Read Online Miss Truelove Beckons (Classic Regency Romances Book 12) by Donna Lea Simpson - Free Book Online

towels! Not soft at all. I am sure there must be a better inn somewhere than this . . . this hole in the wall!” With a disparaging look on her face she glanced around at the tiny room that though neat was not of first quality.
    “I think we should count ourselves lucky to have made it here before the weather turned. Come, let us clean up and go downstairs.” True was in no mood for any of her cousin’s nitpicking, since it could be laid at Bella’s door that they were stuck here. She had only been hungry for tea before they left Thorne House because she had just picked at her luncheon. If they had not stopped to have tea, they would not have been so late on the road, and would not have been stopped by their little accident and therefore would not have to put up at this inn overnight. So her cousin had really better not complain!
    Dinner was not French cuisine, as they had eaten the night before at Lea Park, but it was very good English country cooking. Rabbit pie, mutton, and a roasted capon, with a ragout of vegetables, followed by apple pie, was gratefully consumed by all but Arabella, who just picked at the capon and ate a piece of bread and butter before pushing her plate away.
    “Is anything wrong with the food, miss?” the landlady said with an alarmed glance at Arabella’s still-full plate.
    “I am quite sure it is very well in its way,” Arabella said with a gentle smile, as she pushed it away. “But I have a very delicate palate. Mama says I have a true aristocrat’s constitution.”
    The landlady looked offended, though she clearly did not understand what Arabella was talking about. True understood, and sighed with resignation. What it meant was that no matter how hungry she was, Arabella would not eat her fill in front of a potential suitor. She would pick and claim a bird-like appetite, because Lady Swinley had drilled it into her that true ladies were frail and never ate more than a few bites. Of course Lady Swinley herself was a robust trencherwoman, and she did not regulate Arabella’s eating as long as there were no gentlemen present.
    Conroy nodded his approval, but Drake looked puzzled. True thought that he had probably, in his career, not spent a lot of time among tonnish ladies, for he had bought his colors at a young age and spent much time on the Peninsula, or he would have known that most young ladies claimed a poor appetite, and then feasted in private. Arabella was no different, though when she forgot herself she ate as any normal person. Her mother’s influence was spotty, at best. True hoped she would escape the woman’s influence before it became complete and Arabella became an unbearable snob and wholly false creature, governed by society’s expectations rather than her own good sense and strong nature.
    “I cannot imagine why an aristocratic lady should have a poor appetite,” Drake said as the landlady, in hurt silence, directed one of her daughters as she cleared the table. “My mother eats quite well, and I have always thought she was very regal.”
    Arabella, caught in the awkward position of seeming to impugn her would-be suitor’s mother, wisely remained silent. True bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud at the absurd mannerisms ladies were forced to assume by ridiculous social dictates. She was grateful that in her world a young lady was only expected to be neat, modest, and to refrain from “putting on airs,” as the local ladies of her father’s parish called it.
    After dining, the foursome played cards for a while in front of the great, stone fireplace. Rain pattered against the windows, and the blaze made for a cozy atmosphere. True was entertained yet again by the lengths to which a very sharp-witted Arabella would go to appear suitably dim in front of Lord Drake. She was the picture of pretty confusion when, partnered with Drake, she “forgot” a trump card, or needed to have the rules explained one more time, ignoring the fact that Drake was trying very