An Arrangement of Sorts

by Rebecca Connolly

  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 t
hrow 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.

  “How in the world…?” he murmured to himself.

  “I used to sneak out of my aunt’s house sometimes,” came a soft voice from the bed. “I became quite adept at tying sheets together.”

  He looked up and saw her on her side staring at him as she lay on the bed, her hands under her face.

  “Why does that not surprise me?” he whispered, offering a smile.

  She tried to return it, but it faltered. A break in the clouds let a sliver of moonlight in, and Nathan could see tear tracks on her cheeks.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, unable to resist going to the bed and sitting down.

  She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, covering her flimsy chemise with the blankets. “I know you told me not to apologize for everything,” she said, her voice quivering slightly, “but I have to this time.”

  “No, you don’t,” he urged, putting a hand on her foot. “I was out of line, I am the one who should apologize.”

  She shook her head and sniffed. “You were right to be cross. I was dreadful.” She groaned and put her face in her knees.

  He couldn’t help it; he smiled. “You were,” he agreed.

  She turned her head to glare at him with one eye. “You could pretend and say ‘Oh, it wasn’t that bad’, you know.”

  “But it was.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I cannot help but be honest, Moira.”

  “Well,” she huffed, setting her chin to her knees, “I am sorry that it was so dreadful. Next time you can do the talking and I shall be the meek little mouse of a wife.”

  “I would be happy to do the talking,” he said, tilting his head to look at her more closely. “But I don’t want a meek little mouse of a wife.”

  A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You don’t or Rupert Lancaster does not?”

  He groaned, but grinned at her. “Rupert Lancaster just received more sympathy from the men of this inn than some people receive at funerals.”

  She snickered. “I bet he did. I hope it fares better for him in the future.”

  “It had better. He is not returning.” His look turned severe. “Ever.”

  She nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “I understand. No more Rupert Lancaster. And no more Margaret, either.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  Her smile turned rueful. “And what about Nathaniel Hammond? What does he want in a wife?”

  “Well, he doesn’t want Margaret Lancaster, that is certain,” he said with a shudder. “But he doesn’t want a mouse wife either.”

  “What, then?”

  “A partner,” he admitted, no longer looking at anything. “Someone to work with me, beside me, and ease the burden of life. Competent, caring, and companionable.”

  “And what about love, Nathan?” she asked in gentle tones.

  Nathan sat back in thought. “Love. It’s an intriguing idea, but I can hardly require or expect that. Love can grow with time, after all, and the heart is not always as sensible as the head.”

  “Love is not sensible. If it were, the poets would have nothing at all to write about.”

  He smiled faintly. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  The silence stretched between them for a moment, and it was the most comfortable silence he had ever experienced. Far too comfortable.

  “Well,” she said lightly, patting her hand on his where it sat on her foot, “I think you will make someone a very fine husband someday, Nathan Hammond, despite Rupert Lancaster.”

  He chuckled and brought her hand to his lips and kissed it quickly. “Thank you, my dear. Maybe next time we can have more fun with our marriage, eh?” He grinned and got up, letting her hand fall back to the bed.

  “Take an extra blanket, Nathan,” she hissed as he stepped onto the window sill. “It’s freezing out there.”

  He snatched one up and stuffed it under his arm. “Pull up the sheets when I’m down. I will walk in tomorrow morning.”

  She nodded. “Watch out for droppings. I would hate to have a smelly husband in the morning.”

  He rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on the sheets. “Thank you. Anything else, wife?” he asked, with a grin.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, I think that is all I had to say, husband. Enjoy the hay.”

  He smirked, then grew serious. “No more tears, Moira. I mean it.”

  She wiped at her cheeks again and nodded. “No more tears, I promise. Good night, Nathan.”

  “Good night, Moira.”

  Nathan walked back to the inn early the next morning, hoping that he would be able to avoid seeing anyone, and thus have to answer some rather awkward questions about why Mr. Lancaster had been sleeping in the stables.

  Unfortunately, the innkeeper was already up and about, preparing the room for the morning meal. He eyed Nathan as he entered and frowned. “Everything all right there, Mr. Lancaster?”

  Nathan forced a grimace. “I suppose that all depends on what you call ‘all right’.”

  “Was the room not to your liking?”

  He shook his head, leaning against a chair. “No, the room was fine. It was the… Well, my wife, you see… She is…” He was not about to say anything against Moira, but he could not see how to finish the thought.

  The innkeeper chuckled good-naturedly. “I understand, sir. Haven’t slept in the same room as my wife since our son was born, and I have slept like a baby ever since.” He grinned up at him, and Nathan tried to return it, but it was very forced.

  He would have to tell Moira about this, and what people thought of her. Well, of Margaret, he supposed. They did not know Moira. He hardly did, either, but he liked what he did. Most of the time, anyway.

  “But why did you not come to see me, sir?” the man asked, stuffing his rag into the apron he wore. “I would have been glad to set you up in another room.”

  Nathan shrugged. “The money all comes from her, I am afraid.”

  The innkeeper and the few other men in the room laughed. “Ah, the nature of marriage, eh? Chin up, sir. You’ll survive her.”

  They all laughed harder, but Nathan failed to see the humor in the statement.

  “Well, is there anything I can do to help you before you have to return to your shrew, Mr. Lancaster?” the innkeeper asked with a slap on the back, and smiling at the general chuckles of their companions.

  Nathan would really have loved to start a brawl so that he could lay his hands
on every one of them without looking like a crazed animal, but it was hardly called for, considering they were to leave soon. It would hinder their efforts to come and go from place to place without leaving much of an impression.

  He sighed, more for their benefit than his. “I suppose just a tray of food will do. Maybe I can speed her along, but I doubt it.”

  Again, laughter filled the room and the innkeeper waved for a maid to bring him a tray. “Alas, Mr. Lancaster, I don’t know of any way to speed a woman up. Not ones that is proper, at any rate.” He gave a guffaw of a laugh and gave the tray to Nathan. “But try feeding her, sir. That may just do the trick yet.”

  “Thank you,” Nathan muttered, his patience wearing thin. He nodded to the group and headed up the stairs to the room, still fuming.

  There could not be a single woman in the world that deserved a husband who thought so badly of her. When all of this was over, he was going to have a serious talk with Derek about it. Surely even Katherine had redeemable qualities, something positive he could talk about instead of how much he despised her. He thought of his own encounters with Katherine and shuddered.

  Then again, perhaps there was one exception after all.

  He knocked quietly at the door, and heard the soft “Come in” from within.

  The sight that met him almost knocked him flat. Moira was by the window, wearing her dress from the day before, but looking remarkably refreshed after their talk in the night. What was startling was her hair. She had not put it up yet, so the long copper locks fell in waves across her shoulders and ended halfway down her back. It shimmered in the morning light as if it were a river of precious metal cascading along her body. He honestly could not have said if he had ever seen anything lovelier, let alone anything like it.

  She smiled warmly at him and he felt another wave of shock from it. She was beautiful. He had known that, but perhaps never more so until this moment.

  “Good morning, husband,” she said cheerfully, eying the still open door meaningfully.

  It took Nathan more than a moment to recover from hearing her call him ‘husband’ when she was looking like that, but he soon did. “Good morning, Mrs. Lancaster. I hope you slept well.”