Chapter 8
Penny spent most of the day alternately napping, reading, and doing her exercises. To her relief, the pain lessened through the day until it was nearly back at the level it had been when she first arrived at Gaitskill Castle. Unpleasant, but bearable.
Hugo, it turned out, was a far better nurse than she ever would have thought he could be.
Each time she awoke, he had small snacks available for her—a slice of cheese and bread, a handful of nuts, some dried fruit—and more fire-warmed towels to wrap her sore joints.
He had cast off his coat and boots to lay at the foot of the bed with his own book, leaning against the footboard as he read.
Every few pages, she would sneak a peek at him over the top of her book from her spot at the head of the bed.
Sometimes he would run a hand through his rumpled hair, or shift his body so his leg came close to brushing hers through the layers that separated them.
She had never spent such intimate time alone with a man before, companionable and only half-dressed.
She had rarely seen a man in his shirtsleeves, and even more rarely a man she knew rather than, say, a laborer in the fields.
It occurred to her at odd times that she wore nothing beneath her flannel nightdress, giving her a peculiar thrill.
Sometimes she wondered if Hugo was thinking of that, too.
At one point late in the afternoon, she assured him he could go down to the taproom for a time and she would be fine alone. He shrugged.
“I’ve been down once or twice while you slept. There’s not much to do down there other than drink or gamble.”
“Oh.” Penny vaguely recalled that gambling had stopped at Gaitskill Castle the Christmas after Hugo’s father had died. “Do you not gamble?”
“No.”
His clipped tone told her to drop the subject, so she did. She seemed to remember something to do with his father and gambling, but she needed to recall what that was before she put her foot in it. Instead, she smiled brightly at him.
“If you like, I can wash up so we can eat supper in the taproom instead of staying here all evening.”
He frowned. “Are you well enough to navigate the stairs?”
“I am if you’re with me.” He still looked skeptical, so she said, “The exercise will do me good. Staying immobile is often worse than moving.”
Clearly, he needed a stronger statement from her. Penny cleared her throat and sat up straight against the headboard, meeting his gaze head-on. "I will get dressed and come down to the taproom."
"If you insist," Hugo said.
His relaxed demeanor annoyed her as he continued to lounge at the foot of the bed. He seemed to find her statement amusing, and she scowled at him for not catching her hint.
"You must stand in the hallway while I get dressed."
A tiny smirk came and went across his face. "How will you fasten your dress?"
"I shall call you back when it's time for that."
He nodded and stamped his feet back into his boots as he stood up. He reached for his coat and shrugged it on. "Call me when you are ready, then."
As soon as the door closed behind him, Penny rolled across the bed and slid her legs to the floor so she could grab her traveling bag from Hugo’s side of the bed. Her left hip gave a warning twinge, but otherwise her body obeyed her.
Cautiously, she rose to her feet and took the three steps to the washbasin in the corner.
The water in the pitcher was cold, of course, but that was all to the good.
After spending the day lounging in bed with only Hugo for company, she was feeling a bit...
heated. A cooling cloth and a little soap was exactly what she needed.
She dressed as rapidly as she could in another of her wool gowns and a clean chemise. She was able to lace her stays by herself, but as Hugo had predicted, she would need his help to button the back of her dress.
She hated when he was right.
Her hair was still relatively short after having it cut during her illness, so it was easy for her to brush and re-braid it to wrap into a bun. It was not a fashionable hairstyle, but it would do for this country inn.
Unable to put the moment off any longer, she crossed to the door and opened it. Hugo lounged against the nearest wall, examining his fingernails.
"You can come in."
He followed her in, closing the door as she turned her back to him.
She held the dress up to her neck, and he tugged the edges together to do up the hooks, his warm fingers brushing against her upper back above her chemise and stays.
The slight roughness of them against her skin caused a peculiar quiver at the pit of her stomach.
"Sorry," he murmured, the word traveling across the nape of her neck in a warm rush as he fastened the last hook. "There you are."
She stepped away, concealing her unease, and fumbled for her half-boots. Had Hugo ever touched her before yesterday? She could not recall him so much as kissing her hand before this. His greetings had always been remote, given from a safe distance away.
It was only being in this small room together that made her feel that way, Penny assured herself. They simply had not spent much time together before this, and now they were forced into each other's company. They were both sensible people, so they were making the best of it.
Nothing more than that.
“I am ready,” she announced, and Hugo opened the door for her with a bow.
Negotiating the steep, narrow stairs down to the taproom was challenging, but Hugo offered her his arm and they went slowly, Penny gaining more confidence as they descended. The inside door to the taproom was propped open, and a flood of voices and light and a few strains of song flowed from it.
Penny stopped, and Hugo halted as well.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
She was about to enter a room full of men, mostly men of the lower classes. Would they stare? Would they catcall? Would they rush to the door to eject her from their masculine company?
"It's all part of the adventure," she whispered to herself, and turned to Hugo with a bright smile. "Nothing wrong. Shall we go in?"
Even at his average height, Hugo had to duck a little to get through the low door. A hush fell over the room as they entered, and Penny could feel her face flush.
"Good evening, gentlemen," she said. Glancing around, she could see she was the only woman present save the innkeeper’s wife and one of their older daughters. Her knees threatened to give way, but she stiffened them.
For a long moment, they only looked back at her. Then, one by one, they rose to their feet, nudging their fellows who were slower to rise, the few wearing caps snatching them from their heads as they nodded respectfully to her.
"Come take our table, missus," one man said from the corner. She glanced at Hugo, who gave her a tiny nod, and then turned to smile at the man.
"Thank you, sir. We very much appreciate it."
The man and his friend shuffled off to join another table and Hugo escorted her to a seat, helping her into a chair before seating himself.
Slowly, the men took their seats again and the buzz of conversation resumed, this time at a lower volume. Penny kept her expression serene, but she knew gossip about herself and Hugo was rocketing around the room. Not only were they strangers, but they were obviously Quality.
The innkeeper's wife appeared at their elbows holding a tray laden with two large bowls of stew, half a loaf of bread, and a small dish that held a few precious nuts she must have spared from her own Christmas preparations.
"Here you are, dearies," she said. "It'll be soups and stews until the snow ends and we can get out for more provisions. Easier to stretch for a big crowd."
"Thank you, Mrs. Robson," Hugo said, and Penny nodded her thanks as well, taking note of the woman's name.
"Anything else? Summat from the bar?"
"Sherry, if you have it," Penny said, and the woman laughed.
"I'll have a look and see. Ale for you, sir?"
"Yes, thank you." As Mrs. Robson walked away, Hugo scanned the room, seemingly looking for trouble. Not finding any, he picked up his spoon.
"Is there an issue?" Penny hissed.
He shook his head. "Everyone is curious, but no one is hostile."
"How do you know?"
"Experience." He picked up the bread and tore off a chunk to dip in his soup.
"How often do you go to taverns?"
"On my own? Not very often. But I have been tasked more than once with retrieving sailors who have gone astray and are in danger of being left behind."
“What was the most dangerous port you visited?”
“Marseille,” he said, and briefly grinned at her astonishment.
“What… how… was this during the war?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Robson returned at that moment to plunk two tankards in front of them. “No wine, dearie, but try our local cider. The orchard’s only a few miles from here.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Robson.” With a brave smile, Penny picked up her tankard and took a sip. To her relief, the cider was sweet, not bitter like beer, and the bubbles tickled her nose as she drank.
She set it back down with a thump and looked at Hugo. “Marseille. Tell me.”
Hugo took a sip of his ale and then spooned up a bite of stew. “There’s not much I can tell.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both. We were sent to retrieve an admiralty spy who had run into trouble. Valentine.”
“On Valentine’s Day?”
“No, his name was Valentine. Samuel Valentine.”
“Oh.” Penny took another sip of cider and picked up her own spoon. “Tell me more.”
As they ate, he told her story after story with only a little encouragement needed.
It felt a bit like they were children again, when he would return from one of his voyages as a midshipman and regale his younger cousins with tales of the navy.
Penny had tried to make an excuse to be nearby to hear the tales for herself whenever she could.