Page 108 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“No, sir, I did not. We are ... passing through, my friend and I, and our ship had to land unexpectedly and is unable to take us farther. If you happen to have a spare room—”
“Your friend?” he asked, leaning to the side and looking toward Alex.
Alexander stepped forward and bowed. “At your service, sir.”
Mr. Truscott looked from one to the other, chewing his lip. “Traveling alone together, are you? I don’t suppose you are married? I wouldn’t scruple it myself, but as I wrote, the new Mrs. Truscott is very particular about proper behavior and avoiding even the appearance of sin. So while I could offer one of you lodging, I don’t know that she would agree to the both of you, unless ... may I tell her you are man and wife, recently wed? Then there can be no objection.”
Laura hesitated. She did not want to lie, but she was cold and weary to the bone.
Alexander touched her arm. “You go in, Laura. You’re exhausted. I will find shelter somewhere. A church or barn, perhaps.”
Mr. Truscott grimaced. “No, no,” he said. “I can’t turn you away. Come in the both of you, I insist. You look dead on yourfeet. Leave the explanations to me, assuming you will behave like a gentleman while under my roof?” He sent Alex a piercing look.
“Upon my honor, sir.”
“Good, good. That’s settled, then. Come in, come in. You must be hungry and thirsty from your journey.” He called down the hall, “Rozenn, some dinner for our guests, if you please.”
A few minutes later, they sat down to a simple but hearty meal of cold chicken, beef, turnips, and bread and butter, with an apple tart for dessert.
After they had eaten and talked over tea and brandy for a time, Mr. Truscott led Laura upstairs and through a sitting room to a small guest room beyond.
Then he said to Alex, “And perhaps you might sleep here in the sitting room?” He gestured to a worn, upholstered sofa. “I have napped there plenty of times, I can tell you.”
“Yes, perfect.”
Mr. Truscott hesitated, then turned back to Laura. “I would, em, rather not involve the maid in our little ruse. She tells my wife everything. Can you manage on your own for one night?”
“Easily,” Laura replied. “Thank you, Mr. Truscott.”
Their host brought up a pitcher of water for the washstand, built up the fires in both rooms, and bid them good night.
When he departed, Alex whispered, “Canyou manage without a maid?”
She shrugged. “I can sleep in my frock.”
“Not very comfortably. I could help, if you don’t mind.”
Laura hesitated. She would have to wear the same dress the next day, so she hated to sleep in it. She’d far rather let it air than wake up in a wrinkled mess.
“If you could just undo the frock’s back buttons and laces. I can sleep in my shift and stays.”
Her ears heated to mention her underclothing, but she reminded herself that Alexander had been a married man at one point, so was probably well versed in female attire.
He approached, and she turned her back to him, grateful for an excuse to hide her flushing face.
His fingers seemed a bit unsteady as he fumbled over the buttons.
“Sorry. They are dashed tiny.”
She clenched trembling hands. “That’s all right.”
He unstrung the laces more easily. His hands paused, lingering on her waist a moment.
“Anything else?”
She was tempted to lean back in his arms but forced herself to turn her head and smile at him. “I can manage the rest. Thank you. Good night.”
Laura gently shut the bedchamber door behind him, then leaned her back against it, wondering what might have happened had he stayed. She imagined leaning against his strong chest, his arms going around her. Alexander kissing her shoulder, the back of her neck... She pressed her eyes closed. No. They had done the right thing.
