An Arrangement of Sorts (7 page)

She gave him an odd look. “You don’t like dancing?”

The relief that coursed through him was so evident that she almost cheered. He returned her look, and she could see the gratitude in his eyes, but decided to focus on the amusement he was trying to show.

“I don’t,” he said with a shrug. “I simply cannot stand it. I avoid it at all costs.”

She shook her head and gave a rather un-ladylike snort. “Were you by chance raised by wolves? Everybody enjoys dancing!”

“Obviously not. And I will let you in on a little secret, Miss Moira Dennison,” he said with a smile, crooking a finger at her.

She nudged her horse closer and made a show of leaning in.

“Most men do not like dancing,” he told her in a conspiratorial whisper.

She reared back in mock outrage. “Impossible!”

He shook his head somberly. “No, it’s true.”

“Why do it, then?”

He shrugged slightly. “That is where the women are, and the women like to dance, so the men must endure.”

“Oh, the sacrifices that you noble men make for we poor, demanding females,” she said with a heavy measure of sarcasm. “However do you manage it?”

“Very carefully,” he replied in sober tones, which had them both laughing at once.
    

C
hapter
F
our

“N
ow you promised to let me do the talking.”

Nathan closed his eyes and groaned. “No doubt, that was the thickest decision I ever made,” he lamented, as they approached the inn where they would stay for the night.

Moira glared at him fiercely. “Well, I can hardly convince anyone if you look so pained about it.”

He arched a brow at her. “Would you like me to be overtly affectionate, then? That would certainly convince the good patrons of something, but given the long day we have just had, I doubt they would be thinking marriage…”

She swallowed hastily and slid off of Flora. “Stop being impertinent, Nathan. Just be quiet and look… husbandly.”

He stifled a laugh as he dismounted and took Mercury and Flora’s reigns, then handed them to the stable hand that approached. “Yes, dear.”

She gave him one more severe look for good measure, then allowed him to escort her into the inn.

It was relatively well lit, for an inn, and the patrons within looked to be of decent stock. That eased Moira’s nerves, which, she had to admit, had been less than steady as they had approached. But Nathan thought she was a strong woman, so she had to be. Or at least, make a good show of it. 

She looked over to the desk, where a less than pleasant looking man with a dreadful mustache sat, pouring over a ledger, his spectacles perched precariously upon his unusually shaped nose. The innkeeper, no doubt. She marched over and waited for him to look up. When he did, his eyes flicked from her to Nathan and then back to her. He drew the spectacles from his face and sighed. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you may,” she responded in her best superior voice. “My husband and I would like a room for the night. Together, you understand, as we are married.”

The innkeeper’s brows rose slightly, and Moira could almost feel Nathan groaning behind her. She resisted the urge to shove her elbow into his stomach, but only just. 

“I see,” the innkeeper said, looking back down at his ledger. “Well, you are in luck, Mrs.…?”

“Lancaster,” she said rather quickly, panicking in spite of her attempts not to. “Margaret Lancaster, and this is Rupert. He is my husband.” She indicated Nathan behind her and smiled in what she hoped was a pleasant manner.

“I should hope so,” the innkeeper muttered, shaking his head. “You are in luck, Mrs. Lancaster. We happen to have a few rooms available that a husband and wife can share, if they wanted. Since you are married, as you say, you may have one. With your husband.”

“Thank you, we would be most appreciative.” She smiled again, and was slightly mollified to see the mustache twitch in a manner that could have been a smile. She must be better at this than she thought. Emboldened, she decided to keep going. “My husband and I have just come up from Portsmouth. We have been married for three months now.”

“Congratulations,” the man mumbled in an offhand manner as he searched for their key.

“Yes, thank you,” she said with a grateful nod. “It was rather exciting. Being married is wonderful. I have always wanted to be married. Such a pleasant surprise, I recommend having a husband for all women.”

Nathan was in anguish, and no longer paying any attention to Moira at all. He had the strongest desire to clamp his hand over her mouth and apologize to the innkeeper for his poor, ridiculous wife, but he didn’t know if he could refer to her as his wife without snarling. What was taking him so long to find the stupid key? He was desperate for just a room, any room. The man could have picked up a key to a broom closet and Nathan would have thanked him profusely. Once he had sent Moira up to the room, he could get down to work, but if she were going to continue like this, he would have to do so elsewhere. No one hearing her would believe anything he said.

“We are now searching for my brother, Charles Allenford. Have you ever heard of him?” she asked, even as Nathan began clenching his fists.

“No,” the innkeeper told her handing over a key. “Room twelve. Good evening.” With what could almost be called a pitying look at Nathan, he trudged away from the counter and through a door that seemed to be headed for the kitchen.

“Do you think he went to see about some food for us?” she asked Nathan, turning around to look at him. He closed his eyes and exhaled rather harshly. “What? Na
…
uh, Rupert? Husband?”

“Stop,” he hissed, taking her arm forcefully. “Let us go to our room, dear. I think you need to rest from our journey.” He knew his voice was taut and agitated, but he prayed for control yet again.

“But
…
” she began.

He opened his eyes and silenced her with a look.

She nodded and allowed him to take
,
or haul rather
,
her to their room. The moment the door was shut behind them, he released her arm and sank into a chair, running his hands through his hair.

“I thought I was rather good just then,” Moira commented as she made for the bed and sat down on the edge of it, swinging her legs a bit. “Charles used to say that I could be a very clever actress, if I had the desire.”

Nathan dropped his hands and looked up at her incredulously. He was beginning to think this Charles fellow was really a git.

Moira caught Nathan’s expression. “What?”

“I am trying to figure out if you are serious or not,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“About being an actress?”

“No, about you being good just then.”

She frowned, evidently not understanding. “I was. I even added extraneous material to make our story more real. The bits about when we were married and where we came from, for example.”

Nathan groaned and sat back against the chair. “And that was your best attempt at a convincing story? I think you just ruined the entire excursion, and made us a laughingstock, to boot. They will be talking about us downstairs right now, wondering why in the world I am married to you.”

She gasped in indignation. “That was uncalled for! Is this because I named you Rupert? It is a perfectly good name! What was wrong with my story, may I ask?”

He sat forward and gave her a steady, yet disbelieving look. “So much. Where do I even begin?”

She glowered. “What, you can do better?” she scoffed, leaning back on her hands.

“My horse could do better.”

She sputtered, but did not formulate any sort of coherent response.

“I will try to mend the damage down there and see if we can still get some useful information out of this place,” he said, getting to his feet. “You had better stay up here and play ill. Perhaps I can come off as a man who married a ridiculous woman for her money.”

“Mr. Hammond!” she screeched as she shot to her feet, finding her voice at last and letting him hear fury ringing through it.

He glared at her. “That would be Mr. Lancaster to you, my dear Margaret. And keep it down! You wouldn’t want all of your hard work going for naught, would you?” He moved for the door, then stopped and turned back. “What does this so-called brother of yours look like anyway?”

She folded her arms and looked out of the window, her jaw clenched.

“Come on, Moira,” he said in a quiet, but still harsh tone. “I don’t have time to patch up your pride at the moment. If you want to find this idiot and get on with your life, I need to know what he looks like so I can ask about him. I need a good description.”

“Fine,” she spat, still not facing him. “But only so I can get away from you faster. Charles is shorter than you by a good six inches. He is thin, has brown hair, blue eyes, and is slightly freckled. He also has decent teeth. Is that enough for your precious description?”

“It will do. Set some sheets by the window before you go to bed.”

She half turned to look at him, her curiosity obviously piqued. “Why?”

He was tempted to say so he could jump from it, but she was already agitated as it was. Adding more fuel to the fire would not help matters. “Because I do not think we should be sleeping in the same room. Thanks to your insistency, we only have the one. I will climb out of the window and sleep in the stables.”

She sniffed and shrugged. “Fine. As you wish.” She turned back around and went to the window, arms still folded. Her left leg shook slightly, as if she wanted to tap her toe, but was resisting.

“Thank you. Good night,” he said, opening the door and stepping out. He paused a moment, then stuck his head back in. “And I do hate the name Rupert. Terrible choice.”

She whirled and the fury in her eyes was enough to make him a little nervous. He shut the door quickly before she could decide to throw something at him.

It was much later when Nathan made his way back up to the room, feeling rather sluggish and having had too much of whatever drink they were serving in the taproom. But it had all worked out well. It seemed that many of the men at the inn tonight also had wives that drove them to distraction. He was in fine company as soon as he had come down from the room. Even the innkeeper was pleasant, or as close to pleasant as he ever achieved. Apparently, Moira had brought to mind his own wife, and he had not enjoyed the reminder.

Once Nathan had sat at the table with the men, more stories began to come out about impossible wives and unhappy marriages, and he heard far more than he ever wanted to. He tried to play his character as not particularly minding the eccentricities of the woman he was married to, merely accepting it as what he must endure. That also resounded with them, and helped him in his purposes to retrieve information. At least three of the men thought the name Charles Allenford sounded familiar, and of those three, two were able to place the description with the name. None of them had a location, but the fact that they had confirmation of identity was encouraging.

It seemed that Moira’s attempt at a story had not been such a disaster after all.

He listened at the door to their room, hoping she was a deep sleeper. He could not hear anything from within, so opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tiptoed into the darkness. He reached the window to find that not only had she put the sheets there, but she had already tied them to the bed post and formed a makeshift rope out of them. He tugged on it, and found that it was indeed sturdy.