and clapped him on the shoulder jovially as they took their leave.
“That was kind of you,” Tabitha said. “Particularly since you didn’t want them here at all.”
He shrugged. “They played well, and there’s no one else here to give them a vail.”
“Not just any vail. Three crowns is fifteen shillings—more than a laundry maid makes in a month.”
“The festival is long over. That might be all the vails those men earn this month. Besides, why are you so conversant on the wages of laundry maids?”
“I’m conversant on every aspect of running an aristocratic household. I’ve been running my father’s since before I left the schoolroom, and was raised to understand I’d soon be running Lord Oldfield’s households as well. And you’re trying to change the subject.”
“What subject?”
“Your discomfort that I remarked on your kindness.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “If you insist upon thinking of me as handsome and kind, I shall be forced to bat you away like a fruit fly.”
She grinned at him. “Besieged by marriageable young ladies, are you?”
“A dreadful bunch. And no, I’ve managed to avoid such entanglements thus far. My prickly personality and rough looks have previously been enough to keep them at bay.”
“You don’t want to keep me at bay,” she informed him. “You’re my beloved and besotted Mr. Snowfeather.”
“I never agreed to act besotted.”
“Well, we can’t very well present ourselves as a marriage in trouble, can we? Not here in Marrywell. Every matchmaker under the sun would throw herself into reviving the spark in our relationship.”
He looked appalled. “We’re not to call attention to ourselves whatsoever. Mr. and Mrs. Snowfeather are to be as inconspicuous as possible.”
“In that case, we should comport ourselves like a Marrywell success story.” She gestured out the window at the fading light. “The sun will set within the hour. The colors are certain to be beautiful. Shall we go and watch the horizon from the follies, my love?”
He grimaced. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I.”
“Probably,” she agreed cheerfully.
Mr. Frampton sighed. He slid from his chair to hold out his elbow. “Come, then, Mrs. Snowfeather. A sunset awaits us.”
Chapter 14
As they exited the public house, Mr. Frampton paused next to a fashionable black barouche and gave a coin to the lad watching over it. There was no driver in sight.
“Mind it for another hour, would you?”
Tabitha stared at the empty front seat of the conveyance in surprise. “Never say you drove here yourself.”
Mr. Frampton shrugged. “It was a nice day.”
“It’s England. No one ever knows if it’s going to stay a nice day. Lord Oldfield sent you on a wild goose chase and refused to loan you a driver?”
“I’m certain he’d have lent me all four of his stately coaches if I’d had need of them. That’s my barouche. I rarely have the opportunity to take it for a jaunt.”
“Your barouche,” Tabitha repeated.
She supposed it fit him. Sturdy and practical, with a sporty collapsible roof to take advantage of sun or protect oneself from rain. For the passengers safe in the enclosure, that was. The driver was as exposed to the wind and elements as the pair of horses pulling the carriage.
“Come,” said Mr. Frampton. “Wasn’t there a sunset you wanted to see?”
Tabitha took his arm. It was strong and warm and steady. A fitting arm for a husband. Her skin flushed with warmth. She fell into step by his side, seamlessly matching his easy rhythm as they ambled up the main street to the botanical gardens.
