Chapter Seven
She looked—distraught.
The notion darted into James’s mind as he caught Miss Harry and steadied her on her feet. “Easy there. Are you all right?”
Meeting his gaze, he saw her eyes widen, perhaps in concern. “Oh, Sir James…yes thank you, sir. I do apologize. I was not paying attention to where I was going.”
James considered that. “What is she up to?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Letitia. Your mistress. You wouldn’t be here if she were elsewhere, so one assumes her presence in the inn. Plus,” he grinned. “I’ve known her long enough to realize that she’s quite capable of getting quite outrageous bees in her bonnet.”
Harriet swallowed, and lowered her gaze.
“I see I’m not far off the mark.” He sighed. “Shall we take a seat?” He guided her to a bench by the window.
“Sir, there’s no need…”
“Of course there is.” He seated her. “I shall hold you captive with my charm until you tell me why you, and by default, your mistress, are here. And what maggot of foolishness she’s nurturing now.”
“Sir,” Harry bristled. “You are doing Miss Letitia a grave injustice. She is a very intelligent woman with many brilliant ideas. Your conversation leads me to believe you view her as a ninnyhammer, but I can assure you nothing could be further from the truth.”
James’s eyes narrowed. “Your protestations do you credit, Miss Harry. Your phraseology credits the governess who taught you well, but isn’t really what one would expect from a maid.”
“Um…yes, sir. I understand your point. I will attempt to be less…verbal.”
“Quite.” He eyed her with a measure of curiosity. “So what are you doing here?”
“I…er…” she sighed. “I cannot tell you without betraying a confidence. And that I refuse to do. I’m sorry.”
He thought about that. “Fair enough. Let’s approach that question in a different way. This is a public place, and although I’m aware that Mrs. Fisher has rather a soft spot for Letitia, even she would require an appropriate reason for you two to be in separate places…”
Harriet mulled over his words, wondered if she should point out the erroneous assumptions about the landlady, then decided not to. She just nodded. “That is acceptable. We are here so that Miss Letitia may interview potential stable hands.”
James felt a frisson of concern shoot up his spine. “In a room upstairs?”
“God, no.” Her eyebrows snapped into a frown. “In the small parlour there.” She pointed.
“Well that’s something, I suppose.”
“Indeed sir. I would have hoped you had a better opinion of Miss Letitia than to jump tothatcompletely inappropriate conclusion.”
James nodded. “I apologize. It was indeed quite wrong of me, and yes I do have a better opinion of her, although Heaven knows my conversation this morning isn’t indicative of that fact.”
“Well, no, it’s not.” She eased a little in her chair and folded her hands in front of her on the table.
“But I’m still not sure I understand. She would never hire a stable hand. That would be for Edmund to take care of.”
“I know,” said Harriet sadly. “Believe me, I know.”
“So,” mused James, “the question really is why is she interviewing men—men? Or one man?”
“Three of them,” answered Harriet.
“Three men then. Why on earth would she want private interviews with three potential stable hands?” His mind worked furiously.
Harriet peeked up at him. “Um, if I may be permitted to offer a clue…”
