Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Rowena watched Mr Paendly open his mouth, and tried not to become completely distracted by the way his jawline became even more pronounced as he did so, but he was unable to utter a sound before he was jolted forward.
The carriage had come to an abrupt halt.
“Smith, damn you!” Mr Paendly shouted, and Rowena flushed at the curse word whilst hating herself for it at the same time.
Was she to be constantly restrained by her parents’ upbringing, always finding fault in none but the upper classes?
It was surely not Mr Paendly’s fault that he was not better mannered.
He shot her a smile. “And before we could talk properly, ‘tis a crying shame.”
As he hammered once more on the roof crying out for his driver, Rowena found that the tension she did not even realise that she was carrying in her shoulders was starting to dissipate.
Relieved that they were not to converse at this moment after all, she glanced through the window to see where they had stopped.
She blinked, eyes attempting to become accustomed to the growing darkness, but could still see nothing. So why had they stopped?
“Ah, Smith,” said Mr Paendly severely as the door on his side opened. “What is going on?”
“’Pologies m’lord,” said the gruff voice coming from a man that Rowena could barely see. “‘Tis all this rain, it’s been the devil for the river, sir, and it has burst its banks.”
“Banks?” Mr Paendly said blankly, but Rowena had heard enough to feel sharp disappointment. She had been hoping to make it to at least Aylesbury by nightfall, and now the way before them was blocked.
“Aye sir, the banks of the river,” Smith seemed to be explaining. “The bridge has gone completely, washed away. There is no route through.”
Rowena watched Mr Paendly out of the corner of her eye as he started to process this news. “No route through?”
The unseen Smith must have shaken his head, as Mr Paendly dropped back into the coach with a deep sigh.
“Well, Miss Kirkland, what do you suggest?”
Rowena coloured slightly as his gaze rested on her once more, and she became conscious once more of how damp her clothes were. “Suggest?”
Mr Paendly opened his hands wide. “You can see the situation that we find ourselves in – and I would be a fool not to notice the strong disappointment that you feel. You cannot hide it from me.”
Instead of colouring, to her delight, Rowena found herself grow even more stern.
“And why should I hide it from you, Mr Paendly? I can pretend no great wish to stay with you in this carriage for longer than is required, and now your driver is telling me that that time is to be elongated. I will not hide it: I am displeased.”
She watched his response closely; watched to see that tightness in his jaw as his frustration with her threatened to boil over, the clenching of the hands, the swallowing down of retorts that were not gentlemanly.
And yet, none of those expected actions came to pass.
Instead, he merely stared at her, as though he could see those very thoughts in her mind, and was intrigued by them.
She tried to hold his gaze, hold it as long as he could.
Ignoring his handsome features and the way that he made her feel remarkably warm did not help.
And then Mr Paendly smiled, and looked back at his servant. “Smith, turn back. I think I saw a coaching inn not a few miles back, we passed it on our left hand side. We are losing the light, and there is little point in attempting to find an alternative place to stay.”
“Yes, m’lord,” came the reply from Smith, and Rowena felt the shake of the coach as Smith placed himself once more at the front by the horses.
“You have no objections?” Mr Paendly was still smiling at her, but this was a broad smile, a teasing smile, the sort of smile that a brother may have given her, if she had ever had one.
Rowena had hoped to remain quiet, unnoticed, and undisturbed for the remainder of the journey to the coaching inn, but of course, it was not to be.
She shook her head, but Mr Paendly seemed insistent. In a sly voice and with a smile bordering on cheek. “Now then, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Ah yes. You were about to tell me why you are so interested in getting home as soon as possible.”
Rowena glared at him, but she was not entirely sure whether he would follow out his promise to deposit her by the side of the road, and the last thing she needed was to be mistaken for a vagabond.
Sighing, she tried out her most petulant tone in the hope that it would mask her words, and this curious Mr Paendly would not see any deeper meaning to her words.
“La, sir,” she said with a curling smile. “Can a lady not have a friend to call on? A…a friend with a very agreeable brother, if you must know.”
In an instant, she saw the disappointment in his eyes, and she had to restrain herself from broadening her grin. There we are; living up to the stereotype that others had of you sometimes had its advantages, clearly.
“So what were you doing at the Wingston Inn, Miss Kirkland?” He asked, the interest fading from his voice, and reverting back to the tone of polite, but relatively indifferent conversation.
Again, she had to resist the urge to be startled at the unfamiliar name – she had to remember that she had introduced herself as Rebecca Kirkland, she really must!
“I was on my way home, sir,” she said archly with a smile.
She could see the irritation now in his eyes, in the way that he tilted his body almost unconsciously to face her.
“But where had you been?” Mr Paendly shifted in his seat, closer to her, and Rowena tried not to shrink away from him. It would never do to offend him. “Which friend, where do they live?”
Rowena hesitated this time. Surely her web of lies was getting wide enough as it was; any more, and she would start to become entangled in it herself! There was no reason to continue adding layers of deception, was there?
Colour was once again rushing to her cheeks, and she fought it, trying to slow her breathing.
If this Mr Paendly, whoever he was, knew the truth about her – about why she was at the Wingston Inn, and how she had got there, and with whom – he would of course consider her dirty, damaged, worthless.
Her reputation, such as it was, would be ruined.
She would never be able to hold her head up again.
Rowena swallowed. She had to get back home as quickly as possible.
“I could ask you the very same question,” she said with a smile that she hoped did not shake. “What were you doing there, at the Wingston Inn?”
Although she was not entirely sure what response she was expecting, Rowena was certainly not expecting Mr Paendly to frown, turn away from her, and move back towards his side of the carriage.
“I cannot tell you,” he said gruffly. “That is none of your concern.”
Rowena could not help it – a sarcastic laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. “Well in that case, sir, we have nothing more to say to each other. You wish to reveal nothing, and neither do I. Let us remain in frosty yet companionable silence for the rest of the journey.”
He would have retorted, she was sure of it, had the coach not at that moment slowed to a shuddering stop and light from what could only be an inn flooded through the now grimy window on Rowena’s side of the coach.
The door nearest Mr Paendly opened, and she heard Smith say, “I will enquire which rooms to take your luggage to, m’lord, and the lady’s too. I will not be a moment.”
The slamming of the door was the only sound to break the silence in the proceeding two minutes.
Rowena relished the end of the questions, but it was impossible for her not to feel uncomfortable in the presence of such a man.
Even in silence, even without looking at him, Mr Paendly had such a way of controlling the space that he was in, utterly.
She could feel him watching her, and a strange feeling grew in her: the hope that he liked what he saw.
It felt like hours but could have been two minutes when Smith returned looking embarrassed, and tried to whisper something to Mr Paendly. Rowena caught the phrase ‘just one’, and saw a look of shock on her travelling companion’s face.
“Just one?” She said sharply. “Just one what?”
Now that they were outside an inn, there was enough light to see Smith’s face, and she was surprised to see quite a young man, barely a few years older than herself, surely. She could also see the spread of embarrassment across his face, and he looked nervous as he glanced at his master.
“Well, madam, just one room.”
Rowena stared at him, and he cringed as she repeated, “Just one room.”
Smith nodded, and trying to stand a little closer to his master as though that would give him some sort of protection from her ire, he said quietly, “Yes, madam, just one room. The innkeeper says…he says that you are quite welcome to share.”
Rowena stared at him in complete horror.
James, on the other hand, could not have been more delighted.
Sharing a room – with Miss Kirkland? Finally, a chance to see what exactly was beneath those tantalisingly clinging clothes. Sodden wet they were now, but they would be infinitely better removed from her.
“Share?” She said in absolute disgust.
It was impossible to hide from himself the deep attraction that he felt for this Miss Rebecca Kirkland.
She was sharp, she was witty, but she was also hurt in some way.
Something wasn’t quite right about her – that turn she gave him about her friend’s brother, almost as impressive as an actress on a stage!
For that was what it was, wasn’t it? An act.
“You cannot be serious, Smith,” she was saying in icy tones. “Either you are attempting to offend me directly, or you are hoping that I will say something that is disgraceful. Which is it, Smith?”