“Please wait, miss,” an anxious voice called out.
Isabella turned around and curiously observed one of the earl’s servants scramble down from the top of the carriage. “Are you certain this is where you want us to leave you? We would be happy to take you outside the city, or anywhere else you wish to go.”
“That is most kind of you Mr. ... ?”
“Jenkins,” the man supplied.
“Mr. Jenkins.” Isabella nodded politely at the introduction. “As tempting as your generous offer is, I must decline. I am traveling well beyond the city limits to York.”
“I see,” Jenkins replied slowly. “These inns can be rather rough for a genteel lady. I must insist you at least allow me to escort you inside.”
Isabella paused a moment, observing the servant openly while she considered his offer. She judged him to be near fifty years of age, but he was a strong-looking man, obviously in good physical condition. She thought he was rather elegantly dressed for a coachman, but she decided to accept his offer of protection.
“Since I have no notion of how long I will be forced to wait, I would appreciate your company, Mr. Jenkins. Thank you.”
Once they were inside the inn, Isabella was glad she had accepted the servant’s assistance. The taproom was noisy and crowded, with an almost exclusively male clientele. A quick perusal of the area confirmed there were no unaccompanied women seated in the room.
Miraculously, Jenkins was able to secure a relatively private table in a corner of the crowded room. After a few moments, a harassed-looking barmaid came to their table.
“So what will you be having today?” she asked in a bored voice.
Isabella’s stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and she realized she had not eaten since early morning. “I would like a pot of tea and something substantial to go with it.”
“We don’t have anything fancy, but the cook could fix you a cold plate, with whatever meat, cheese, and bread we have left.”
“That would be fine.” Turning to the man sitting next to her, Isabella inquired graciously, “Would you care for some tea also, Mr. Jenkins? Or perhaps a pint of ale?”
“I prefer ale.”
After a considerable wait, the barmaid brought their refreshments. As Isabella lifted the heavy earthenware teapot and slowly poured herself a cup of tea, she became aware of the intense scrutiny of her companion.
“Do I look so very much like her, Mr. Jenkins?” Isabella inquired casually, while cutting a wedge of cheddar cheese. She delicately sank her strong white teeth into the tasty morsel and waited for a response.
Jenkins’s face revealed his surprise at her direct question, but he did not pretend to misunderstand Isabella’s remark.
“You do bear a distinct resemblance to the countess, miss,” Jenkins replied, “especially the unusual color of your eyes. I can understand how the earl might have mistaken you for Emmeline. It was a credible mistake given the earl’s condition.”
“His condition?” Isabella remained silent for a few thoughtful moments and then nodded her head philosophically. “I strongly suspected there was somethingdifferentabout the earl. He was absolutely relentless in his insistence about my being Emmeline, and he acted in a most irrational manner. He was also excessively forceful and demanding toward me and my former employers.” Isabella leaned in closer and whispered sympathetically, “The earl is unbalanced, isn’t he, Mr. Jenkins?”
“Unbalanced?” Jenkins’s face broke into a broad smile when he caught Isabella’s meaning. “The earl is not addle-brained miss, if that is what you are implying. He was merely drunk.”
“Drunk?” Isabella shook her head vigorously. “I am certain you are wrong. I can tell from experience when someone is inebriated. My stepfather had a great fondness for drink. I am quite sure I would have known if the earl was drunk.”
“I am not very proud to confess I spent the better part of last night emptying three bottles of brandy with the earl. Believe me, he was under the hatches when he first spotted you in the park this morning.”
Isabella raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Does the earl often spend his evenings drinking with his servants?”
“I am his friend, miss, as well as his valet,” Jenkins replied with obvious pride in his voice. “And no, the earl does not often spend his time drinking.”
“What was so special about last night?”
Jenkins slowly set his half-empty tankard down on the table before answering. “We packed up the London town house yesterday. The earl was forced to sell it, and I think that bothered him a good deal more than he figured it would.”
“He has pressing gambling debts?” Isabella could not keep the hint of scorn from her voice.
“These debts are not of his own doing,” Jenkins responded defensively. “These obligations were incurred long before the earl assumed his title. Being an honorable man, he is determined to repay them.”
“I beg your pardon,” Isabella countered, hearing the note of indignation in the servant’s voice. She could tell that her slur on the earl’s character had insulted the valet. She was intrigued by the servant’s unwavering loyalty. And by his admission that the earl was his friend. “It was not my intention to offend you, Mr. Jenkins. However, my ghastly experience with the earl today causes me to naturally assume the worst in his case.”
