Page 6 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"I think I shall retire to bed early," Lord Crabb decided, as the door closed behind Sir Charles, "I hope you will not mind dining alone?"
"Not at all," Ivo answered, "I am sure that you wish to conserve your energy for the big day."
His remark had been meant as an idle one, but Lord Crabb frowned, perhaps thinking that Ivo was referring to the yawning chasm between his age and that of his bride, and what that might mean for the wedding night.
"There's still a bit of life left in me yet, boy," the viscount groused, "No problems in that department, I assure you."
"Of course," Ivo replied, though he longed to clarify that he had not really been seeking any assurance at all. In fact, Lord Crabb's words had left him feeling rather nauseous.
"If you need feeding, ask one of the footmen to fetch you something from the kitchens," Lord Crabb continued, as he rose—remarkably steady, given how much brandy he had drunk—to his feet, "Goodnight, Bonville."
The viscount shuffled out of the room, leaving Ivo alone. Had the room been warm and cosy, Ivo might have decided to linger—perhaps even take an indulgent nap in his chair—but it was too chilly for that. Ivo waited a few minutes for Lord Crabb to make his way upstairs, before he too set forth for his bedchamber.
He arrived in his room to find that no fire had been lit and that it was as cold as the dashed drawing room below. Irritated, Ivo poked his head out the door and hailed a passing chamber maid.
"I will need some kindling and a tinder box," he told her, "And a bucket of coal as well."
"Lord Crabb does not allow us to light the fires in the bedrooms before eight, Mr Bonville," the maid replied, her blue eyes wide and wary.
"Is that so?" Ivo sighed, "Well, perhaps you might have one of the footmen build one in the drawing room?"
The maid blinked, and bit her lip, as she thought up a reply to his request.
"Are fires also forbidden there before eight bells?" Ivo questioned, more amused than annoyed.
"Oh, no, Mr Bonville," the maid replied, earnestly, "They're not permitted at any hour. Lord Crabb thinks it wasteful to heat a room that is never used."
"I wish to use it."
Ivo sighed, as he noted the panicked look the girl now gave him. Ivo was merely a guest—a fleeting, unimportant one at that—and he knew that he was probably not worth risking her position over, but she was too polite to say so.
"Never mind," Ivo shrugged, "I shall take myself away to the village for the evening. Tell me—"
"—Flora," the maid supplied, as Ivo waited for her to share her name.
"Tell me, Flora," Ivo asked, "Where might a man find a decent supper in Plumpton?"
"The King's Head Inn," the name tripped off Flora's tongue in an instant, "They have recently hired a new chef to replace Monsieur Canet, who was murdered a few months ago, and his food is said to be beyond compare."
A murder, in a sleepy village like Plumpton? Ivo did not have a chance to ponder this revelation before Flora spoke again.
"I heard the butler say that Miss Hughes herself is dining there this evening," Flora continued, happy to share a morsel of gossip, given that she had not been able to fulfil Ivo's other request, "She wishes to show off her engagement ring, for the village to see."
"She need not go to Plumpton for that," Ivo commented idly, as he recalled the ruby ring Miss Hughes wore upon her ring finger, "I'm sure it can easily be seen from London."
Flora shuffled from one foot to the other, unsure of how she should reply. Ivo stifled a sigh at his own stupidity; his remark had been worthy of any of the London tabbies. If Miss Hughes were to hear of it, it would only add credence to her belief that Ivo disapproved of the marriage.
"Excuse me," he apologised, "That must have sounded irritable; I am afraid I am not feeling quite myself."
"I could fetch you a tonic, Mr Bonville?" Flora answered, again eager to help where she could, "Locally brewed."
"It's nothing a good feed wouldn't remedy," Ivo smiled, "And perhaps a pint of ale; does the local tavern serve food as well?"
"Not quite up to the standards of The King's Head, Mr Bonville, but warm and hearty."
And with no Miss Hughes to put him off his dinner, Ivo thought with a wry smile. He quickly thanked Flora for her help, before returning to his room to dress. His valet, Newman, insisted he shave—despite only having done so that morning—and cajoled him into donning a fresh set of clothes.
"For heaven's sake, I only put these on this morning," Ivo grumbled.
