that she would be inconveniencing that guest would not have crossed her mind—any more than would the possibility that he might refuse to go.
He was very tempted to do just that.
It was fortunate for him, perhaps, that according to his usual custom he had taken a room overlooking the innyard so that he could more easily keep an eye on his horses. The best rooms, the ones she would demand, would be at the front of the inn. If there had been no such thing as a private parlor, she would probably have demanded that the dining room be appropriated for her exclusive use while all other guests would be forced to eat in discomfort in their rooms.
Oh, it was probably unfair of him to judge the woman on such little evidence and no acquaintance. It was unfair to be hugely irritated by her and take an instant dislike to her. It was also virtually impossible not to do either. Even her “Thank you” had been spoken with the sort of frigid condescension that made it meaningless.
His irritation, even anger, had taken him by surprise. For really, what had provoked it had been slight. Perhaps the real cause of his annoyance was being back in England. He had forgotten what English ladies could be like. He had forgotten how obsequious the lesser classes could be when dealing with the upper classes, especially the aristocracy. The landlord had infuriated him. So had his understanding that really, the man had had no choice. He was regretting coming. Though he had had little choice beyond turning his back upon someone he loved.
“You will move out of the parlor, then, sir?” the landlord asked, his voice still anxious. “I shall reserve the best table in the dining room for you, the one between the fireplace and the window. And your dinner and all the ale and spirits you care to drink will be free of charge tonight. I will refund your payment for the private parlor in its entirety, even though you have had the use of it for the past couple of hours.”
“Yes, you will,” Gabriel said, his tone clipped.
The landlord visibly relaxed despite the curtness with which Gabriel had spoken. “It is very generous of you, sir, even though—” The rest of the sentence died on his lips when Gabriel fixed him with a steady gaze.
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “It is.”
For he could have contested the issue. Was there not some saying that possession is nine-tenths of the law? He would almost have enjoyed confronting that superior-looking majordomo. Unfortunately, he possessed an innate sense of courtesy that told him a lady who was traveling alone, except for her servants, really ought to be allowed the privacy of a parlor. Even a cold and arrogant lady.
He made his way up to his room, where he placed a folded handkerchief between the pages of his book to hold his place.
Lady Jessica Archer. Sister of the Duke of Netherby. In all probability she was on her way to London. Easter was over and the spring Season must already be heating up with all its myriad balls and soirees and garden parties and other fancy entertainments. The great marriage mart. He wondered why she was still unmarried. She was no tender young girl. If she were, she would hardly be on the road with only a majordomo and a maid for protection.
But even as he held that thought he wandered to the window of his room to look down upon the innyard. He smiled and shook his head in amused disbelief as he witnessed all the bustle. There were two grand carriages, one of them with a crest—the ducal crest?—emblazoned boldly upon the door that was visible to him. A third, somewhat more humble conveyance—though it was merely a relative point—must belong to the group too, since Gabriel was not aware of any other arrival within the past hour. The yard was teeming with large men, all clad in the same gaudy livery. The cavalcade must look like a traveling circus when it was strung out along the road.
Lady Jessica Archer had more than a majordomo and a maid for protection, then. She was as well guarded as a queen. She was a precious commodity. And she had all the accompanying haughtiness one might expect of such a woman. The inclination of her head when she had said thank you had spoken volumes about a life of aristocratic privilege and entitlement. He might have been a worm