He shrugged; he had done his duty, and now if she returned home and was ruined, that was no longer his problem. “Then let the chips fall as they may. We will leave as soon as the horses are sufficiently rested.”
Outside, the wind howled and snow battered the panes until they rattled. Emily glared at where Oliver now leaned against the taproom bar, talking and laughing uproariously with the proprietor. Evidently her company was too dour for him to take—which, although not an unusual conclusion for young men, did nothing to improve her mood.
He had no right to be so merry at such a time. After potentially ruining two people’s lives, he ought to at least show some remorse, but apparently he had never heard of the word. The sight of it jarred; all she had known was responsibility since she was seventeen years of age. Yet here he was, wild, ill-mannered, feckless.
Selfish.
If she could convince Isabella not to be in love with him, and not to marry him, she would.
He took a long swallow of the amber liquid in his hand, his throat bobbing. If he were to be believed and his fatherwasan earl, he certainly had a knack for adapting to his society—she could not imagine a gentleman this privileged had much to do with men like this. And yet he laughed among them as though he were one of them, as at home here as he would be in a drawing room.
No one would believe them to be siblings—he wore simple but expensive clothes, and hers was a thrice-darned gown she had extracted from her mother’s trunks two years ago.
He was handsome, broad-shouldered, and had gold stubble across his jaw. She was dowdy and plain.
That oughtn’t matter, yet for some reason it did.
She crossed the room to his side. “Mr Beaumont,” she said, and he stopped laughing to glance at her. A roguish curl fell across his forehead, and it was irritatingly charming.
“Emily,” he said, saluting her with his glass. “Have you come to hurry me along?”
“If such a thing were possible.”
The innkeeper, a sturdy-looking man with sideburns down to his jaw, grunted. “Won’t get far in this weather. I’d recommend you stay and wait for better conditions.”
“Of course you’d say that,” Oliver said cheerfully. “But you aren’t the one going out in it, so it doesn’t matter one way or the other.”
The innkeeper shrugged. “Your funeral.”
“Finish this for me,” Mr Beaumont said, sliding the glass across to her. “It’ll warm you right up.” He winked, sliding off the stool. “I shall go in search of our horses and get things prepared for us.”
Emily stared at the glass of liquid he had offered her. Brandy, perhaps? Wine? She couldn’t be sure; it had been a long time since her house had held any alcohol to speak of.
“It won’t hurt you,” the innkeeper said, before moving on to serve another patron.
She took a tentative sip. Heat flared across her tongue, and a burning sensation erupted in her throat. Unpleasant—and yet oddly warming. The heat sank into her stomach, and she found it remarkably easy to take another sip, then another, finishing what little remained in the glass.
How irritating that Mr Beaumont was right—about this, or anything. She would much rather he were an irredeemable rogue and she could convince poor Isabella to fall in love with someone more worthy. Or, better still, no one at all.
She had just finished the glass when Mr Beaumont summoned her to the frozen courtyard. His enormous carriage stood alone on the cobbles; no other vehicles were, evidently, prepared to brave the storm.
Emily could hardly blame them. If their circumstances had been less pressing, she would have felt the same.
Mr Beaumont came to stand beside her, dressed in a large oilskin coat that was too large on his frame. “In you go,” he said.
“Are you driving?”
“Alas yes. My pockets are not deep enough to convince a man to offer me his life.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Only a little.” He grinned at her, the wind mussing his curls. “Hold on tight, darling. I can’t promise you a comfortable ride.”
“I’m not your darling.”
“No, you’re a thorn in my side,” he retorted. “Come on, get in so I can take you home.”
“Thank you,” she forced herself to say.
