Page 61 of Twice Tempted by a Rogue

“And I don’t have so very much to put on display.” Meredith smiled, patting her modest bosom. “Of course, you’re right. And you’ve done a fine job with the fitting.”

“There wasn’t much to alter, save the hem. You and the owner had quite similar measurements.”

“This wasn’t your dress, then?”

“Oh, no. I never had anything half so fine.”

“Then where did it come from?”

“When Mr. Bellamy had me staying at the Blue Turtle in Hounslow, there was a lord and his mistress stopping over. Well, the two of them had a noisy row right in the middle of the courtyard, in the wee hours of the morning. He’d cast her out into the cold, then flung her dresses out the window.”

Cora shook her head. “That was the scene that made me realize I never wanted to be any man’s whore again. The lady who owned these dresses, she had what all us girls wanted—a wealthy protector to buy her nice things and treat her well. And still, when he had no more use for her, he cast her out like rubbish. I didn’t want that to ever be me.”

A little smile curved Cora’s lips. “Evidently, the fancy lady had too much pride to pick her garments out of the mud. She simply left them on the ground and ordered her carriage, and that was that. So I gathered them up, brushed out the dirt as best I could. I planned to make them over for myself someday, but they suit you better.” She carefully folded a leaf-green muslin frock edged with ecru lace and laid it in Meredith’s trunk. “There’s this, too, for the daytime. And a traveling cloak.”

Touched, Meredith caught the girl in a warm hug. “Thank you. You’ll have the dresses back, I promise.”

“Well, I did leave the excess inside the seams, just in case,” Cora admitted, reaching to undo the row of tiny closures down the gown’s back.

As Cora helped her change from the red silk gown into her plain, serviceable traveling habit, Meredith drilled the girl on all the details of minding the inn. Where to find the extra stores of Madeira if wealthy guests happened through, how to start watering down the drinks a good hour before closing, and where to find Skinner’s mother if he had one of his bad nights.

“Don’t be so anxious, ma’am,” Cora said, packing away the silk gown. “With Mr. Lane and Darryl and Mrs. Ware all helping, we’ll be fine.”

Meredith wished she could tell her to call on Gideon Myles in an emergency, but she couldn’t trust him anymore. They’d scarcely spoken two words in the weeks since Rhys’s “accident” at the ruins. Much as Meredith hated to believe Gideon was responsible, it was the only explanation that fit.

As Rhys said, his attacker certainly could have finished the job, so clearly the incident had been meant as a warning. Not just a warning to Rhys, but a warning toher. Only a few weeks remained of the two months’ grace Gideon had extended. The other night, she’d worried aloud to Rhys that Gideon might make good on his threat to kill him, if he didn’t leave the village soon.

Rhys had only laughed, much to her dismay. He refused to see Gideon as a threat. While Meredith had no doubt that Rhys would come out the victor in a fair fight between the men, this wasn’t an army skirmish or a boxing match. Gideon had time to bide, knowledge of the terrain, loyal men to assist him. The ambush at the ruins proved all too well that Rhys was not as indestructible as he claimed. As she knew from experience, she couldn’t bear to stand helplessly by while he courted death.

There was a knock at the door just as Meredith finished tying the traveling cloak in front. Before she could even call, “Come in,” her father entered.

“Father.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re up early.”

“’Course I am. Did you think I wouldn’t see you off?” He patted her arm. “And I wanted to talk to you, just a minute, before you go.”

She bit her lip, making a great effort not to openly cringe. She hoped he didn’t mean to discuss the implications—moral or otherwise—of her traveling alone with Rhys. They’d never spoken of Maddox, not in any marital context at least, and though Meredith supposed her father must know she’d taken a few lovers since her husband’s death, they’d mercifully never discussed that, either.

“I’ll carry your valise down, Mrs. Maddox.” With that, Cora left them alone.

“Let’s sit,” she said, guiding him to the bed.

He sat beside her on the edge of the mattress, using his arms to settle his weight. The worse of his crippled legs extended at an awkward angle. Since the fire, when his leg was crushed by the weight of a burning rafter, he’d never regained the ability to bend it properly at the knee. Her heart twisted in her chest. After so many years, she suspected he’d learned to ignore his injuries better than she had.

The old man’s face was very grave. “Meredith …”

“I’ll stay,” she said, clasping his hand. “If you don’t want me to go, only say the word, and I’ll—”

“No, no.” He gave a gravelly chuckle. “Go, child. Enjoy yourself. I wish I’d been able to do this for you, for your mother. You deserve a holiday far grander than this. What I wanted to say was just …” He squeezed her hand. “Rhys is a good man, Merry. He’s had a hard time of it, but his heart is in the right place. Give him a chance.”

“Oh, Father,” she whispered. A bittersweet smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Believe me, I’d like nothing better. It’s Rhys who doesn’t believe in chance.” She squeezed his hand and whispered, “May I ask a favor?”

“Anything.”

“If you happen to see Gideon while I’m gone, make this little speech to him.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Rhys appeared in the doorway, dressed for travel.

Father stood and greeted him warmly. Meanwhile, Meredith took advantage of the diversion to discreetly swipe at her eyes. If Rhys did leave Buckleigh-in-the-Moor, her father would be so disappointed.

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