Page 4 of Miss Barton's Mysterious Husband
She straightened, aware that she was about to make a mistake but unable to think of any alternative. “He can sleep in my room.”
Her aunt paled, even as Roland tilted a doubtful eyebrow at Charmian.
“That’s not suitable, Charmian.” Now there was no mistaking the fear at the root of Aunt Janet’s prickliness.
“It couldn’t be more suitable.” Charmian had had a long, tiring day. She’d had a long, tiring three years. She wasn’t up to dealing with whatever was peeving her aunt. “We’re married, after all.”
“I thought you might have forgotten,” Roland said with a snideness foreign to the lighthearted man she’d married in such haste.
“How could I forget? If I survived the plague, I’d remember the experience,” she sniped back. When they’d wed, thatnastiness wasn’t in her vocabulary either. Clearly they’d both changed for the worse since their last meeting.
The door behind them opened, and a shivering family of four tumbled into the hallway. Two men emerged from the taproom on the right. “We’re still waiting on our dinner,” one of them said rudely.
Aunt Janet looked hunted, but she didn’t respond to her customers. Sign enough that she was rattled. She prided herself on being an excellent landlady. “The taproom will be good enough for you,” she told Roland in the voice that always summoned immediate obedience.
Roland’s eyebrows rose in understandable annoyance. Not much obedience to be seen. “You said there was no room.”
John emerged to deal with the new arrivals. He shot his employer another questioning glance, when he saw that she was still busy with Roland and Charmian.
“I’ll make room,” Janet said grimly.
Charmian frowned. They couldn’t stand here, airing their dirty linen in public. “No, I want him with me.”
“I’m overcome, wife,” Roland said. “You do care after all.”
She bit back the urge to say, “I don’t.” It wouldn’t help. Anyway, despite everything, it wasn’t true. “We need to talk.”
“It took three years to reach that conclusion?”
“I haven’t noticed you beating down my door, begging for a reconciliation,” she snapped back. He acted as if all their problems were her fault.
“That’s all very well,” the man outside the taproom said. “But where’s our dinner?”
Aunt Janet sucked in an irritated breath and squared her shoulders. She set a smile on her face – not an entirely convincing effort – and faced the man. “I’ll check with the kitchen, Mr. Smith. I’m sorry you’ve been kept waiting.” Sheturned to Charmian. “Can you look after the new arrivals and get John to bring another beer barrel up from the cellar?”
“I’ll show Roland to my room first,” she said.
“I’d rather you looked after our guests.”
Charmian frowned. It sounded like Janet tried to keep her away from Roland. Was she worried that he was a danger to her? Her aunt had always been protective of her only niece. “Roland won’t hurt me.”
“You haven’t seen him for a long time.”
Nobody was more aware of that than Charmian. She’d counted every minute of every hour of every day.
“This isn’t getting my dinner,” Mr. Smith barked.
A woman emerged from the parlor at the end of the hallway, clutching a screaming baby and Milly appeared from downstairs carrying two canisters of hot water. This corridor was busier than the Strand on a Monday morning. It wasn’t the place for any sort of meaningful conversation.
“Come with me,” Charmian said to Roland over the din. “I’ll have to come down and help, but upstairs you’ll have a bed and some privacy at least.” She reached to pick up his valise.
“My wife doesn’t need to play the servant,” he growled. “I’m capable of carrying my own bag.”
She flushed a painful red. Because for most of the time that they’d been apart, she’d helped her aunt in the inn. Playing the servant, as Roland put it. He must wonder what madness had led him to marry someone little better than a scullery maid. It was a question she’d asked herself in the depths of many a night during the long, lonely hours when the answers that she came up with were entirely depressing.
“Then please follow me,” she said tight-lipped.
“Charmian, Sir Roland will be better off in the taproom,” her aunt said with barely hidden desperation.
