Read Online A Reckless Desire by Isabella Bradford - Free Book Online
Authors: Isabella Bradford
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back parlor set and ready for your pleasure.”
His lordship laughed, and clapped the innkeeper on the shoulder. Whatever testiness he’d felt with Lucia seemed to have been forgotten, and had passed clear away.
“Add a tankard of your excellent ale, Hollins,” he said, “and I shall be a happy man indeed,” he declared.
He whistled for Spot to join him, and went striding off toward the inn’s door with the keeper bobbing along at his side.
Still standing to one side of the footman, Lucia watched Lord Rivers go. She’d a fleeting image of him that became instantly frozen in her memory, of his broad shoulders in the dark blue coat, framed by the inn’s doorway, the length and confidence of his stride in his polished black boots, how the skirts of his coat flapped around his legs and how the afternoon sun gilded his blond queue, tied with a black ribbon.
Then he was gone, and she was left with the much more pressing question of what she herself was supposed to do next. She’d been abandoned for now, that was clear enough, and she felt both irritated and a little wounded by it. She’d ridden in his carriage with him almost as an equal—which of course she wasn’t—but then he’d scolded her as if she remained a servant, which she wasn’t, either, or at least not his servant. As a woman, she couldn’t very well remain with the carriage while the horses were changed by the stable boys, nor could she stand by herself about here in the yard and wait for his lordship to return.
What she wished most was to eat. Lord Rivers’s insistence on his own dinner had served to remind her that she’d had only a cup of watery tea and a slice of buttered bread early this morning and nothing since, and as if to remind her further, her empty stomach rumbled loudly.
“You can dine with us, miss,” the tall footman said beside her as if reading her thoughts. “Won’t be as fancy as the fare in the back parlor, but his lordship always sees that his people are well looked after, and you won’t go hungry.”
She flushed, sure that he must have heard her rumbling stomach. She didn’t want to be pitied, but sometimes it was better to be practical than proud.
“I’m not sure I
am
one of his people,” she said. “At least not to eat.”
“Fah, of course you are, miss,” the footman said. “You wouldn’t be here in this place if you weren’t, would you?”
She couldn’t argue with that. She wasn’t sure where she’d be, but it definitely wouldn’t be here.
“Thank you, yes,” she said, grateful. “I’d like that. And you needn’t call me ‘miss.’
Lucia
serves me well enough.”
The footman nodded. “I’m Tom Walker, and this is Ned Johnston,” he said, cocking his head toward the other footman. “Stay with us, and we’ll watch after you. But we’d best hurry if we want to eat. His lordship keeps powerfully strict hours.”
Slowly she nodded in agreement, remembering how his lordship’s watch seemed to pop from his waistcoat with ridiculous frequency.
“Come with us, lass,” Walker urged again. “We can’t very well leave you here with those rascals from the stable.”
He wasn’t handsome like his master, but his plain face had a kind smile, and right now to Lucia that seemed of much greater value than all the world’s gold watches and their titled owners. With a sigh of relief (or perhaps resignation) she fell in with the footmen, following them through the inn’s second door, to the parlor meant for servants and other lesser folk. At least here she’d know her place, which was more—
much
more—than she’d have in the company of Lord Rivers Fitzroy.
There was a set pattern of things that Rivers always did whenever he stopped at the Red Hart Inn on his way to the Lodge. He would solemnly taste and judge the latest batch of ale that Mr. Hollins brought him, and offer an opinion that he suspected was repeated over and over throughout the county. Then Mrs. Hollins would appear with
His lordship laughed, and clapped the innkeeper on the shoulder. Whatever testiness he’d felt with Lucia seemed to have been forgotten, and had passed clear away.
“Add a tankard of your excellent ale, Hollins,” he said, “and I shall be a happy man indeed,” he declared.
He whistled for Spot to join him, and went striding off toward the inn’s door with the keeper bobbing along at his side.
Still standing to one side of the footman, Lucia watched Lord Rivers go. She’d a fleeting image of him that became instantly frozen in her memory, of his broad shoulders in the dark blue coat, framed by the inn’s doorway, the length and confidence of his stride in his polished black boots, how the skirts of his coat flapped around his legs and how the afternoon sun gilded his blond queue, tied with a black ribbon.
Then he was gone, and she was left with the much more pressing question of what she herself was supposed to do next. She’d been abandoned for now, that was clear enough, and she felt both irritated and a little wounded by it. She’d ridden in his carriage with him almost as an equal—which of course she wasn’t—but then he’d scolded her as if she remained a servant, which she wasn’t, either, or at least not his servant. As a woman, she couldn’t very well remain with the carriage while the horses were changed by the stable boys, nor could she stand by herself about here in the yard and wait for his lordship to return.
What she wished most was to eat. Lord Rivers’s insistence on his own dinner had served to remind her that she’d had only a cup of watery tea and a slice of buttered bread early this morning and nothing since, and as if to remind her further, her empty stomach rumbled loudly.
“You can dine with us, miss,” the tall footman said beside her as if reading her thoughts. “Won’t be as fancy as the fare in the back parlor, but his lordship always sees that his people are well looked after, and you won’t go hungry.”
She flushed, sure that he must have heard her rumbling stomach. She didn’t want to be pitied, but sometimes it was better to be practical than proud.
“I’m not sure I
am
one of his people,” she said. “At least not to eat.”
“Fah, of course you are, miss,” the footman said. “You wouldn’t be here in this place if you weren’t, would you?”
She couldn’t argue with that. She wasn’t sure where she’d be, but it definitely wouldn’t be here.
“Thank you, yes,” she said, grateful. “I’d like that. And you needn’t call me ‘miss.’
Lucia
serves me well enough.”
The footman nodded. “I’m Tom Walker, and this is Ned Johnston,” he said, cocking his head toward the other footman. “Stay with us, and we’ll watch after you. But we’d best hurry if we want to eat. His lordship keeps powerfully strict hours.”
Slowly she nodded in agreement, remembering how his lordship’s watch seemed to pop from his waistcoat with ridiculous frequency.
“Come with us, lass,” Walker urged again. “We can’t very well leave you here with those rascals from the stable.”
He wasn’t handsome like his master, but his plain face had a kind smile, and right now to Lucia that seemed of much greater value than all the world’s gold watches and their titled owners. With a sigh of relief (or perhaps resignation) she fell in with the footmen, following them through the inn’s second door, to the parlor meant for servants and other lesser folk. At least here she’d know her place, which was more—
much
more—than she’d have in the company of Lord Rivers Fitzroy.
There was a set pattern of things that Rivers always did whenever he stopped at the Red Hart Inn on his way to the Lodge. He would solemnly taste and judge the latest batch of ale that Mr. Hollins brought him, and offer an opinion that he suspected was repeated over and over throughout the county. Then Mrs. Hollins would appear with
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