Chapter Seven
They consumed the hearty meal in silence, and Duncan was unsure of his next step. After escorting Augusta to the room, he announced, “I will join McGloin for a nightcap. This will give you time to prepare for bed. I have the key.”
“There is no need,” Augusta replied. “Why not have a nightcap with me by the fire? I believe the proprietor left a decanter of whiskey.”
The invitation wasn’t overtly warm, but it didn’t feel perfunctory either.
Duncan felt all at sea, hesitant amid the conflicting emotions swirling inside him.
Since sharing the way he felt about his scars, he felt foolish.
When Augusta didn’t even comment but instead changed the subject to trivial topics, it made him feel like even more of a dupe.
It was as if his admission meant nothing to her.
Usually, he would retreat behind his well-guarded defenses, but this was his wife.
Duncan could never tolerate misunderstandings and awkwardness when they weren’t necessary.
All it did was sow discontent and resentment.
“Yes. Allow me to tell McGloin. I will return directly.” Duncan hurried downstairs and found Patrick seated at a table in the common room.
Boisterous men drinking ale, smoking pipes and cigars, filled every corner of the space.
When he stepped across the threshold, the room’s loud racket quieted, as everyone turned to stare at him.
And Laura wondered why he had not ventured out in public.
Frowning, he marched across the room, his discomfort in such crowded and noisy places evident.
The patrons continued their conversations.
He sat across from Patrick, who was already nursing a drink.
“I didn’t order you Irish whiskey because I wasn’t sure if you were coming,” Patrick said.
“Good. I won’t be staying,” Duncan replied, waving off the approaching bartender.
“And why would you? It’s your wedding night,” Patrick winked.
“I am not having our first time be in a raucous inn.” Perhaps that was too much private information to share with one’s valet, but Patrick was much more than that. There was a more personal reason, but that was between him and his wife. “Have the horses been looked after?”
“Briggs is in the stables now. He’ll come in later, so I won’t be without company. Go and become acquainted with your pretty wife. You never mentioned she was so attractive. Well done.” Patrick raised his glass. “To the Duke and Duchess of Allenby.”
“Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your good wishes. We’ll try to start early tomorrow morning.”
“Briggs said an early departure would be wise because heavy clouds are gathering. We might encounter rain tomorrow; it is almost a certainty.”
“Fair point. See you in the morning around eight.” Duncan nodded and then left the room.
When he entered the front hallway, Mr. Jemison hurried toward him. “Your Grace, my wife wondered how much food you would like in the hamper?”
“There are four of us.” If they encountered bad weather, they might need extra food if they had to seek shelter somewhere.
Not every coach inn was as luxurious and well-equipped as this one.
“Pack three days’ worth of the usual: cold chicken, bread, beefsteak if you have it, cheese, biscuits, loose tea, boiled eggs, and the like. ”
“Mrs. Jemison also made a venison pie, Your Grace, along with cheese scones.”
“Brilliant. Provide generous amounts of everything. We will discuss the terms in the morning. I will pay handsomely.”
The innkeeper touched his forelock, then disappeared into the common room. Duncan glanced at the stairs before him. Perhaps one drink before facing his new bride.
God’s blood. He had been so long without a woman’s company (one who was not his stepmother or stepsister) that he had forgotten how to act.
Once upon a time, he had been charming, confident, and flirtatious.
Those skills had abandoned him here. Duncan needed to clear his head.
He ventured outside and took a deep breath of cool, autumn air, then exhaled.
Perhaps a walk around the property would clear the cobwebs from his confused mind.
As he walked, he glanced at the night sky.
The storm clouds were gathering, as Briggs had observed.
He could only hope the rain would remain light.
Duncan had no idea how much time had passed, but when he finally slipped the key into the door, he stepped into a darkened room.
The fire burned low, but Augusta was not seated in front of it.
He listened and heard her even, deep breathing.
She was asleep. So much for any conversation tonight.
Duncan moved toward the oil lamp on the sideboard across the room.
He poured a tumbler of scotch, stirred the embers in the fireplace, and quietly set another log on the banked fire.
The flames sprang to life, so he added another log, then sat before the hearth, stretching out his legs and slowly sipping his whiskey.
When his eyes grew heavy, he set the glass on the table beside him.
“Duncan!”
He woke and rubbed his eyes. Soft light seeped into the room through the nearly closed draperies. He looked at the mantel clock; it was a quarter to seven in the morning.
“You did not have to sleep in the chair,” Augusta murmured.
“I hadn’t meant to. The fresh air from my walk made me nod off by the fire. Is anything the matter?” Augusta remained in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin.
“Would you mind terribly if we waited a few hours before we departed? I cannot get out of bed.”
Duncan leaped to his feet. “Are you well? Is it the pain from your courses?”
She nodded, her vulnerability tugging at Duncan’s heart. “I am sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize. What can I do? Would you like me to mix you some willow bark powder?”
“Thank you, yes. It is in my case, there.” She pointed to the bench on the opposite wall.
Duncan quickly found the powder, poured a glass of water from the pitcher, and mixed it. “Would you like it now?”
“Please place it on the table by my bed. If I could trouble you further, could you please ask Mrs. Jemison or one of her maids to attend to me? I need assistance.”
“At once. I will go inform McGloin and Briggs of the delay. At what time do you expect to be ready?”
“Perhaps around twelve of the clock?”
“I will see that some food is sent to the room at half past eleven.”
“You are most kind—just tea and toast. I do not think I could handle much else. But you all have a hearty meal. Again, my apologies. I know you wanted an early start.”
“You rest.” After Duncan handed her the willow bark water, he turned and headed downstairs.
He met McGloin in the front foyer. The area was bustling with people, either entering or leaving the dining room.
Trunks were carried outside as many prepared to depart.
The enticing aroma of bacon and sausage filled his senses.
“McGloin, there will be a delay in our departure. The duchess is unwell this morning. I must locate Mr. and Mrs. Jemison. Find Briggs and reserve a table for the three of us. We will break our fast here. Start by ordering tea, and I will join you directly.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He found Mrs. Jemison overseeing the kitchen. “I know you are preoccupied with your duties, but could you send one of your maids to the duchess? She is not feeling well. Where is your husband?”
“Yes, Your Grace, right away. Hannah?” A young woman turned to look at them. “Go to the Duchess of Allenby and help her. She’s unwell.” The maid hurried off. “My husband is out front, overseeing departures.”
“Thank you.”
Duncan waited until a couple of carriages had cleared the area. He caught Jemison’s attention and waved him over. “We will not be leaving until twelve. Will that be a problem? The duchess is unwell.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Grace. But it is no problem at all. The next guests won’t arrive until three this afternoon.”
“If we had to stay another night, would that be an inconvenience?”
“Well, um, there are no rooms available tonight, but I might be able to double up some of the guests—”
“Do not change your arrangements, Mr. Jemison. I do not want to inconvenience any weary travelers. We will depart between twelve and one this afternoon. Rest assured.” Another carriage pulled up in front of the entrance. “I will see you later to settle the bill.”
A drop of rain hit his forehead, then another.
Duncan glanced at the sky. How long would the heavier rain hold off?
Given the look of the clouds, they could expect a downpour.
Blast it, traveling was a necessary annoyance, and in November, inclement weather could complicate matters.
The past few winters had been rough; he could only hope this one did not start early.
Grumbling under his breath, he headed into the dining room.
Patrick had secured seating by the fire.
A maid came to their table, bringing a teapot and large mugs.
“Where is Briggs?” Duncan asked Patrick.
“He’ll be in soon. He’s just feeding Dawn and Midnight. He said it’s a good thing we brought the smaller coach, given the possibility of rain. It’s easier to steer through the mud.”
Duncan looked at the maid. “Please bring sausage, a rasher of bacon, poached eggs, and porridge, if you please, for my two companions and me.”
The maid curtsied. “Yes, Your Grace.” She departed.
“I asked whether we could stay another night, but Jemison is fully booked.”
McGloin poured their tea. “Here’s Briggs. He will know of coaching inns along our route.”
Briggs sat down across from Duncan. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Good morning. Is it raining yet?”
Briggs sipped his tea. “A few drops. By the look of the sky, it will turn to showers and possibly a heavier downpour as the day wears on. It’s impossible to tell, though. The weather can be unpredictable.”
“Where is the next coaching inn?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much between here and Stoneheath. However, there are three medium-sized inns there, so we should be able to find rooms. I would not recommend traveling all the way to Bamford Park today, Your Grace.”
“My feeling exactly. How far away is Stoneheath?”
“About twenty miles or so. If we leave at noon, we should arrive before sunset, Your Grace,” Briggs replied. “I’m allowing extra time for the weather. Muddy, rutted roads can be dangerous, so we will have to go at a slower pace.”
With an early departure, they had planned to stop halfway for luncheon and rest the horses before continuing to Bamford Park, but now?
They should have stayed in London. But how was anyone to know the weather would change?
Thankfully, Briggs was a skilled coachman, and Duncan trusted his instincts.
He could have thrown his ducal title around and insisted on staying another night, even though the inn had no rooms available, but that was not his way.
Aristocrats often bumped weary travelers, forcing them to share rooms with multiple strangers.
It was arrogant, too snobbish by far, and Duncan wanted no part of it.
All he wanted was for everyone to arrive home safely. As the food was brought to the table, a sense of unease settled deep within him, and he grew worried.