When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,101
on the roof of a moving vehicle, she’d doubtless be returned to Parker as an hysterical female in want of the loving protection of her fiancé—or husband, as Parker had styled himself.
What if she protested the marriage ceremony? Would Parker have her arrested while a priest looked on? Would Parker have Papa arrested?
A commotion in the innyard drew her attention to the window. A coachman and a hostler were having a disagreement, the coachman contending that the team led out would never do for Her Grace.
Was another duchess on the premises? Parker had pointedly refrained from referring to Matilda by either her name or her title.
The hostler gestured to the horses and to a large coach sitting amid the slush and mud of the innyard. The conveyance was majestic, a crest emblazoned on the door.
“The Duchess of Walden does not tolerate puny wheelers or lame leaders!” the coachman bellowed. “Either present me with adequate cattle, or you’ll hear from His Grace of Walden in no uncertain terms.”
A shiver prickled over Matilda’s skin. Had she been meant to hear this altercation? Duncan’s family held the Walden title, and that man with two canes making an awkward progress across the yard had to be Lord Stephen. Anxiety and despair buffeted her, for surely Duncan was pursuing her, and surely that would not end well.
She studied the innyard, which had stirred to life with the arrival of a second crested coach. A woman got out holding hands with a small girl, a second woman climbed down with a child in her arms. A youth scrambled off the box and went to hold the reins of the on-side leader.
Instinct prodded Matilda to look elsewhere, to resist the curiosity stirred by arrivals and altercations.
Duncan stood in the shadows of the stable’s eaves, his stillness alone calling attention to him. He’d had the same stillness at the chessboard, which convinced Matilda that his appearance at the inn was not a coincidence.
Nor did it bode well.
A raised voice came from the corridor, the words indistinct. A moment later, Matilda’s door opened and a small boy in a knit cap bustled in carrying a bucket of coal.
“What sort of inn would this be if we let a lady’s hearth go cold?” the lad groused. “For shame if this fine establishment should be disgraced, and all because some nob hasn’t got the sense God gave a senile hound. The guest will have her coal or my name isn’t Duncan Stephens.”
The boy’s name was Hiram Jingle, and he was doing a fine impersonation of a sulky under-footman.
“The room is chilly,” Matilda said, for the benefit of Parker’s footman, who was lurking in the doorway and looking annoyed. “Please thank the innkeeper for his consideration.”
Jinks made a racket, dumping coal, poking it about on the hearth, sweeping ashes from the bricks.
“Some folk don’t know how to treat a lady,” Jinks muttered. “Other folk would rather die than see a woman distressed unnecessarily.”
Oh, Duncan.
“I much prefer that sort of fellow,” Matilda said, “the sort who has a consideration for a woman’s well-being. Rough louts who leave a lady’s fire to go out, so she shivers all alone by the hour, should be made to pay for their inconsideration.”
The footman had the grace to tromp back to his post in the corridor.
“Perhaps you’d like a tea tray, ma’am?” Jinks asked. “Nothing like a nice hot cuppa tea to end the day. The kitchen’s all in a lather over some duchess and her brats, but I’m sure we could send you up a tray.”
That was for the benefit of the footman, who’d doubtless be curious about a duchess in the house.
“A nice hot cup of tea would be agreeable. Hughes,” Matilda called to the footman, “a tea tray, if you please.”
“Finish up, boy,” Hughes said. “You can tell the kitchen to send the lady a tray.”
“I don’t take orders from you, guv,” Jinks said, “and you’re letting out all the warm air.”
Hughes withdrew, but left the door ajar, as a proper guard would.
“You heading to London?” Jinks asked, making another pass with the hearth broom.
“With all possible speed,” Matilda replied. “We’d be there by now but for a lame horse.”
“The muddy going is hard on the beasts, but never fear. If that pair of ducal barges can navigate the king’s highway by moonlight, you’ll reach your destination tomorrow.”
Duncan was going ahead into London. Why?
“I’ve never enjoyed Town in winter,” Matilda said. “The coal smoke turns everything gray and hopeless.”