“We’ll see whether it’s finished spitting when yer finished eating. Might have to wait a bit.”
Alfie appeared at her side, equally drowning in his own great coat—the one I’d stolen from Gabriel’s things. He tugged the pink stocking cap off his head and shook his damp curls like a dog in Rory’s direction.
Kit urged me out of the carriage and inside with a chuckle when my reticule smacked against his side. With a wry grin, I switched it to the outside hand.
The White Horse was busier than our last stop, and homier. A young lad rushed right between Kit and me and out the door without a word.
That was when I finally looked at Kit. The rain hadn’t been significant enough to soak him. But the damp must have slipped around the coat because the fabric of his white shirt clung to his left side. It was just his shoulder and arm, but it was interesting. The way hints of ruddy skin shone through where it stuck to him left little to the imagination. His curls clung to his forehead in an entirely flattering way. There was absolutely no denying the realization that had been steadily building for the entire trip, perhaps even before. Kit Summers was an attractive man. And Cee hadn’t been lying about inexplicable solicitor musculature.
I shook that thought away as we were led to a table. Much improved from our last stop, we broke our fast with contentment. A table full of gentlemen nursed the aftereffects of drink in one corner. A couple chatted quietly beside us while three little ones raced circles around their table. A few other couples were scattered about. Though nothing exceptional, the toast and cold meats were simple and hearty and left us satiated.
Just as Kit tossed a few coins from his waistcoat and rose to go find Rory and Alfie, a woman at a nearby table cried out, “Little Christopher Summers? Is that you?” Her voice had a distinctive, nasally pinched quality to it and I knew the second Kit recognized it because his eyelids slipped closed in preemptive exhaustion.
After a fortifying breath, he turned to face her. “Mrs. Lanaham, how good to see you.”
She was a tall, spindly woman with yellow hair and a beaked nose to match her small, avian-like eyes. Kit positioned himself between us, blocking her from my view.
“Why, I thought we would be seeing more of you after you became a fancy lord.”
I could not hear his response—only noting the tightening of his shoulders. Then he asked, “How is your husband, Mrs. Lanaham? Does he still suffer from gout?”
“Oh, yes, he does. Poor man, and a touch of the rheumatism. I left him with our daughter while I was visiting my sister.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. When I was last here, I heard you two went to take in the waters for his health.”
“We did, but it turns out the waters didn’t agree with Martin. And it was too much sun for me. Oh, I was a wretched, pocked thing after only a few moments.”
“I’m certain that wasn’t the case, Mrs. Lanaham.”
“What are you doing here, my dear boy? Visiting your poor, lonely Mama?” she asked, a scolding tone in her question.
“I’m headed north on business.”
“And that business, does it involve an anvil and the pretty young miss back there?”
That was the moment my stomach dropped. This woman clearly knew Kit. I could not serve as his sister. A cousin could be tricky as well. If I couldn’t conjure an excuse, and quickly, this situation could become messy.
I rose, stepped to Kit’s side, and slipped my arm into the crook of his. The fabric of his shirt was still damp under my fingers. I opened my mouth, praying desperately for something, anything other than the singular idea ringing through my mind to escape. But it was no use. The words I tried to trap between my lips slipped free.
“Lady Leighton, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her mouth fell open, hanging there like an unflattering beaked shelf before she slowly, consciously closed it. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I hadn’t heard the news. Congratulations indeed, my Lord.”
He offered only a pinched smile. For as rare as his smiles were, I wasn’t happy to see this one.
“It’s new,” he gritted between clenched teeth.
“We’re traveling to see my brother to share the news in person,” I added, my voice high and nervous to my ears, but she didn’t seem to catch the false note.
“When was the happy day?”
“Just last week,” Kit supplied.
“Oh, your mother must be so happy. She’s always telling me about Katie’s boy and Lizzie’s brood. Soon you’ll have little ones of your own.”
“We wouldn’t want to get ahead of ourselves,” I interjected.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Kit bit out.
