Page 21 of Wicked Rivals
Rosalind leapt out of the coach, her pistol arm raised, and she fired. The man flinched and clutched his arm but kept riding away until he vanished beneath the heavy rain and darkness.
“Thank heavens you missed him!” Claire exclaimed.
“I was aiming for his black heart.” Wiping the rain out of her eyes, she looked for the driver. Her hand with the pistol started to shake. She’d never shot a man before, and only now did the repercussions of that begin to set in.
The driver came forward, grim-faced.
“I assume we can’t make it the rest of the way on that wheel?” Rosalind asked.
Mr. Matthews shook his head. “We won’t make it more than a mile. I do know of an inn not far from here. The woman who runs it might allow us to stay the night, and I could see about bargaining for the wheel replacement or riding back to London at first light if the storm lets up.”
Rosalind sighed, frustration pricking beneath her skin.
“I suppose that will have to do.” She climbed back into the coach. Her gray bombazine gown was heavy with water, and it made her feel bone-weary dragging the skirts back up the steps. Once the coach started rolling again, her maid leaned close to her.
“You called the masked man Lord Lennox,” Claire said quietly. “It couldn’t have been him, could it, Your Ladyship?”
Rosalind hesitated. “I thought it was. The eyes were like his, but the way he talked… I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s foolish. Lennox has no reason to rob anyone at gunpoint when he does it so well with solicitors and banks. I suppose that cad is simply foremost on my mind of late.”
Claire said nothing as they drove onward.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Not tonight. For now, we must focus on food and shelter. I can’t seduce Lord Lennox into giving me back what is mine unless I’m able to rest and get some food in me.” Claire handed Rosalind her shawl to act as a towel to wipe herself dry as the coach jerked forward once again.
By the time they reached the little inn, Rosalind’s dress was still heavy and damp and her skin was chilled. Mr. Matthews unloaded their bags and brought them to the common room before he left to find someone who might repair or replace the wheel. Her stomach grumbled at the aromas of soup and bread.
Peering around the dim room, Rosalind glimpsed too many people, too many faces. Most were men who stared at her in mild interest, unused to seeing a lady of quality stopping at such a small inn. They were on a single road with many travelers. What if the inn was full? She shook her head. What did it matter? She and Claire had no money to pay for a room.
“How can I help you ladies?” A stout woman with a cheery face ambled over to them.
Rosalind inhaled, then slowly blew out a breath at the plea she was about to make.
“We are hoping you might have a spare room for the night?”
The pleasant woman’s smile faded. “’Fraid not. Just booked the last one.”
With a sinking feeling in her chest, Rosalind’s head dropped in defeat. “I feared as much, given the storm. What about some food?”
“Plenty of that, thank heavens.” The innkeeper smiled at them. “What would you like?”
For a brief moment, Rosalind was relieved, but then she remembered they were still broke. She was not the sort of person to take anything without giving something back.
“Thank you, ma’am, but we’ve no money to pay,” Claire interrupted. “Her Ladyship and I were accosted by a highwayman who took everything but the clothes in our trunks. Is there any way we could earn our supper? I can cook and wash dishes.”
Rosalind stared at her maid. Such a simple solution hadn’t occurred to her. When she got control of her own tongue, she hastily added, “I can help as well.”
The innkeeper smiled. “We’ve been short-handed tonight on account of the storm.” She nodded at Claire. “You can help in the kitchens. And you”—she looked to Rosalind—“can serve the tables. I’ll have you get started, and in a few hours, the three of us can eat.”
Rosalind removed her gloves and scarf, handing them to Claire before she followed the innkeeper to meet the bartender. Then she set to work, rushing back and forth from the dozen tables in the room to the bar and the kitchens.
Arms laden with trays of food or pints of ale, she had to concentrate on not spilling anything. Most of the men treated her with a decent amount of respect. Only one or two tried to pinch her inappropriately. It wasn’t the first time she’d had men make a pass at her, and one steely gaze sent their way made their wandering hands drop.
By the time the inn had quieted for the evening, she collapsed on a nearby chair at a now vacant table. Her feet ached, and she knew she’d have blisters where her ankles had rubbed against her boots.
“Here we are, dear. You’ve earned it.” The innkeeper set a steaming bowl of beef stew in front of her and then turned to wave at Claire, who was just leaving the kitchen, her dress covered in flour and stained with grease.
“Now, eat up you two.” Their host went to fetch her own bowl. When she returned, Rosalind was licking her spoon clean and feeling a little drowsy.
“Where were you ladies headed before you were robbed?”
