Page 30 of A Much Maligned Miss

“Yes,” she admitted. “Just that.”

“Well, I was lying,” he answered, “so kindly stop looking like Iphigenia upon the altar.”

She hesitated. “Tragical, you mean?”

He laughed. “Precisely.” Straightening up, he stepped in close. One long finger slid under her chin, tipping it up, and to Caroline’s very great surprise he leaned in to press a firm kiss to her lips. She had no sooner felt his mouth against hers, then he withdrew, urging her back toward the door and into the parlor.

Canon Petrie looked up. “I urge you to come closer to the fire, young lady,” he said kindly. “You are quite pink with cold.”

Caroline hurried to his side, stripping off her gloves and clearing her throat. “It is quite a cheerful blaze, is it not?” she said, holding her fingers out to warm them.

Had it been a cousinly kiss? she wondered, her wits scattered to high heaven. Her heart was beating uncommonly fast. Even if it was the sort of kiss a man bestowed on his cousin, she, Caroline, had been kissed in the corridor of a common coaching inn. It was probably the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her.

Then again, she had been very deprived in life. A step in the doorway turned out to be the servant returning with a tray laden with tea and coffee pots, a quantity of cups and saucers, and, if she was not mistaken, a jug of ale.

“My companions will require hot bricks for the carriage on departure,” Gervaise said. “I trust I can put an order in with you now.”

“Of course, sir,” he responded. “And will you be wanting wine with your lunch or will beer suffice?”

“That will suffice very well, unless you, Canon Petrie—?” He turned to look at the older gentleman.

“Oh, no, no, beer will do very well for me, very well indeed,” the clergyman hurried to assure him.

Having removed her cloak, Caroline sat herself down at the table and started setting out the tea things as the servant retreated once more. “Will you have tea or coffee?” she asked Gervaise, not quite meeting his eye.

“Coffee.”

“Father?”

“Oh, tea. Tea for me, please,” the clergyman answered absently. He had removed one of his shoelaces and was dangling it for Romulus, who collapsed onto his back and lay kicking his back legs at it energetically. Remus lay on the arm of the chair enthusiastically cleaning himself. Caroline poured the coffee and then the tea.

A different servant arrived with the food, and a hearty lunch of cold chicken was taken. The soup was not too hot, and the salad was really very good in Caroline’s opinion, consisting of potatoes, lettuce, cress, radishes, and halved hard-boiled eggs.

They all tucked in, Canon Petrie as enthusiastically as any of them, and afterward returned to the carriage to find hot bricks wrapped in cloth had been placed on the floor. Caroline and Canon Petrie rested their feet against the source of warmth. “Very kind, really, most kind.” The clergyman beamed as Remus draped himself along his lap. “I could not ask for more agreeable company, I am sure.”

Neither could I, Caroline thought with surprise, and then she felt a crushing depression of spirits, for tomorrow would be the final day of their journey. And then what? The unknown stretched out before her like a great yawning pit waiting to swallow her up whole.

12

Caroline was quiet that afternoon. She sat in her corner, stroking Romulus’s fur and gazing out of the carriage window. She had an abstracted air, as though she did not really see the scenery whipping past. Gervaise found himself stepping into the fray with Canon Petrie, giving a helpful prompt whenever the old man’s ramblings happened to dwindle and nodding and murmuring encouragement as he held forth on various subjects.

The whole time though, his eyes sought out Caroline’s averted profile. She had rather a nice profile, now he came to think about it. Her expression was a little grave perhaps, stern even. Rather like a governess who was too attractive for her own good. One that fathers chased after and mothers worried about. She was frowning now, displaying her nice dark brows to advantage. No doubt she was worrying about what she was going to do when they reached London on the morrow.

He frowned. He would have to mention Uncle George and his need for organization, but when? That was the question. He shot a surreptitious look in Canon Petrie’s direction. It was damnably awkward with the old boy present. Was it his imagination or was his snowy head nodding? His faltering conversation had dwindled out sometime in the last five minutes, and his eyelids drooped.

Remus stretched out, spreading his little paws, and Gervaise sent him a warning look not to sink his pin-like claws into the sleepy clergyman. At this moment, Romulus sprang up onto the seat beside him and the crisis was averted, for Remus instantly rounded on him and they collapsed together in a tangle of limbs. Canon Petrie let out a muffled snore, his chin sinking to his chest.

Gervaise turned his head. “I’ve been thinking,” he began without preamble. “How are you at organizing things?”

“Things?” She turned to look at him with surprise.

“Menus, libraries…personal engagements, diaries, that sort of thing.”

“Well, I have some experience,” she answered cautiously. “I used to do some of those tasks for Mama. Why do you ask?”

“I am thinking of my uncle George. He is in dire need of some kind of secretary.”

“You think he might employ me in the role?” she asked, eyes widening.