Page 29 of A Much Maligned Miss

“Oh yes, Rodney has always been a most amiable boy, and his wife, Elizabeth, is an excellent woman.”

His attitude seemed laudable to Caroline and she warmed to him at once. “Does this mean you will be traveling all the way to London, sir?” she asked.

“Indeed, yes,” he agreed. “Are you young people bound also for London?” At this moment Remus, who was curled in her lap, unfurled and made the poor gentleman startle.

“Well, bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “I mistook him for your tippet! What a pretty little cat. He reminds me very much of one I kept as a boy.” He turned misty-eyed. “I called him Leopard, you know, for his markings. We shortened it to ’Pardy.”

“And did he live to a good age?”

“Twenty-two,” Canon Petrie responded heartily. “It was a sorry day that I lost dear ’Pardy, but he had a good life. Yes, a good life.”

“This is Remus, and Gervaise has his brother, Romulus, inside his coat.” She nudged Gervaise, who drew open his coat to reveal the other kitten.

“Ah, they are both tabby cats, I see,” Canon Petrie commented. “And a vastly handsome pair.”

Over the next couple of hours, Canon Petrie took a lively interest in the kittens, who he let scramble up and down his legs without reproach as he spoke with enthusiasm about his childhood in Kent, his obscure ecclesiastical studies, and his nephew, who was a bookbinder and married to his childhood sweetheart.

“I wonder that you have never kept any cats since boyhood, Father,” Caroline commented, eyeing Gervaise sidelong. It occurred to her that he had fallen rather silent and was letting her and Canon Petrie do the majority of the talking this morning. Was he pleased that she was carrying the burden of polite conversation, or was he bored with their chatter?

She felt a sudden dread that he might decide to amuse himself by bringing up the regiment of soldiers Miss Pomfrey was supposedly consorting with. The thought made her feel almost ridiculously apprehensive.

It was just that such a thing would surely extinguish the kindly light in Canon Petrie’s eye, and the thought made her feel suddenly rather sick. At this point the carriage veered to the right and came to a sudden halt.

“Ah, we have arrived at The Plough, I see,” Gervaise announced, twitching the curtain aside. “Where we will take luncheon. Let us hope it is rather better than yesterday’s dismal fare.”

Scooping up the kittens, he slipped them into the deep pockets of his coat and opened the carriage door, hopping down. He turned and helped Caroline down the steps. “Are you not alighting here, Father?” he asked politely.

“Oh, no, no. I have no need for sustenance just yet and will save my appetite for this evening,” the canon answered hastily. “Instead, I shall just take a walk while they change the horses and stretch my legs a bit.”

Instantly, Caroline suspected poor Canon Petrie’s purse could not extend to two meals on the road. Her face fell and as she could feel Gervaise’s eyes on her, she pretended to cough to hide her reaction.

“Come now, you must not disappoint us,” he swiftly chided the older man. “I insist you join us, as a guest at our table. You can help to keep the kittens occupied. They have become rather a handful in truth.”

The canon’s face brightened. “Are you quite sure I would not be intruding on you both?” he asked, looking from Gervaise to Caroline and back again. He had only the loosest notions of their names and never had asked for clarification on the nature of their relationship.

“Certainly not! We are heartily sick of one another’s society after three days on the road,” Gervaise answered flippantly, helping the elderly clergyman to climb down.

Caroline’s heart unexpectedly took a downward swoop. Was he in earnest? She did not dare to scan his face in case she saw he was being genuine. After all, Canon Petrie and her conversation had been cozy in the extreme. Was it any wonder one such as Lord Atherton (she did not think of him as Gervaise at this precise moment) should have found it thoroughly boring and provincial?

Even if she had not been conversing gently with an elderly clergyman, it was only natural that he should have had his fill of her company by now. She had no sparkling wit, no mine of fascinating tales to share, she thought, swallowing painfully. She had already told him far too much about her very dull life. No wonder he was desperate for someone else to alleviate the unmitigated boredom of her conversation.

They had entered the inn by this point, and were following an amiable servant down a narrow corridor which led to a small parlor with lots of gleaming horse brasses on display. “Today we’re serving clear soup, followed by cold chicken and new potatoes,” he announced cheerfully. “I’ll have your table made ready.”

“Very good, so long as the clear soup is of a palatable temperature,” Gervaise responded, fishing the kittens out of his pockets and passing them to Canon Petrie, who was stood warming himself before the fire. He took them readily enough, and Caroline had just reached for her bonnet strings when Gervaise’s fingers closed about her elbow, compelling her to step just outside of the room with him and back into the corridor.

She tipped her head back to look up at him expectantly. “My lord?”

He leaned his shoulder against the rough plaster of the wall. “Why do you look like that?” he asked in a low voice. “I only asked old Petrie to join us because you looked so stricken at the idea of leaving him outside.”

Caroline’s gaze flitted to the parlor door where she could see the canon lowering himself into a chair beside the fire. He chuckled at the kittens’ antics as they swarmed over the back and arms of the chair, tails whisking.

“I was worried he did not have sufficient funds,” she admitted in a low voice. “I am very glad you thought to ask him to join us. It was generously done.”

“So, then why the long face?” he asked bluntly.

Caroline felt her face flame. “It’s just—because you said—” She broke off, closing her eyes to stave off the embarrassment.

“That we were heartily sick of one another?” he enquired silkily.