“You’ve been a stranger, haven’t you, lass?” Frederick said in a scolding yet affectionate tone. “Have you been well? How’s our Molly?”
“Molly is very well. She is out in the carriage with a friend. In fact, I am here with friends,” she said without hesitation. “We are only staying the night. Would you have room for us?”
“For you? Of course!”
She smiled at him in a way that made it clear they knew one another very well.
“I thank you. But before you give us the rooms, I have a reason for being here.”
“I thought so,” he smiled, not once taking his eyes off her.
“Before I left, Miss Arabella was staying here. This is her cousin,” she said, gesturing to Julian, “Julian.”
Julian frowned slightly at the casual form of address, but Clara elbowed him before he could speak.
“Julian, eh?” Frederick shook his hand and nodded. “Nice to meet you, Julian. Miss Arabella was a real treasure. We were all very sorry when she was whisked off to the continent.”
“Have you heard anything from her since?” Julian asked. “She returned to England recently, and I wondered if perhaps she stopped here.”
“Indeed, she did. With her little one and her husband.”
Clara’s heart leaped. “Her husband?”
“Well, yes,” the older man said. He glanced at Clara. “And who might you be?”
“I am her friend, Clara,” she said quickly. “Julian’s wife.”
“Well, Julian’s wife and Arabella’s friend, because you are a pretty lass, I’ll tell ya. Miss Arabella was here with her baby and her Italian husband. Spoke with a very thick accent.”
“She came here with Bash?” Clara asked, but the man drew his bushy eyebrows together.
“Bash? I think not. No, the man she was with was Italian through and through. Barely understood a word he said.”
She and Julian looked at one another.
“Are you certain?” Marianne asked. “It was not a tall, ginger-haired man?”
Frederick let out a deep laugh. “If it were a ginger-haired man I would most certainly remember. There are not so many of us, and I make a point of striking up conversation with any I meet, in case we are distantly related. No, this one was most certainly Italian. Giancarlo something or other.”
“Giacomo?” Clara offered.
The man nodded. “Yes, indeed. That sounds right.”
Marianne looked at them both and nodded slowly. “I see. Did they stay very long?”
“Just the one night, and then they were off to London. To do this and that.” Frederick laughed then turned back to Marianne and placed a hand on her arm. “Marianne, you must come down later and have an ale with me and tell me how you are getting on.”
“Gladly,” she replied, “but first we must get my friends settled. As well as their child and mine. And another room for the m… friend.”
“Of course.” He turned and surveyed Julian and Clara. “I am afraid I do not have the blue room available. Only the purple. It is the nicest. Then I have a courtyard-facing room for the friend.”
Julian still had one hand resting on the small of Clara’s back, had done since he’d steadied her, and had not removed it. It was not the way one touched someone with whom they were not intimately familiar.
“What about Marianne and Molly?” Clara asked quickly. “We are married, yes, but if there is no room for her?—”
“I have a room for Marianne and Molly, do not you worry. I always take care of my girl.”
“Do not fret,” Marianne added with a smile. “Frederick will see me right.”
