“Seems so from her discourse.” He dropped his tone to a murmur. “If you can stand her chit-chat.”
“I’ll welcome it, I think.”
Anything to keep her mind from dwelling on Alex once he was out of her reach.
The coach hit cobble, and the resulting noise and bouncing under a pace necessarily slow woke Mrs Tinkler. She sat up and yawned behind her hand, looking towards the window. “Oh, dear, did I drop off? Goodness, I do believe we are nearing journey’s end.”
She was right. Leaning forward, Apple saw the coach was passing through streets still busy even as dusk settled over the capital. Never having been to London before, she found her upset dissipating under a rise of interest. She could not see a great deal through the fuggy atmosphere outside, despite the prevalence of lanterns bobbing along and lamp posts at intervals which threw a pool of light on frosty surfaces and eerie faces hanging about in odd corners. Presently the road became smoother, the lamp posts more frequent and there were fewer stragglers.
“Ah, we are entering the more genteel part of the town, my dear Miss Greenaway,” piped up her chaperon.
Apple looked round at her. “You’ve been before?”
A complacent note entered the woman’s voice. “Indeed, yes, my dear. Upon several occasions. Though I’m sure I cannot claim as great an acquaintance with the place as Lord Dymond must enjoy?”
The sycophantic note irritated Apple, and she sighed at the thought of being obliged to have this woman’s company instead of Alex’s robust energy.
All too soon, she was alighting in the yard of the Bristol Hotel, of Alex’s choosing, in Cork Street. “Not one of the most fashionable places,” he murmured, leaning in as he gave her his hand to help her down the step, “but best not to draw attention to ourselves.”
Apple had reached terra firma and she paused. “Are you staying here too, then?”
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t do, Apple. Don’t want to set the town talking. Not that we’re likely to run into anyone I know in this place. Too early in the year besides. But no sense in running the risk. I’ll take a room at Stephen’s in Bond Street.”
The reminder of her unacceptable status threw Apple’s senses back into disorder, and by the time she had mastered herself she was surrounded by the bustle of the hotel, and Alex was engaged with a woman who, she supposed from the modest gown of blue bombazine, must be the concierge. Within a very short time, she was ushered up the stairs and into a welcoming apartment with a cheerful fire burning, a comfortable chair to either side and dominated by a four-poster.
“This is very nice indeed, dear Miss Greenaway,” said Mrs Tinkler. “We will be cosy enough in here, I dare say.”
Shock swept through Apple. Was she to share the room with her chaperon? For the first time for what seemed an age, her heart rose up in rebellion against Alex. What was he thinking? Did he suppose she would not wish for a modicum of privacy?
She looked round, half expecting to see him in the doorway. But there was only a servant, burdened with her valise and a small portmanteau which must belong to Mrs Tinkler.
Without thought, she accosted the landlady. “Is Lord Dymond waiting for us downstairs?”
The woman paused in the catalogue she was reciting to her chaperon of services available in the hotel. “I don’t know, ma’am. Would you wish me to —?”
But Apple did not wait for her to finish. In seconds, she was out of the door and hurrying back along the corridor towards the stairs, glad she’d taken note of the way. Halfway down she saw Alex in the hall below, in conversation with a stout fellow who had the appearance of a butler. She hurried down the remainder of the stairs.
“Alex!”
He turned his head, his brows drawing together. With a brief word to the other man, he came across the hall. “What’s to do?”
Apple went straight into the attack, her voice low so as not to be overheard. “What do you mean by arranging for me to share a bed with that woman?”
His brows flew up. “Why not? Thought you’d be more comfortable if you weren’t alone.”
“With a woman I scarcely know?”
He grimaced. “Suppose there is that.”
“Of course there is that! What’s more, I much dislike sharing a bed with anyone. It reminds me of school.”
“That’s as may be, but I’d feel a deal happier if I knew you were safely ensconced with your chaperon.”
Apple glared at him. “You’d feel happier? I suppose it’s of no consequence if I don’t.”
“Well, of all the stupid things to say! You know I want you to be happy.”
“Then you have a peculiar way of showing it. Why in the world didn’t you ask me? Of all the high-handed autocrats, you’re the worst, Alex Dymond!”
