Page 4 of No Duke of Mine

Maggie could have given her father up as a lost cause long ago, but she had never quite been able to. She’d made a foolish promise to her mother as a girl that she would always, always, heed her father’s wise words and do as he said. But that had become hard, since he gave back so little warmth in return.

She placed money on her side of the counter and waited impatiently for the man to make his decision and accept her coin. She hoped he would assume her to be an irritable sort of female and agree just to be rid of her.

He looked her up and down and nodded, and she pushed the money the rest of the way toward him. He pocketed it quickly. “You can wait in the private dining room where it’s warm and dry until your room is ready,” he offered.

Maggie was relieved. “Thank you, sir.”

He immediately started speaking to the next person in line, and Maggie fled. A dry, comfortable night was all she required, and she hurried into the private dining room, glad for a few moments of peace and solitude after the difficulties of the day.

She headed toward the rain-splattered window to look out, and noticed that the bad weather was not letting up. Thunder rolled overhead and lightning flashed, blinding her temporarily. Maggie drew back from the window and blinked until her vision cleared. She’d overheard the inn’s servants warning other guests that the storm could worsen tonight. That seemed very likely, too. The road beyond the front of the inn was a quagmire of mud and filth.

She’d heard enough complaints upon her arrival to know that more road-weary travelers could be expected soon. The roads surrounding the village were known to flood because all rivers and streams nearby tended to break their banks all at once. So she was lucky to have secured a room for tonight. But she could be here for days if the bad weather continued, and she hoped her funds did not run out.

She worried even more about anyone still out there in the storm when another crack of lightning shook the ground the little inn stood upon.

She had just pulled out a book from her pocket to check its condition when a married couple entered the dining room with a flurry of anxious words and reassurances that the storm would pass. The pair glanced her way, commented upon the foul weather, but kept a distance, hovering near the fire instead, flicking water off their traveling cloaks.

Maggie observed the pair discreetly. She could tell they loved each other deeply by the way they fussed. Love, patience, and consideration were writ large over their faces, and she envied them such a settled life.

Maggie checked her own attire discreetly. She was not so much wet as damp all over. During her journey today, she’d invited a young child to perch on her lap to spare a tired mother juggling two. The mother had been grateful, and for that short time, Maggie had pretended that the child was really hers. But when they were gone, she’d buried the yearning for motherhood and a family as usual because it hurt too much to think she might never have that.

She would have to wait until she had the privacy of a bedchamber before she attempted to dry her gown, cloak, and boots. She had been unlucky to be given a carriage seat on the edge of the bench and had traveled by the door, where the bad weather and rain had seeped through.

She devoted her attention to her book again, and let the couple converse with each other.

As half an hour passed in waiting, Maggie fretted that the innkeeper had given her room away, and fought a shiver. When he finally arrived, all gruff and apologetic about the wait, he took the married couple away first, promising to return momentarily for Maggie.

She walked to the fire, holding her hands out to the warmth of the flames, slightly disappointed since she’d been first to wait for her room. But as she stood there fighting her impatience, she became aware of raised voices beyond the private dining room.

Curiosity drove her across the chamber to the door to see what the commotion in the taproom was all about.

When she opened the door a crack and put her eye to the gap, she instantly spotted a new group of men standing about, dripping water all over the taproom floor.

They were cross and road-weary, and obviously caught out by the storm. The leader was arguing with a servant, demanding rooms and food for them all immediately.

Maggie could feel the man’s frustration from where she stood, sensed too that he was used to getting exactly what he wanted, when he demanded it, and it had better be the best on offer. Likely a wealthy man, unused to the hardship of difficult travel, despite his bedraggled appearance.

But whoever he was, he was in for a very, very rough night. Maggie suspected the inn would not have enough rooms for everyone in need who stopped here. It was not that large an establishment.

The fellow started toward her.

“Sir, please, you can’t go in there. There’s a lady inside. She should not be disturbed by men in such a state.”

Maggie froze, her eye still peeking through the gap as attention turned toward the private dining room door. The tallest among them glared in her direction, clearly seeing her silhouette through the partly open door. He muttered something she could not hear but instinctively understood. He had cursed—and Maggie opened the door wider, incensed by his lack of manners and rude speech.

They stared at each other for a long moment. But then…something about his curse, the mud on him, the shape of the jawline under that drooping felt hat, tweaked her memory.

She concentrated only on the taller fellow of the group as he continued to glare, compelled to challenge him for some reason.

She felt she knew him. From where, she could not say yet. He was not a recent acquaintance but someone from her past, someone from long ago.

Maggie had met many young men as her father practiced his profession. Of course, if it were long ago, he would have been a great deal shorter, but he had been equally filthy, wearing mud and muck, and in a temper then, too.

Maggie stifled a laugh as his identity became clear.

Dear God, she had stumbled upon Algernon Sweet, up to no good. Covered in mud and just as cross about it again.

It had been such a long time since she’d seen her father’s old pupil, or seen him in such a disgraceful condition. Of course, the last time had been entirely the fault of his ego, but given the weather today, she did not think he was entirely to blame for his current state.