Page 31
Ronan wasn’t.
He’d stopped in Rochester. After calling on a few merchants to which Masterson had owed balances and paying those debts, he’d consumed a simple but satisfying meal of stew, cheese, dark bread, and ale at The Hair of the Hog’s Pub and Inn.
He’d also had a short but interesting conversation with Cammie Sumner—Masterson’s former housemaid. The girl was a brazen, forward chit, full of herself, for sure. Though it had only been just past eleven of the clock, she’d offered to take him upstairs to discuss her previous employer.
When she’d realized Ronan wasn’t interested in sampling her favors, Miss Sumner had turned petulant. With a toss of her stringy brown hair, she’d planted her reddened hands on her ample hips. An unbecoming sneer marring her pretty face, she said, “I suppose yer like the lieutenant then. The fool preferred that skinny-hipped, holier-than-thou governess, Mercy Feathers.”
Several coarsely-attired patrons turned avid gazes in their direction, undoubtedly eager to hear whatever gossip Cammie Sumner bandied about.
“Are you implying Lieutenant Masterson’s relationship with Miss Feathers was more than professional in nature?” Ronan had prodded, the fingers of one hand wrapped casually around the pewter tankard.
He took a long sip of the dark, warm ale, observing the girl over the rim.
Jealousy flashed in her eyes.
“Oh, aye, for certain,” Miss Sumner said, nodding vehemently. A cunning glint entered those whisky-brown orbs. “I cannot count the number of times I saw her departin’ his bedchamber with me own eyes. Though for the life of me, I could never understand what the lieutenant saw in her when he could’ve had this.”
She placed her hands under her voluptuous breasts, thrusting them dangerously higher until Ronan feared they might spill over the bodice of her simple gown.
“Cammie Sumner!” thundered a harsh male voice as the beefy innkeeper trooped toward her, a scowl wrinkling his broad forehead.
She glowered at her father before grudgingly dropping her mutinous gaze to the well-scrubbed floor.
“Yer mother needs help with the baking.” He jabbed a big thumb toward the kitchen. “Go on now, lass.”
A pout turning her mouth downward, she flung her hair over her shoulder and flounced away.
“Sorry I am about that, guv. Because Cammie was a maid for Lieutenant Masterson for a time, me daughter has a high opinion of herself. She’s always puttin’ on haughty airs and such.” He tossed a fretful glance toward the kitchen. “She’s never been content with her lot or her station.”
Another patron signaled the proprietor.
“Excuse me, sir.” Mr. Sumner had hurried away.
Ronan pitied the man having to deal with his cheeky daughter. She’d likely end up with a babe and no husband.
“Are we to have lemon cake with tea too?” Miss Arabelle asked eagerly, her big eyes wide and hopeful.
Her question ended Ronan’s contemplation of earlier in the day. He wasn’t sure where Cammie Sumner fit into this puzzle or how trustworthy the girl was. Therefore, he tucked her conversation into the back of his mind with the other musings about Mercy Feathers for the time being.
Quite a stack of ruminations would need sorting through later.
At Miss Arabelle’s innocent question, a becoming flush stole its way up Miss Feathers’s porcelain skin. “Not today, darling.”
“It’s been ever so long since we’ve had biscuits or cake,” Miss Bellamy said, though there was no hint of petulance in her pronouncement. She simply stated a fact she’d come to accept.
“I know, dearest, and I’m sorry. However, I’ve only asked Mrs. Stanley to prepare tea today.” Miss Feathers studiously avoided looking in his direction.
Because they hadn’t anything else to offer?
Just how had they managed without funds for two months?
“I’m yet quite full from a robust meal in Rochester, but tea would be appreciated,” Ronan fibbed. He far preferred coffee but doubted there was any to be had. He was all the more grateful he’d eaten his fill prior to arriving.
A few minutes later, as they all sat awkwardly around the tea table, steam spiraling upward from the four matching teacups, Ronan cleared his throat.
The lack of milk and sugar to embellish the brew didn’t go unnoticed, though his wards seemed unaffected. Mayhap they all preferred their tea plain, but that was unlikely.
Both his sisters as well as Mother enjoyed their tea with milk and a lump of sugar.
