Page 7 of Make My Wish Come True
Miss Barrett seemed to sense his lowering mood. She pulled aside the curtain beside her and peeked out the window. “The snow is lessening,” she reported. “Perhaps we will be able to go on after all.”
“Perhaps,” he said, trying to shake off his thoughts. “The postilion will stop for fresh horses, and we shall be able to decide then.”
“Of course.” She sank back in her seat, subdued.
“Tell me about your grandmother,” Adrian said, breathing shallowly to fend off another sneeze. He didn’t want to think of Hanson, nor any of the other mates he’d lost. He strongly suspected they would be stuck at the Black Hart overnight, and he especially didn’t want to think that his grandfather might die at Highvale while he was delayed.
Her expression softened. “She’s wonderful, my Gran. She makes the best sherry biscuits I’ve ever tasted. Every year for my birthday she makes me a new dress, and she’s quite cunning about working out which color or style I might like. One year she asked me endless questions about birds, and from all that she worked out that I would like a blue dress with green ribbons.”
“Did you like it?” he asked, caught by the fond light in her eyes.
Miss Barrett burst out laughing. “Yes! It was exactly my taste and I wore it to rags. But how she knew that from birds...”
“Perhaps she knew all along what you would like, and simply spoke of birds to divert your attention,” he said.
Her smile was wistful. “I daresay she did, but she refused to admit it! No, she declared she knew I wanted blue because I like the cooing of mourning doves, and she knew how to embroider the hem because I disliked crows, and the green ribbons were born, apparently, from my marveling at the flight of a flock of swallows.”
“A gulp,” he said.
“What?”
“A flock of swallows is called a gulp.” He shrugged sheepishly as she blinked at him. “I had a tutor who was a passionate ornithologist.”
“Oh my! I never knew that.”
“A governess can never know too many odd facts,” he said.
Her smile flickered, then returned but shakier, as if she was hiding her feelings. “Of course! Yet another good turn you’ve done me.”
Good God. Perhaps she didn’t want to be a governess. Perhaps she did, but worried about finding another post; she’d said she’d been sacked from her last one. That implied she would have no reference, which would make it more difficult to find a good post, which could be ruinous. And here he’d gone and brought it up.
He felt another twinge of regret to have upset her. Adrian leaned forward and twitched aside the curtain on his side. To his immense relief, he saw the sign of the Black Hart, with the silhouette of a black stag. “Ah, we’ve arrived.”
She said nothing, and the carriage creaked as it turned into the yard. Adrian busied himself pulling on his gloves and leaped down the instant the vehicle stopped. He turned to see Miss Barrett, face averted, carefully folding the blanket. The basket at her feet rocked wildly.
“Do go on, sir,” she said. “I just need a moment to tidy myself.”
It was too dim to see her face clearly, but Adrian instantly feared she might be wiping away tears. He nodded and turned. He told the postilion he was going ahead to reserve rooms, and asked the man to help his companion when she was ready. He strode toward the inn, swirling his cloak around him and cursing his tongue.
It had been a long time since he’d talked to a beautiful woman. Now it was clear why.
Chapter 5
Gwen took a few deep breaths as she folded the carriage blanket into a neat square. That ridiculous comment about swallows was exactly the sort of thing Gran would say, out of nowhere. It made her homesick, and anxious, and filled with gratitude to the captain for offering her space in his travel chaise. Without him, she’d still be stranded in Ipswich, hungry and nearly penniless.
She was still nearly penniless, but she was several miles nearer Gran, thanks to Captain Fitzhugh. Even if she had to spend her remaining coins here, he’d done her a tremendous favor. “Let’s go, Reggie,” she told the cat, who was mewing restively in his basket. “And behave yourself! I fear you are making the captain sneeze, which is very rude when he’s been so kind to us.”
She climbed down and noted that the horses had already been unhitched and taken away. The snow was no longer fluffy flakes but had turned to wet globs of slush. The postilion, moving stiffly, was shaking crusted snow from his coat and hat. She thanked him, and asked a passing groom if she could release Reggie in the stables. He shrugged and nodded, leading away a snow-dusted horse, so Gwen took her wriggling basket into an empty area and opened the lid.
“Behave, Sir Reginald,” she whispered as he leapt out and darted behind a water pail, to glare out at her with aggrieved eyes. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I’ll try to bring you something tasty.”
She hurried toward the inn, tucking down her chin against the icy sleet. By the time she reached the door, her face was numb and wet and she all but flung herself through the door. Then she ran right into Captain Fitzhugh’s back, as he stood only a foot inside the door. He turned to steady her with a hand under her elbow.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, catching sight of his grim expression.
His dark eyes swept the taproom to their left. “It appears my memory of this place is outdated.”
Gwen looked. It was crowded and close, smelling of old ale and wet wool and the suffocating odor of sweat. A dingy lantern hung above their heads, the glass yellow from dirt and smoke. The smell of tallow candles pervaded the atmosphere, and more than one fellow appeared to be well into his cups. It was loud and raucous, and instinctively she moved a little closer to Captain Fitzhugh.
