Page 34 of Appointment in Bath

She passed into the narrow downstairs kitchen, with its flagstone floor and sprawling, rectangular softwood table scattered with the leavings of cut vegetables, flour dust, and the remnants of the meal that had been served upstairs.

The cook was having a cup of tea with the scullery maid in front of the fire—a short respite after having finished preparing the final course for the vicar’s guests. She scrambled up from her wooden chair at the sight of Meg. The maid followed suit, nearly spilling her tea.

“Can I help you, miss?” the cook asked.

“I th-thought I spilled something on m-my gown,” Meg said, “but I was m-mistaken.” She felt like the veriest liar. To be telling fibs at the vicarage of all places! “I shall just…g-get some air.”

“You’ll catch your death,” the cook warned as Meg reached to open the back door.

Meg didn’t heed her. She ducked out of kitchen, into the frosty, starlit darkness of the yard that led to the privy. A small oil lantern hung from a post next to the water pump, protected by the jut of the roof. She stopped beside it, folding her arms around herself against the chill.

The cold night air was just what she required to compose herself. A minute or two and she’d be calm enough to return to the dining room.

Though what she really wanted to do was go to the stable and command Timothy to hitch the horses and drive her home. Indeed, as she stood, shivering beneath the eaves, she seriously considered it.

But it was impossible.

For one thing, she didn’t have her cloak. For another, she may be timid as a mouse at times, but she was no coward. She’d come here, hadn’t she?

Gooseflesh rose on her arms beneath the silk of her sleeves. If she lingered any longer, her teeth would begin to chatter. She was just straightening her spine to return to the house when the back door opened and Mr. Beresford entered the yard.

Meg’s breath stopped in her chest. “What are you d-doing out here?”

He closed the door behind him and came to join her. “The same as you are, I expect,” he said. “Enjoying the fine weather.”

The last thing Meg wanted was his pity. “I’d rather b-be alone.”

“I gathered that. What I don’t know is why.” He examined her in the dim light cast from the lantern. “Did Ruggiero say something to upset you?”

“Is that likely?”

“It is,” Mr. Beresford said frankly. “He hasn’t yet learned to set a guard on his tongue. It’s bad enough when he’s drinking. When he’s sober, it’s worse.” He paused, studying her face. “It wasn’t the Ars Amatoria, I take it.”

“N-No.”

“Then what was it he was talking about with so much enthusiasm?”

Meg saw no reason to dissemble. “You.”

“I see.” His brows notched. “Or rather… I don’t. I’ve nothing in my past to make a lady race out of room on hearing of it.”

“N-No, indeed. You’re perfect.”

He snorted. “Hardly. If that’s what he’s been telling you—”

“He t-told me only that you rescued him. He said he was languishing in Rome, with n-no funds t-to support him, and m-might surely have died if you hadn’t c-come to his aid.”

“Rubbish. It wasn’t that near of a thing. It’s true, he was without funds. And he’d taken to begging outside the Coliseum. But he wasn’t at death’s door.”

“Why d-did you help him?”

“Because we needed a guide. He can speak the language fluently and he’d been up and down the country countless times. Not to mention the fact that he was one of us.”

She gave him an uncertain look. Her lips were going numb from the cold. She was beginning to sorely regret having stepped outside without her cloak.

“He’s an Englishman, born and bred. He went to Italy on his grand tour twenty-odd years ago.” Mr. Beresford paused, frowning. All at once, he shrugged out of his frock coat and, in one fluid motion, draped it around her shoulders without so much as a by your leave.

Meg started. She was poised to object to the intimacy when a delicious warmth settled over her, too wonderful to refuse. Goodness, if this is how toasty an article of Mr. Beresford’s clothing was, his body must be hot as a furnace! She listed toward him a fraction quite against her will, her shivering frame instinctively desiring more of his heat.