Chapter 12 - Rupert
Rupert
Juliet and Rupert had not long since arrived at that same hostelry on the back of a cart that had until lately been carrying manure.
It had not been Rupert’s choice of transport, but Juliet had insisted, as she’d discovered bareback riding in a gown was not all it was cracked up to be.
More tears had brimmed in her eyes as she insisted she couldn’t ride any further and didn’t care if she had to sit in a manure cart as she was already filthy from that damned ditch.
As a consequence, their arrival had not been met with any kind of approval when they’d at last staggered in through the doors of the inn.
The innkeeper and his wife regarded them with matching looks of horror.
Rupert had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth for nothing.
He drew himself up to his full height of five feet and ten inches and puffed out his chest. “Good evening, landlord. My sister and I have suffered an accident with our carriage and require two of your best rooms for the night.” It had been decided before their arrival that they would play brother and sister, there being an unspoken agreement between them that anticipating their wedding night was not a good idea.
And also that they were going to blame their sorry appearance on an accident, which was, at least, partly true.
They made an unlovely picture.
Rupert’s nose, from the facer he’d received from the swindling horse dealer, was still swollen and red with dried blood adhering to the blonde fuzz on his upper lip.
He had several layers of mud on his clothing, from his falls in Larkford Park, from the ditch and also from falling on his back in a lot of dirty straw when he was punched.
He’d lost his smart hat early in their adventure, and his hair was awry. His once shiny boots were filthy.
Juliet, who, for obvious reasons, had begun the night in her prettiest gown, made an altogether worse impression.
She’d lost her bonnet somewhere along the way, her hair had come down from the insecure pinning she’d applied before leaving home, and she’d received by far the worst of the ditch.
Her muddy face was streaked with tears, dried now but threatening at any moment to return.
The inn’s customers, all men, stared.
The innkeeper exchanged glances with his wife.
The wife gave a shrug.
Rupert managed a hopeful smile, not feeling at all as though he were the darling of London Society. “I have money,” he said, and put his hand into his coat pocket.
It was empty.
He pulled the lining out, just in case his purse of money was hiding in it.
Nothing.
The innkeeper’s wife’s face took on a scornful scowl as she set her hammy hands on her hips. “No money, no rooms.”
“Where’s your money?” Juliet asked, a definite quaver in her voice. “You had a purse when you bought the horse.”
As if he didn’t know that.
“What’ve you done with it, Rupert?” Her voice rose.
He groped around for an answer. “It…it must have fallen out of my pocket when the wheel fell off the pony trap.” His purse, with his remaining money, must be lying in that muddy ditch, most likely never to be seen again, as who in their right mind would go grubbing about in a ditch?
“That’s it then,” the innkeeper said. “Out. I can’t have people what look like you in here putting off my paying customers.” He waved his arms at them as though herding cows. “Out. Now.”
A bit rich considering what his paying customers looked like.
Rupert took a last-ditch stand. “I must inform you that I am good for any amount of money you care to charge,” he said, aiming to sound confident and entitled but clearly only putting the innkeeper’s back up further. “I am Viscount Stapleton of Semington House.”
“And I’m the Queen of Sheba,” retorted the innkeeper’s wife, which made all her scruffy customers laugh uproariously.
Juliet burst into tears, but instead of turning to her beloved for comfort, she rounded on him in fury.
“You fool!” she shouted, heedless of their audience.
“You said this would be an adventure. You said you loved me. You said you’d keep me safe and you’ve done none of that.
Just look at what you’ve done me!” And she gave him his second punch of the day.
She was a girl who’d grown up in a household of older brothers, and at some point, one of them, the martial William probably, had taken it upon himself to teach her how to defend herself if the necessity ever arose.
She put this instruction to good use and her right hook to Rupert’s jaw knocked him to the ground, stunning him.
A cheer went up from the customers and several of them banged their flagons on tables or the bar.
At this very point, while Rupert lay on his back seeing stars, the door of the inn swung open. Two people stepped inside, one of them wearing shining top boots, the other elegant lady’s boots that he vaguely realized he ought to recognize.
The object of his love gave a squeal of relief, and threw herself into the arms of the gentleman.
Rupert gave up watching, closed his eyes, and let his head fall back to the dusty floor.
Scuppered.