But her dinner was still sitting heavy in her stomach even though she had not taken large helpings of anything. And she was still feeling cramped from the journey with as much distance again to travel tomorrow. She craved fresh air and exercise.
She could not go walking alone in a strange town when it was already dusk.
The Marquess of Attingsborough was Susanna’s friend, she reminded herself. Susanna had spoken highly of him. The only reason she could possibly have fornotgoing with him was that she did not like him, though really she did not know him, did she? And that he was a man—but that was patently ridiculous. She might be an aging spinster, but she was not going to dwindle into the type of old maid who simpered and blushed and generally went all to pieces as soon as a male hove into sight.
“Thank you,” she said. “I will fetch my cloak and bonnet.”
“Good,” he said, “I will wait for you at the head of the stairs.”
3
Miss Claudia Martin, Joseph noticed, wore the same graycloak and bonnet she had worn all day. Once they were outside the inn, they walked along the street beyond the stable yard until they turned onto a narrower lane that would take them out into the country. She strode along at his side, making it unnecessary for him to reduce his stride. He did not offer his arm. He sensed that it would be the wrong thing to do.
It was already dusk, but it would not be a dark night, he judged. Now that it was too late for the sun to shine, the clouds had moved off and the moon was already up.
“Perhaps,” he said, “tomorrow will be a brighter day.”
“It is to be hoped so,” she agreed. “Sunshine is always preferable to clouds.”
He did not know quite why he had invited her to walk with him—except that her school interested him. She had never shown one sign of liking him.
“I trust your rooms meet with your approval,” he said.
“They do,” she said. “But so would the other rooms have done, the ones I reserved, the ones overlooking the stable yard.”
“They might have been noisy,” he said.
“Theyarenoisy,” she told him. “I have stayed in one or other of them before.”
“Youlikenoise?” He turned his head to look at her. She was gazing straight ahead, her chin up, her nose in the air. Good Lord, she was annoyed. Withhim? For insisting that she be treated with courtesy and respect at that inn?
“I do not,” she said. “Neither do I like the light of a dozen lanterns shining into my room or the smell of the stables. But they are only rooms and only for one night. And theyarewhat I reserved.”
“Are youquarrelingwith me, Miss Martin?” he asked her.
That brought her head around. She looked at him with steady eyes and raised eyebrows, and her pace slowed somewhat.
“Your carriage is very much more comfortable than the hired one would have been,” she said. “The rooms in which the girls and I have been placed are vastly superior to the ones that had been assigned to us. The private dining room was a great improvement upon the public room. But these are all details of life that are not strictly necessary. They are what you and your class take for granted, no doubt. I am not of your class, Lord Attingsborough, and have no wish to be. Moreover, I am a woman who has made her own way in life. I do not need a man to protect me or an aristocrat to procure special favors for me.”
Well! He had not been so roundly scolded since he was a boy. He looked at her with renewed interest.
“I must apologize, then,” he said, “for wishing to see you comfortable?”
“You must do no such thing,” she said. “If you do, I shall be forced to admit how very ungracious my own behavior has been. I ought to be grateful to you. And I am.”
“No, you are not,” he said, grinning.
“No, I am not.”
She almost smiled. Something caught at the corners of her mouth. But clearly she did not wish to show any such sign of weakness. She pressed her lips into a thin line instead, faced front once more, and lengthened her stride.
He had better change the subject, he decided. And he must be very careful to do Miss Martin no favors in the future.
“All the girls in the class I saw this morning seemed sad to see Miss Bains and Miss Wood leave,” he said. “Is there never conflict between the paying pupils and the charity girls?”
“Oh, frequently,” she said, her voice brisk, “especially when the charity girls first arrive, often with poor diction and unpolished manners and very frequently with a grudge against the world. And of course there will almost always be an unbridgeable social gap between the two groups once they have left the school and taken their divergent paths into the future. But it is an interesting lesson in life, and one I and my teachers are at great pains to teach, that we are all human and not so very unlike one another when the accidents of birth and circumstance are stripped away. We hope to instill in our girls a respect for all classes of humanity that they will retain for the rest of their lives.”
He liked her answer. It was sensible yet realistic.
