A Bride for the Prizefighter - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,119
had quoted Mr. Samuel Johnson’s maxim on marrying in haste, repenting at leisure. It did not seem right to Hannah that Mina should be wed whilst in deepest mourning, though she acknowledged it was only right she be led by her remaining family member, Lord Faris.
She finished by sincerely wishing that Mina would entreaty her husband to change the wicked name of their hostelry, for she had felt quite mortified having to write the direction for her letter and wondered that Mina could bear to live under the roof of such a loose, immoral sign be it ever so old. For antiquated things, she urged and underlined twice, were not always respectable.
Mina cast her letter aside and picked up her bag of mending. She had two shirts of Nye’s that needed repair, though she felt a little self-conscious working on them in his presence. “How is Herney working out in the bar? Are the customers taking to him?”
Nye shrugged. “He’s likable enough, though… a tad respectable, maybe for their tastes.”
“He’s a pleasant, clean-living young man,” Mina said severely.
His eyes gleamed. “Exactly. I see you take my meaning perfectly.”
Mina suppressed the answering smile that rose to her lips. “I’m sure he will win them over eventually.”
“How’s the girl?” he asked abruptly.
“Corin? A very willing and helpful young woman,” she said with approval. “I think with pointers from Edna, we will soon have another treasure on our hands,” said Mina warming to the theme.
“Come and sit on my lap, Mina,” Nye interrupted her.
She lowered her sewing and blinked at him. “Nye!”
“What? I want my treasure in my hands,” he said warmly.
Mina gaped at him. “Are you calling me your treasure?” she asked, her voice oddly constricted.
“What else? Now stop staring and bring your sweet arse over here.”
To her own astonishment, Mina found herself setting her sewing down beside her and rising from the sofa. “This was not precisely what I had in mind when you said you were going to keep company with me of an evening,” she said uncertainly as she crossed the room toward him.
He reached up and drew her down onto his lap. “Wasn’t it? But it was what I had in mind; I assure you.”
“I can well believe it,” Mina retorted as he wound an arm around her waist. “But I thought we were discussing household matters.”
“We can still do that with you on my lap.”
Mina looked down at him suspiciously. “Really?”
“What else needs to be said?”
Naturally, her brain chose this moment to turn blank. With Harriet’s words in mind, she asked, “Was this inn always known by its current name?”
Nye’s eyebrows rose. “Nay,” he admitted. “I have the old sign in one of the outhouses, but I doubt you’d like it.”
“What was its original name?” she asked, though she had a dim memory someone else had told her it once.
“I warn you, it’s no more appropriate than the one it bears now.” She could see he was deriving some amusement from this subject by the smile lurked in his eyes.
“Tell me,” she said, tightening her arms around his neck.
“Very well then, it was called The Quiet Woman.”
Mina looked down at him. “Wretch,” she said, and he laughed. “Why would I not like the sign?”
“I’ll show it you sometime.”
“What does it depict?”
He sighed. “A headless woman carrying a tray of cheese and wine.”
“Headless?”
“Only a woman without a tongue in her head is quiet”
“Is that a quote?”
“It’s inscribed on the sign.”
Mina pulled a face. “I think I prefer The Merry Harlot,” she said dryly.
Again, Nye’s smile flashed out, but he soon turned serious again. “Do you want to change the name?” he asked lightly, but to her surprise, Mina saw he looked in earnest. “I’ve been thinking of late of some changes that need to be made around the place.” His thumb rubbed against her waist in the gesture she was starting to find familiar.
“What sort of changes?” she asked curiously.
“Certain associations,” he answered evasively, and Mina wondered with a surge of optimism if he meant his ties with the smuggling trade.
“You mean,” she said carefully. “That we should try and entice more locals away from The Ship?”
He shrugged. “As to that, I doubt we’ll ever lure the villagers away from a more convenient watering hole. But we could think about become a coaching inn again with teams of horses running along the Exeter road. There’s probably only about ten years or so left before rail connects this whole country,” he mused. “But ten years is still a considerable