She had to show them perfect hospitality, and enough entertainment that when they brought their travel tales back to London, everyone would hear about the lovely, convenient little place they’d discovered on the road to Bath.They would tell their friends, and those friends would sally forth to see it for themselves, and before she knew it, the inn would be a sensation and she would be walking down the aisle with an eligible and wealthy peer of some sort.
That was the plan, even if it was turning out to be far more upsetting than she had expected to encounter people from her old life here.
There was a surprisingly large part of her that wanted nothing more than to make up a story about a broken carriage wheel or some other mishap to account for her presence at Five Mile House.
But she couldn’t do that.Not least because she could actually feel the pressure of Hal’s glare all but burning holes in the back of her neck.
Turning her head quickly to give him a quelling look, she was taken aback by the hardness of his countenance.Arms crossed over his chest, making the muscles bulge tightly against the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, jaw grimly set under the soft bristles of his beard, he could’ve been carved from ice.
Except his eyes, which burned like dark stars from under his lowered brow.He looked furious, and she realized he’d heard all the things her so-called friends had said about his precious Five Mile House—the same sorts of things she’d said when she first arrived here.
Everyone in the public rooms had heard it.
She couldn’t deny her place here.Not only would it not help her future plans, but it would be the worst insult she could give to the place she’d worked so hard on, and the people she was coming to care about.
So she tossed her head and summoned every ounce of cool, sophisticated ease she’d ever possessed.“Stranded?Oh no, dear.This ‘backwater hovel’ is mine; I am the proprietress.You must come in and make yourselves at home, because, as it happens I have it on good authority that there is, in fact, a highwayman on the loose.”
ChapterTwelve
With many exclamations, embarrassed titters, and stilted apologies, the Londoners agreed to stay the night and the regular hum of socializing recommenced around them.Promising to return in a bit for a good gossip session and catch up, Gemma took her erstwhile friends’ drink orders up to the bar.
Head swimming with logistical concerns—which sets of blankets and bed linens were the driest after this morning’s wash, which two rooms had both the nicest of the Duke of Havilocke’s furniture as well as the best views out over the sweeping green hills and old woods of the North Wessex Downs—Gemma absentmindedly told Hal, “A bottle of scotch whisky and two glasses of sherry.Do we have sherry?We must acquire some, if not.The ladies of my acquaintance will likely all be ordering it.”
Hal set down a tray, and plunked three glasses down on it so hard the amber liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rims.Gemma’s gaze flew to his face, still set in those uncompromising lines.
“We have sherry,” Hal said shortly.“Bess cooks with it.”
Gemma eyed the glasses uncertainly.“Is it…the same kind?She cooks with the kind people drink?”
He shrugged, clearly not giving a damn if he was about to serve some of Gemma’s snobbiest friends the sherry that was only intended for pickling turnips or some such.
“Too late to do anything about it now, I suppose,” she muttered, her mind already racing ahead to what needed to be done to make their rooms ready.The nights were still cool enough for a hot brick in the bed to be very pleasant, she’d have to go and ask Bess, who still hadn’t come back down from her mission of mercy to Henrietta.Oh dear, that must not be going very well, she ought to run upstairs and check…
Gemma blinked.The drinks were still on the bar between Hal and herself.She looked up and met Hal’s green eyes.His gaze on her was steady.“The drinks are ready,” he said softly, prompting her.
She swallowed, and it felt as though someone has put their hands around her throat and applied pressure.She shook her head without even meaning to.
“What’s wrong?”he asked, quiet and relentless.“You served your own housekeeper earlier, without even thinking about it.Why is this any different?”
Because it was, she wanted to protest.These were people she had known when she was the toast of the Ton; people she had caroused with until all hours of the night, dancing and gaming and playing cards, drinking too much and staying out too late, only to fall into bed and do it all over again the next night.They knew her as bold, confident, flirtatious Lady Gemma Lively, who’d kissed her reputation goodbye during her debut Season and never looked back.
If she picked up that tray and carried it over to them, playing the barmaid serving at their whim, she would be crossing a line.One that even her dissolute band of reprobate former friends would never dream of crossing.
From ruling class to serving class.With one tray of drinks.
It shouldn’t matter.She shouldn’t care, she knew that.After only a week of working with Bess, Gemma already held more true respect for her new friend than she could ever claim for her old friends.
Yet the taboo was so strong, so ingrained, Gemma almost could not force herself to move.She looked up at Hal, knowing the agony of indecision must be written all over her face, and like some kind of miracle, his stern expression softened a bit.“I understand,” he told her.“It’s all right.I’ll take the tray over.”
Gratitude poured over her in a stream of warmth, tinged perhaps with a touch of shame.But before she could gush her thanks, Hal held up a staying hand.
“I’ll take it over to them,” he said firmly, “on one condition.”
“What?”
He leaned in, that same lock of hair that had taunted her earlier gleaming like ancient bronze in the flickering candlelight.“That you admit, to me and to yourself, that this plan of yours, to use Five Mile House to catch yourself a duke, is never going to work.”
Gemma went still, like a pedestrian realizing a runaway hack was careening wildly toward them.She wanted to object instantly, to stick her chin in the air and argue that her plan was foolproof.
