was dressed decently but without any flair of fashion. His clothes seemed designed for comfort rather than elegance. His boots were well worn. He was looking annoyed. And that look was sweeping over Jessica, from the crown of her bonnet to the toes of her lavender kid shoes. What he saw did not appear to improve his mood.
“This is the lady for whom I am expected to vacate the private parlor for which I paid handsomely?” he asked, presumably addressing his question to the first man, who must be the landlord.
“I do beg your pardon, my lady,” the landlord said with another bow and a smile that stretched his lips but did not register upon any other part of his face. He made a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Your room is ready for you. I trust it—”
Mr. Goddard cut him off again. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “I believe this matter can be left safely in your hands, Landlord.” He indicated the stairs to Jessica again.
So this gentleman had reserved the private parlor, had he, but was now being evicted from it on account of her? It was the sort of thing Mr. Goddard would be able to arrange with ease, of course, having all the weight of the ducal authority behind him. Whether the guest would go meekly remained to be discovered. He did not look meek. He did not look quite like a gentleman either, or behave like one. What gentleman would speak openly of money in the hearing of strangers? Or look a lady over from head to toe quite so boldly or with such obvious disapproval? Middle-class, Jessica guessed. A cit, perhaps, a businessman of some means. He must have money to be staying at an inn, even of this not-quite-superior quality, and to be paying for a private parlor.
Jessica inclined her head to him with cool courtesy. “Thank you,” she murmured before moving toward the stairway and the sanctuary of her room.
The unknown guest bowed to her in return, a slight, surely deliberately mocking gesture involving a small flourish of the hand that was not holding his book and a dipping of the head.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Jessica,” Mr. Goddard said when they had reached the top of the stairs. “I shall have a word with the landlord, who does not appear to have proper control of his house.”
He led the way to her room.
Being a woman had frustrations in plenty, Jessica thought again as the door closed behind her and Ruth. But being a man had its annoyances too. What would that guest do? Would he flatly refuse to vacate the parlor and then find himself confronted by Mr. Goddard himself? Would the landlord bribe him, perhaps, with a free dinner in the public dining room? Money was something he seemed to understand. It was none of her concern, however. Mr. Goddard would sort it out to her advantage.
“Tell me that is warm water in the pitcher, Ruth,” she said.
“It is, my lady,” her maid assured her after cupping her hands about the water jug.
Of course it was. Why had she even asked? Mr. Goddard would have seen to it before coming to escort her inside.
Two
Gabriel Thorne waited for the newly arrived guest to disappear up the stairs with her minions and move out of hearing before he spoke again.
She was Lady Jessica Archer, daughter of the late Duke of Netherby, sister of the present duke. She was exquisitely lovely and expensively clothed in what was no doubt the very height of female fashion. She was almost without doubt rich, privileged, pampered, entitled, and arrogant. She was surely accustomed to getting her way on any and all issues with the mere lifting of a finger. Everyone in her sphere would scurry about to satisfy her every whim. She had been delayed in her journey, the landlord had informed him. That must surely have provoked some temper. She had been forced to stop for the night well short of her planned destination—almost certainly an inn or a hotel far superior in quality to this one, though this was no hovel. And, having arrived at a substitute stopping place, she had made the inconvenient discovery that it boasted only one private parlor—which was already taken.
Such a fact would not disconcert Lady Jessica Archer for one moment, of course. She would merely have her majordomo oust the guest already in occupation of the room and install herself there instead. The fact