Page 25 of Snowed In with the Runaway Bride

"Thank you, sir. We very much appreciate it."

The man and his friend shuffled off to join another table and Hugo escorted her to a seat, helping her into a chair before seating himself.

Slowly, the men took their seats again and the buzz of conversation resumed, this time at a lower volume. Penny kept her expression serene, but she knew gossip about herself and Hugo was rocketing around the room. Not only were they strangers, but they were obviously Quality.

The innkeeper's wife appeared at their elbows holding a tray laden with two large bowls of stew, half a loaf of bread, and a small dish that held a few precious nuts she must have spared from her own Christmas preparations.

"Here you are, dearies," she said. "It'll be soups and stews until the snow ends and we can get out for more provisions. Easier to stretch for a big crowd."

"Thank you, Mrs. Robson," Hugo said, and Penny nodded her thanks as well, taking note of the woman's name.

"Anything else? Summat from the bar?"

"Sherry, if you have it," Penny said, and the woman laughed.

"I'll have a look and see. Ale for you, sir?"

"Yes, thank you." As Mrs. Robson walked away, Hugo scanned the room, seemingly looking for trouble. Not finding any, he picked up his spoon.

"Is there an issue?" Penny hissed.

He shook his head. "Everyone is curious, but no one is hostile."

"How do you know?"

"Experience." He picked up the bread and tore off a chunk to dip in his soup.

"How often do you go to taverns?"

"On my own? Not very often. But I have been tasked more than once with retrieving sailors who have gone astray and are in danger of being left behind."

“What was the most dangerous port you visited?”

“Marseille,” he said, and briefly grinned at her astonishment.

“What… how… was this during the war?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Robson returned at that moment to plunk two tankards in front of them. “No wine, dearie, but try our local cider. The orchard’s only a few miles from here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Robson.” With a brave smile, Penny picked up her tankard and took a sip. To her relief, the cider was sweet, not bitter like beer, and the bubbles tickled her nose as she drank.

She set it back down with a thump and looked at Hugo. “Marseille. Tell me.”

Hugo took a sip of his ale and then spooned up a bite of stew. “There’s not much I can tell.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Both. We were sent to retrieve an admiralty spy who had run into trouble. Valentine.”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“No, his name was Valentine. Samuel Valentine.”

“Oh.” Penny took another sip of cider and picked up her own spoon. “Tell me more.”

As they ate, he told her story after story with only a little encouragement needed. It felt a bit like they were children again, when he would return from one of his voyages as a midshipman and regale his younger cousins with tales of the navy. Penny had tried to make an excuse to be nearby to hear the tales for herself whenever she could.