“I don’t mean to call you a foolish man. I do that to my daughters, you know.” She couldn’t help explaining to him. “When they worry me.”
“You call your daughters foolish men?” He would make a joke of it. Who was she to worry about him?
“Foolish girls.” She ignored his teasing.
Mentioning her girls reminded her who she was. A mother. A mature woman, not some starry-eyed miss. That kiss back there… It meant nothing. A bit of comfort. Warmth. She was the foolish one, to have imagined for a minute that it might lead to anything else.
But now you are a widow.
Eve ignored the taunting voice in her mind.
And you haven’t been kissed in over a decade!
She pushed her shoulders back and stared into the distance.
The road was, indeed, more sludge than anything else. She’d thoroughly ruined her boots by now and doubted Lucy could repair her dress which was now frayed and muddied at the hem. Hopefully the traveling coach would pass through tomorrow.
Neither she nor Mr. Waverly spoke another word for what felt like hours, making slow but steady progress. And then, just when she couldn’t stand another second of his silence, a sign came into view.
Aged and worn, nonetheless, it directed them off the road toward The Pig and Goat Inn. Not too promising, but shelter. Water. Safety.
Greater relief than she’d imagined, swept through her. They would not be forced to spend the night in the outdoors after all. Each time they’d rounded a corner and come upon more open road, her worry had increased. Although doing his best to hide it, Niles was obviously in pain. She didn’t know what she’d do if he worsened.
She glanced at him in time to catch an expression of relief crossing his features, as well.
“I shall certainly sleep better than I did last night.” She broke the silence. Exhaustion would ensure the rest her body craved. She’d lain awake the night before thinking of Jean Luc. But now, after tumbling down the side of a mountain, his death didn’t seem quite the traumatic event that it had initially.
Was traumatic the proper word for his death? His life had been traumatic. Their marriage had been disappointing. His death was…
Final.
That’s what it was. Final. No more need to fear him. She’d stopped hoping he’d changed ages ago. But he was the father of her daughters and now he was dead.
They made their way around some brush, and the inn appeared by the side of the road. Simple, unadorned, nothing special about it at all, but it might as well have been heaven. Niles held the door wide so that she could precede him inside, and a few minutes later, he was handing her a key.
“Room number three. He’s sending his wife up in a few minutes with dry clothes for you to change into.” He spoke impassively, back to being Mr. Waverly. Disappointment bothered her.
Surely, he hadn’t forgotten? And exactly how pathetic was it that she’d thought of practically nothing else. Could she blame it on the rain? Shock from having her carriage go tumbling into a ravine?
“Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around her front. “About earlier—”
“Forgotten.” He shoved both hands into his pockets, answering her unspoken question.
Yes. Yes. That would be best, would it not? Put it behind them, as though the kiss never occurred?
“Has John been here?”
Niles grimaced. “Not yet. I imagine if the horses took off in another direction, they might have headed back toward London. But the innkeeper says they have a gig we can rent. I’d prefer we allow the mud to dry, however, before continuing on.”
“Of course.” She glanced at the key in her hand. “What room are you in? That is, in case I have need of you.” Being with him and counting on him like no other made her feel like a young girl. Much as she’d first been with Jean Luc before…
With her man of business of all things!
“I’ll be in the tap room.” Again, his face impassive. His demeanor cool. Did he intentionally not want her to know which room he would be sleeping in? Or—
“You didn’t hire a room for yourself?”
“All full up, Mrs. Mossant.”
