Kit followed, his mouth full of bread. Manna could not have tasted more heavenly. His whole being rejoiced in true nourishment.
Elise had only taken a nibble. If she offered him her food, he would not turn it down this time. She spoke up, “I’m Elise,” she said to Mrs. Sarver.
“Elise?” She glanced at Elise curiously and thenseemed to notice that she was wearing a man’s jacket. Kit had a sinking feeling. If the wholesome Mrs. Sarver jumped to conclusions, which was something wholesome people always did, then she might imagine that he and Elise were not a proper couple. Some inns, especially ones built around family, could be very particular.
So he stepped in. “Elise Cox,” he said smoothly, using part of his family’s hyphenated name Fitzhugh-Cox. It was an old and respected one in England. However, no one raised an eyebrow when he used just part of it. “I’m Kit Cox, herhusband.” He said the lie with a smile.
Elise started to choke on her bun. Kit rubbed between her shoulder blades as he imagined a husband would. “My wife and I were in the coach accident the other night.”
Mrs. Sarver’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, no. It was a dreadful accident. But how could you have survived? We thought everyone in the coach had been killed.”
“The driver and the guard died. We are still alive.”
“Why didn’t you come in when they brought the bodies?”
“A very good question,” Kit said, allowing a touch of his ire to show. “The coach was full and the driver told us to walk to the—what is this inn?”
“The George.”
“Right, to the George. It has not been an easy journey.”
“I can’t imagine it would be after all that has happened.” Mrs. Sarver shot Elise a commiserating look. “Now I understand why you are dressed oddly, Mrs. Cox. It must have been a frightful experience. And your eye, Mr. Cox, does it still hurt?”
“Terribly,” he assured her, hoping it would earn him a free bun.
It didn’t.
Elise spoke up, “My dress was torn at the shoulder. Do you think I can find needle and thread? I believe I can repair it.”
“We should be able to find you something.” Mrs. Sarver shifted her daughter to her other arm. The child was good-sized and as rosy-cheeked as her mother. Now Kit could see the feminine features marking her as a girl. She kept trying to reach out for Tamsyn. The dog warily hung back, apparently as ignorant of babies as Kit was.
Mrs. Sarver tsked. “Such an ordeal. The accident was terrible news for all of us. It is nice to learn there were survivors.”
“Especially for us,” Kit answered, and Mrs. Sarver laughed as if he was being humorous.
The inn was in sight now. The George was a very small establishment. It was actually a way station for a quick change of horses. There were paddocks and a small barn. The inn itself was a low stone building painted white with a few window boxes of bright flowers and a picture of a very ugly George on the tavern sign.
Leaving Tamsyn outside, they entered the establishment to find it was one big taproom filled with trestle tables. A group of village men sat hunched over their drinks and conversations in a corner.
Mrs. Sarver called for her father-in-law. Her husband managed the horses, she explained.
The innkeeper, Mr. Sarver, was the typical jovial sort whose face looked very much like his granddaughter’s whom he had immediately gathered up in his arms, heedless of the bloody apron around his waist. Kit could picture him carving up a haunch of beef. The image caused his stomach to rumble.
He, too, was astounded to hear that Kit and Elise had been part of the crash.
“They told me there were no passengers,” Sarver said officiously, bouncing his granddaughter on his arm.
So, Kit was a touch curt when he replied, “There were passengers. If you heard that information from the coachman, it is because he left us behind. You and I both know he didn’t want to take us because we’d already paid the other driver. He was afraid of not receiving a fare.”
Sarver made a commiserating sound. “Christian charity should be more important than coin, but it isn’t.”
He was so blunt, Kit had to laugh. “True.” He tapped a hand lightly on the counter in front ofhim. “So, my lady and I would like rooms for the night.”
“I only have one room and it is spoken for. Most travelers sleep on one of the benches if they are staying for the night.” He nodded to the tables and benches around them. “Of course, we are the only public house for several miles. It can be noisy.”
Well... sleeping on a bench was certainly about all Kit could afford, although he had a plan to change that. “Do you think there will be a good crowd tonight?”
“There always is on a Wednesday night. The lads like to come together in the middle of the week.”
