“What if the marquess travels with his family?”
“That would be more difficult, I grant you.” Henrietta took her arm. “Let’s go and see. If he refuses, we’ll have to steal aboard during the night.”
“Oh cher!” Verity stared at her. In the lamp light her expression settled into one of determination, and she gathered up her skirts. “Let us find the inn.”
They crossed the road and passed a tavern busy with rowdy sailors. Two men staggered out the doorway and leered at Verity. She picked up her skirts and hurried along the pavement with Henrietta following.
The Pelican was a grand establishment. Candlelight blazed from every unshuttered window. “We can send for our luggage and spend the night here,” Henrietta said, taking a step toward it.
Verity grabbed her arm. “You must allow me do all the talking, Henrietta. Or we will be undone!”
Henrietta straightened her hat. Assuming the attitude of a page was harder than she’d anticipated.
“Here.” Verity held out her shawl. “Carry this and walk behind me.”
The foyer was papered in bright red and gold stripes and wall sconces lit the room. The man behind the counter looked up as they entered.
“Bonsoir, monsieur. I require a bed for the night and a pallet for my page.”
“Good evening, madame. Your luggage? I don’t believe I heard a carriage?”
“The luggage is at The Cockerel. I prefer the look of your establishment. Please send someone to fetch it.”
“As you wish, madame.”
He turned the register for Verity to sign.
Verity picked up the quill and signed with a flourish. “I shall require dinner.”
“Your servant can eat in the kitchen, madame.”
“Merci. I’ll send him there presently.”
“The dining room is this way, madame.” He flung open a set of doors.
Verity slipped off her redingote and handed it to Henrietta. She took her fan from her reticule before following the proprietor into the dining room. Only a few of the tables were occupied. Two men sat in a corner, deep in conversation. Henrietta dismissed them as too plainly dressed. Her gaze alighted on the man sitting alone at a table by the window. Candlelight brightened his puce taffeta coat, setting the gold lacing afire. A large diamond sparkled on his finger. She’d seen him somewhere and hastily lowered her head.
Verity walked past his table. She dropped her fan almost at his feet. “Mille pardons, monsieur.”
“Allow me.” He handed it back then gazed at Verity through his quizzing glass.
She curtseyed. “Merci, monsieur.”
Henrietta remembered where they’d met. They had danced at Almack’s. He’d glared at her when she’d refused him another dance. She doubted he would see through her disguise, but kept her head ducked as she followed Verity to the table.
“Take my redingote and shawl to our room, Pierre. Then go the kitchen for your dinner.” Verity said, with a dismissive wave.
After depositing Verity’s things in the room, Henrietta made her way to the kitchen.
“Sit at the table,” the innkeeper said. “Kindly take off your hat. Cook will give you a chicken leg for your supper.”
Henrietta’s face grew hot. “Me mistress will have me guts for garters,” she said in a gruff voice, hanging onto her hat. “She gave me a new hat this very morning and told me never to take it off!”
“Never?” The man laughed. “As you wish.” He disappeared into the foyer.
***
While Henrietta ate in the kitchen, Verity partook of onion soup followed by roast chicken. Her stomach churned with nerves, and she merely picked at the dishes in front of her while trying to think of the best approach.
