Even if she was without money, transportation, and had no idea where they were…
“There are two large fellows guarding the bottom of the steps, miss.”
Rather than lurch for the door, Amelia decided to try a different tactic. She widened her eyes pitifully and pursed her lips into something of a pout.
“Won’t you help me?” Amelia asked.
She was a young lady in considerable danger; it should be a simple matter to engender some sympathy.
“I’m sorry, miss.”
“It doesn’t bother you that I’m here against my will?”
Seemingly unaffected, the woman turned her back and placed the burdensome tray on the table. She lifted a cover off one of the plates and, although Amelia hadn't thought she would be hungry, she felt her stomach growl. It looked to be some sort of meat stew with cooked vegetables and a dark gravy. There was also a decanter half-filled with wine and gleaming utensils, a fork and a spoon, but no knife.
When her would-be rescuer turned around to face Amelia, she brushed her hands together impatiently. “I’m paid well enough not to be bothered.”
“But—"
“When I say this is the King’s Inn, I’m referring to Mr. Beckworth. If he’s taken you into his protection, rest assured, it’s for your own good. Now. You’ve fresh water in the pitcher on the dresser. Wine and dinner. Unless you have need of anything else, I’ve a pub filled with hungry travelers to tend to.”
Amelia blinked, not quite believing her ears. “You are aware, aren’t you, that addressing Mr. Beckworth as king is treasonous?”
“For your lot, perhaps. But for us commoners, the one who pays our wages is king.” Obviously eager to get back to her other patrons, the woman, who was already halfway out the door, paused for just a moment. “He is a good man, mostly. You've nothing to fear.”
“Right.” Amelia pinched her mouth together. A good man would never accost an innocent lady. A good man would never have slapped her on the bottom.
Twice.
Catching Amelia’s skepticism, the woman frowned. “Do as he says, and you've nothing to worry about. I’ll have tea sent up before dawn. He’s not one to tolerate delays.”
On the heels of that, she closed the door, and Amelia wasn’t surprised when she heard the locks slide back into place.
Badgers and bollocks!The words, uninvited, slipped into her thoughts. She’d heard her brother mutter them on more than one occasion but hadn’t dared voice them herself.
Ever.
Only… perhaps her present circumstances merited a little vulgarity.
“Badgers and bollocks,” she whispered.
The sky didn’t fall, nor was she transported to hell. Instead, she experienced a noticeable amount of satisfaction.
She cleared her throat. “Badgers and bollocks.” This time her voice echoed around the chamber.
“Badgers and bollocks!” she yelled.
There was no one to hear her. No one to even care.
No one to admonish her and no one to aid her.
Amelia sighed, as much as she was able to with the pressure around her ribs.
Straightening, she paced across the room and then back to the table, trying to remember other curses that might be equally satisfying. None came to mind.
She glanced from the food the maid had brought up, to the bed, and then down at her gown, soiled from the day’s events. After the day she’d had, Amelia wanted nothing more than to climb under the counterpane and bury her head under the pillow, but not like this.
And she should eat first, but that too would be far more comfortable without the constraint of her?—
