One Room at the Inn (The Lords of Eton Book 4)

by Cheryl Bolen

  He once more lifted up Eddie and spoke in a soft voice. “The next place will be much nicer than this one.” The boy clung tightly to him as they descended the dark stairwell, and poor little Susan began to whimper. “I want to go home.”

  “I know, love,” her mother said in a soothing voice. “But everything will be fine. Soon we’ll be warm and cozy.”

  Philip hoped to God they were.

  Downstairs, he settled the Leemings on a bench in a well-lit corridor while he went to find his driver, whom he located in the tap room. “The Lamb and Staff won’t do.” He put an arm to the man’s shoulder. “You’ve been to Bury St. Edmunds before?”

  “Aye. Many times.”

  “I want the nicest inn in this town, and I’m happy to pay for it.”

  “That will be the White Lion, but I must prepare you. On a rainy night such as this, it can be hard to find vacancies at any place.”

  It had always been Philip’s experience that anything could be obtained if one’s pockets were deep enough. He just hoped he wouldn’t be forced to play his trump: his aristocratic title. He rejoined the Leemings, and it was quite some time before their coach was brought around. “Our horses had been put to bed for the night,” Philip explained to the children.

  Eddie giggled. “Horses don’t have beds, silly.”

  Philip shrugged. “Don’t tell them. They think a pile of hay is their bed.”

  Eddie giggled again. “And, silly, they can’t understand it when you talk to them.”

  “I wonder if they have warm blankets on a cold night like this,” Susan said.

  “Perhaps they just snuggle together for warmth,” Mrs. Leeming suggested.

  “Like we were going to do,” Susan said, disappointment in her voice.

  The very idea of someone to snuggle with in a big cozy bed on such a miserable night had much merit. Funny, during all those years he’d slept alone in the Peninsula, away from his family and without a woman of his own to love, he’d not felt as bereft as he felt at this moment.

  He found himself really looking at Mrs. Leeming. At first, he envied her riches, not material riches which she most certainly lacked, but the love she had for her children and the love they had for her. That was incalculable wealth that no fortune could ever purchase.

  He continued staring at the woman. The longer he looked, the more he came to realize how truly lovely she was. Her hair had dried, and now he was certain it was blonde. Dark blonde. When she was a girl, it must have been as fair as Susan’s was now.

  Her wavy tresses framed a face as innocent and perfect as that of a Madonna painted by an Italian master. Her dark blond lashes swept down as she stroked her daughter’s hair, her full lips gently pressing into the crown of Susan’s head.

  Philip found himself drawing in a breath.

  Mrs. Leeming was a little smaller than average, though it was difficult to judge her figure since it was buried beneath so many layers of heavy woolen clothing. But even those many layers could not disguise the swell of her breasts. Their rise and fall affected him in a most disturbing way. He found her exceedingly desirable.

  Such selfish instincts made him feel wretched. His initial interest in Mrs. Leeming had nothing to do with his own personal gratification—other than the gratification one derives from helping those in need. He’d merely seen a woman and two helpless children who could use his assistance, and offering them aid in no way inconvenienced him. If anything, it assuaged his disappointment that he’d been unable to help Edward Hale’s family.

  As she sat there lovingly stroking her children, he was unable to purge from his thoughts the vision of lying in bed beneath warm covers with this woman by his side. Nothing on earth—not even the longed-for reunion with his family—could be more welcome.

  Of course, he would never act upon this ever-increasing need she awakened in him. He was a gentleman. He’d promised to act like a gentleman. And this woman was most certainly a well-bred lady. He would never do anything to diminish her opinion of him.

  But, God, he wanted to!

  She looked up, and their eyes met. He felt like a lad caught cheating at an exam and looked away quickly.

  The drenched coachman finally came and summoned them.

  The White Lion looked much nicer than the Lamb and Staff. Charlotte hoped she could afford it. It was an old red brick edifice of three stories which, judging by its fresh paint, appeared to be well maintained.

  Mr. Fenton sent the coachman to procure rooms, but he soon returned with a dejected look when he opened the coach door. “There’s but one room left.”

  “Did you inquire if fires have been built in the rooms?”

  “Aye, sir. They ‘ave. After all, this is the finest inn in all of Bury St. Edmunds.”

  “Then take it,” Mr. Fenton commanded.

  “But, sir. . .”

  “If I have to, I’ll sleep in the tap room. Or I can go back to the Lamb and Staff. These children need a warm bed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We can’t, Mr. Fenton,” Charlotte protested. “Please, let’s try another place. This isn’t fair to you.”

  “Madam, I’ve spent the last decade in the Peninsula. I’ve slept in much, much worse.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Then you’re a soldier?”

  He nodded.

  “So was my husband.”

  He caught the coachman’s gaze, inclined his head, and the door shut.

  “I’m . . .” she hesitated. “I’m not sure I can afford lodgings at The White Horse.”

  “Have you stayed in an inn before, Mrs. Leeming?”

  “Many years ago, but I wasn’t responsible for paying for it.”

  “The prices are regulated. You’ll be able to afford it.”

  She was quite certain she would have heard of it before if prices were regulated. She had the oddest feeling Mr. Fenton was fooling her. Was he going to make up the difference between the rate at the Lamb and Staff and the White Lion?

  He was being awfully kind to her and the children. She knew nothing about him. He was a complete stranger. Was he deliberately trying to make her beholden to him in order to seduce her? Or worse?

  At the memory of catching him staring at her back at the Lamb and Staff, her cheeks stung. She knew that look. It was the way a man looked at a woman when he desired her. The memory of the naked hunger in his dark gaze accelerated her heartbeat.

  Surely he would not attempt a seduction in her children’s presence! Only a man gripped by depravity could think of anything so despicable. Nevertheless, she vowed to avoid ever being alone with Mr. Fenton.

  She hated that this past year of hardship had destroyed her ability to trust her fellow man, but she had experienced only one act of kindness in the year since Edward had died, while being constantly crushed under the cruelty of mercenaries. She thought fondly of the Duchess of Fordham’s generosity.

  It was kind, too, of the duchess’s brother to have a care for the family of his fallen comrade in arms. In her grief, Charlotte had not caught the name of the duchess’s brother. He was a captain. That much she could remember. Regrettably, she did not know the names of the men with whom Edward served.

  His letters were always full of words of love for her and the children, memories of their special times together, and assurance that all was well with him. He did not want to worry her with tales of his battles or the woes of a soldier’s life.

  The coachman returned, and Mr. Fenton insisted on carrying Eddie to their new chambers. She felt wretchedly guilty that her family would be sleeping in relative splendor whilst Mr. Fenton’s lodgings were questionable, but she could not deny that she was grateful for a warm room on a freezing night like this. Just making it from the coach to the inn gave them a thorough soaking from slanting rains.

  A chambermaid wearing a freshly starched white apron awaited them with a candle and showed them up a well-lit stairway to the second floor. Their chambers—a parlor and adjoining bedchamber—were at the end of a
long wooden-floored corridor.

  Mr. Fenton inserted the key and opened the door to the parlor where a wood fire blazed in a room of goodly proportions. Its wooden floor was centered with a circular floral rug upon which a long chintz sofa was situated to face the fire. The carved wood chimneypiece featured a footed case clock. Charlotte thought the room wondrously cozy.

  “The bedchamber be this way, madam,” the chambermaid said, showing them into the adjoining room and lighting a candle beside the bed. A fire kept this room warm also. A tall feather bed was piled with what appeared to be freshly laundered quilts, and velvet apricot-coloured curtains ringed the bed.

  It was far nicer than the room Charlotte had left behind in London.

  She could not disguise her pleasure. “Well, children, I think this is going to be a very comfortable room.”

  Susan still clung to her mother’s neck. “It looks very nice.”

  Eddie had not let go of Mr. Fenton. “Can I jump on the bed?”

  It was much higher than the one he normally slept in.

  “Most certainly not,” Charlotte answered.

  At least the children were no longer frightened.

  “Then the accommodations are to your satisfaction?” Mr. Fenton asked.

  She hadn’t wanted to look him in the eyes. She had avoided looking at him since she’d seen the raw hunger in his gaze earlier. But she could avoid it no longer. “This will do very nicely. Where will you sleep?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Soldiers can sleep anywhere,” Eddie said. “Mr. Fenton used to be a soldier.”

  “So,” Mr. Fenton said, “I will instruct the staff to bring breakfast to your parlor at eight in the morning, when I’ll join you.” He moved to the door, then turned back and addressed Eddie. “As a soldier, you’ll need to look after the ladies.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Mr. Fenton was gone she sighed. How kind he was not to mention their lack of bags. How embarrassing it was not to have even a gown to sleep in or a change into dry clothing. Fortunately the small clothes remained mostly dry. She hung all their wet clothes on the drying racks near the fire before they climbed into the bed.

  Once more, the children fell fast asleep. It felt so comforting to have the children so close in a warm, dry bed in such a nice bedchamber, a bedchamber far nicer than she was accustomed to. For that, she had Mr. Fenton to thank.

  It was comforting on a night as miserable as this to be safe and warm with her children. Hopefully they would be able to make Gosingham Hall by tomorrow evening.

  If the roads remained passable. She did not know what she would do otherwise. Three guineas would not pay for much in the way of accommodations. Or food.

  The following morning they dressed in dry clothing and went into the parlor where a very fine breakfast had been delivered. There was toast and marmalade and tea and cold meat and milk.

  Eddie wanted to pile up a plate, but Charlotte insisted that he wait until Mr. Fenton arrived. She had a strong feeling Mr. Fenton was the one who would be paying for the food. She certainly hoped so.

  She only hoped his generosity was not being tied to a potential seduction. She could not purge from her mind how in the span of a few seconds the evening before he had gone from being a jolly uncle type to a seducer of young mothers.

  I will not make eye contact with him.

  She kept watching the clock upon the mantel. It was now fifteen minutes past eight. She walked to the window and looked out. Rain still pounded against the foggy windows. She wiped a circular clearing. The streets were a quagmire.

  Of course she saw no sign of Mr. Fenton.

  “I’m hungry,” Eddie said.

  When it got to be half past eight, she told the children to go ahead and eat.

  Mr. Fenton was not coming.

  He had left her stranded in Bury St. Edmunds.

  After she paid for the inn, she would not even have enough to pay for a stage coach to Lincolnshire.

  What was she to do?

  Once more, life had dealt her a cruel blow.

  Chapter 4

  Even knowing that she might never again be offered so hearty a breakfast, Charlotte could not eat a single bite. Not when she wondered how she was going to pay for it, how she was going to pay for the coach ride on to Lincolnshire—or, if the roads kept them stranded more nights at the White Lion—how she could manage to pay the additional bill here. Three guineas could only go so far.

  How could she feed her children when the money ran out? Worse yet, what would she do if they were tossed out into the snow? For it had now started to snow. They had neither rug nor blanket for warmth.

  No matter what obligations she might be forced to meet, she must keep back enough to frank a letter to Gosingham Hall, begging the duchess to assist her. She hated to have to throw herself on the kindly duchess’s charity, but at the same time felt comforted to have that safety net to fall back upon. She had hoped to never have to use it.

  There was a gentle tap at the chamber door. Her heartbeat soared. She prayed it was Mr. Fenton. “Yes?”

  The same serving maid who had delivered the food re-entered the chamber. Charlotte caved with disappointment. “Would you like more ‘ot water for tea, madam?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The woman gave no signs of leaving. “It looks like the guests won’t be leaving any time soon.”

  Charlotte gave her a quizzing look as her heart plummeted.

  “The coaches can’t continue on until these roads dry.”

  “What of the post chaise?”

  The other woman shook her head. “Not even the post.”

  So Charlotte would not even be able to contact the duchess. She cleared her throat. “My lodgings were paid for in advance, were they not?”

  “Oh, yes, madam. The first night’s always paid for in advance—as was yer meal this morn. Yer ‘andsome traveling companion took care of that. Pity there was no room for ‘im last night. Always ‘appens when the weather’s wretched like this. On nights like last night we could rent out a hundred rooms and still ‘ave ‘em beggin’ for more.”

  Handsome. Yes, Mr. Fenton had been an exceedingly handsome man. How Charlotte wished that he had been the gentleman she had at first taken him for. How she wished he were here with them now—if he had been the kindly man they had thought him. For a short time it had been nice to put her cares into the hands of a capable man.

  She should have known such good fortune was not to be, not after all the ill fortune that had befallen her during the heartache of this past year.

  It was while Charlotte was thinking of Mr. Fenton that she saw him through a crack the serving maid had left in the door. He stood in the corridor, gazing at Charlotte solemnly.

  “Mr. Fenton!” she exclaimed. She was unable to conceal the elation in her voice.

  He moved into the chamber as the serving maid curtsied and left. “I beg that you’ll forgive my muddied boots. I ended up sleeping at the room I’d paid for at the Lamb and Staff and had the devil of a time getting from there to here this morning, given that the roads are impassable.”

  “It looks as if you walked in mud up to your knees.”

  “Indeed I did. That’s why I’m so unpardonably late. I kept hoping another solution would present itself, but, alas, it did not.” He bowed. “I must offer my deepest apologies.”

  “Given that you, sir, most generously paid for the breakfast, you have nothing for which to apologize.”

  He eyed the table, still piled amply with food. “May I?”

  “Please do.”

  “I hate to track the mud into your nice clean chambers.”

  She was so happy to see him, she did not object to allowing him to partially disrobe in front of her. “Should you like to remove your boots and set them by the fire? They could dry much more quickly that way.”

  “I would do exactly that were I not in the presence of a lady, but I cannot.” He stopped and offered
her a gentle look. “Though it was a generous offer for you to make, my dear Mrs. Leeming.”

  She waved an arm at the breakfast offerings. “Do help yourself, my dear Mr. Fenton.”

  “I confess I am famished.”

  “Mama hasn’t eaten, either,” Susan said.

  “Ah, waiting for me?” Mr. Fenton said teasingly.

  “’Twas only good manners, given that you are the one who paid for the meal.”

  “My mama has very good manners,” Eddie said, stuffing toast into his mouth, streams of rich orange marmalade oozing down his face.

  Charlotte crossed the chamber and blotted away the drippings with a napkin. “Your table manners are deplorable, young man.”

  Eddie looked at Mr. Fenton. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Eddie?”

  “When you blow your nose into a handkerchief, do you look at the handkerchief? Mama says that it is very bad manners.”

  “Eddie!” Charlotte shrieked. “That is not a topic for polite conversation.”

  “But you’re always polite and you told it to me.”

  Mr. Fenton guffawed.

  It was all Charlotte could do not join in his mirth.

  Mr. Fenton cleared his throat. “I do not look at my handkerchief after blowing my nose. Like your mother, my mother also attempted to teach me good manners. I do hope she was successful.”

  “I do believe she was,” Charlotte said. How indebted Charlotte now was to Mrs. Fenton. She sat down beside Mr. Fenton, and the two of them began to fill their plates and eat in a most contented silence.

  This morning she even found herself peering into his gaze without the discomfort she’d felt the night before. She was so grateful for his return, she no longer resented the manly ways he was incapable of suppressing. Truth be told, she admired him for refusing to remove his boots in front of her.

  Somehow, she knew that even if he did desire her in the way a man desires a woman, he was too much a gentleman to act upon his own needs.

  Midway through breakfast he confirmed that they would not be able to continue their journey that day. “Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’ve paid another night’s lodgings.”