Was it her imagination? Had there been a moment’s hesitation, almost as if—he was uncertain? If they had been in a ballroom and this exchange had taken place, she would have thought him shy.
The idea made her laugh.
But as he made his way toward her, she felt happy he was here. She’d become accustomed to him. She liked having him near.
As he took his seat on the bench directly across the table from her, she held up his neatly folded jacket. “Thank you for its use.”
“You are skilled with a needle,” he commented, noticing the repair she’d done to her dress. She’d managed to piece together the sleeve of the blue walking dress. It had been theleast damaged of her gowns. She now wore it on top of the others.
“When I say I am good at a task, you should believe me,” she responded lightly. “Did they work you hard?”
He laughed. “Not hard at all. Most of the work had already been done. However, there is clean hay in the barn. I suggest we sleep there rather than on these hard benches.”
“Is that where Tamsyn is?”
He nodded. “I left her stealing bones from her dog friends.” He paused, searched her face. “Is something the matter? You appear worried.”
Elise was surprised he’d noticed and then admitted in a very quiet voice, “I have no money. It was in the cloak we had to leave behind. And I don’t think you have any money either?” Her voice went up at the end because she wasn’t certain.
At that moment, the innkeeper, Mr. Sarver, came to their table, a serving lass behind him with two plates of hot food. “Here you are,” Mr. Sarver said proudly, nodding for the lass to put the plates in front of them. He raised his voice. “These two were in the crash during the storm the other night. They survived it, they did.”
“I heard there were no survivors,” a man from another table piped up.
“Same here,” chimed in another.
Kit stood. He clapped his hand on Mr. Sarver’s shoulder. “My wife and I have quite a story to tell.We were in that crash. And Sarver has been the best of hosts. I appreciate you, sir, for your generosity. Now, I’m going to tuck into that beefsteak and then afterwards, we shall share tales. But before I do, a huzzah for Innkeeper Sarver.”
“Huzzah,” many voices answered him.
The innkeeper chortled his embarrassment. “I have done nothing.”
“You have been kind to strangers, sir,” Kit said, “and that is far from nothing.”
And Elise wondered—who was this Kit Cox who had so many obvious talents and nary a penny to his name? With his praise of the innkeeper, he had won over many in this room. Now, both Kit and Elise were accepted, which was no small feat in a village community.
Within earshot, she overheard one man repeat, “But I heard there were no survivors.”
She turned on her bench, wishing to correct the man’s misunderstanding, but Kit had sat down. He gave life to his promise to “tuck” into his beef with gusto. She had never witnessed a man enjoy his food more.
To be honest, the beef, peas, and parsnips tasted delicious to her as well.
The serving lass asked what they wished to drink. Kit ordered ales for both of them. The combination of good meat and drink had a restorative effect on her.
Kit’s manners were good, she had to give him that. He knew how to handle a knife and forkwith some dignity. Proper manners and a rough exterior—more riddles than clues to the person Kit was.
The moment their plates were clean—Kit having eaten his and half of hers—a villager invited himself to sit down to discuss the crash. He was a surly sort and asked many questions. Kit was patient in answering them. She wondered if this man was the doubting Thomas who had made the comment behind her. Instead of listening to what they discussed, she found her attention wandering to the other people in the room—
“Elise, I’m going to spend some time with the group of men in the corner. Will you be all right here?”
His questions startled her out of her woolgathering. “Well, yes, of course.” And then she noticed the men Kit wanted to see were gambling over cards.
Elise stood up in alarm. “You are going to gamble?”
Kit leaned toward her. “We need money. I have no more than maybe a few pence.”
“But is this wise?” Panic rose in her. “How will we go to Ireland if you lose?”
“Why are you anxious? I thought you said your father was a gambler.”
