Lottie blinked. She didn’t care what he did. She needed tea and food. In that order. Their conversation last night had kept her awake, so her natural instinct was to blame him for her exhaustion. To say as much would be telling, and the man didn’t need that kind of encouragement. Deciding what to do with him was something that could wait until she’d had tea and she had both eyes open.
In the narrow stairwell, his shoulders dominated the space. “Could you be any wider?” she grumbled. His answering laugh was a low rumble she felt in the air more than heard. Wouldn’t it be her luck that he was one of those awful people who were happy in the morning. The mind. It boggled.
The main taproom had filled with patrons and residents for the breakfast service. Through the window, the stable yard looked to be mucky but passable. A large portion of sky shone a bright, clear, beautiful blue that seemed to bully the soggy clouds into a retreat. Lottie searched the room for an unoccupied table, trying to ignore the obnoxiously perky man beside her. He hummed a tune and greeted the patrons. It was unnatural.
“One moment, Lady Charlotte.” Amesbury piled the dirty dishes from a narrow table near the wall onto the bar, then brushed a hand over the tabletop, sweeping crumbs to the floor. He held out a chair, waiting with a small smile on his lips.
She cocked her head, a bit puzzled at the casual gallantry. The highest-ranking man in the room had just done servant’s work to find her a seat. Clearly, Lord Amesbury wasn’t your run-of-the-mill aristocrat. But then, he wouldn’t be, would he? During dinner he’d mentioned that before the title he’d been a shepherd. Granted, the last time she’d been in London, the details surrounding his inheritance hadn’t been her focus, but she remembered his reception had been mixed.
A maid trotted by with her hands full of plates. “Tea please?” Lottie called. The servant answered with a cheerful smile. As she took her seat, Amesbury pushed the chair into place beneath her like a footman at a dinner party, then sat down across the table.
Lord Amesbury’s hair, damp from his morning wash, curled about his head, with one lock falling almost into his eye. She had to clench her hands to stop from brushing it off his forehead. It clearly didn’t annoy him as much as it did her, but really—he needed to push that curl out of his face, and she needed tea before her head exploded from dealing with people this early.
When the maid returned with a pot of magical dark brew, Lottie nearly wept in gratitude. After pouring the drink into an earthenware mug, she added sugar and blew on the surface before taking her first sip.
“If you don’ mind, I’ll take a cup—”
Lottie cut him off by holding one finger in the air. She mutely filled another mug, nudged it his way, then raised the finger again to signal silence.
Tea. She needed tea.
He laughed at her. Not a big belly laugh, but a muffled sort of snort he didn’t even try to hide.
When she added sugar to her second cup, he asked, “Is it safe tae speak now?”
“I don’t know. Will you continue to be unreasonably chipper?” His responding grin made no promises, so she ignored him and refocused on the tea.
Lottie always loved the second cup more. It was the perfect temperature to drink straightaway, without waiting. The first cup gave her life, but the second was pure gratuitous indulgence. Amesbury’s apology last night may have stolen her sleep, but she’d be damned if he stole her tea bliss too.
Mrs. Pringle brought a platter of food and two plates. The older woman grimaced as she looked Lottie over. “How are you feeling this morning, your ladyship?”
“Cranky,” Lord Amesbury answered for her.
The glare Lottie shot at him made her wince when her bruised eye protested the movement. “Perfectly fine, Mrs. Pringle. I thought I’d walk into the village later. Where can I purchase more of the lemon bath oil you provided yesterday?”
Mrs. Pringle beamed. “My sister makes the oil, and many others besides. Go to High Street and look for the shop’s blue door.”
“Well then, I’ll explore High Street after I break my fast. Thank you.”
Lord Amesbury served himself seconds and handed her a plate of food as Lord Carlyle sauntered to their table. “Well, aren’t we cozy? Lady Charlotte, you’re looking better than expected.” Carlyle lounged against the wall behind Amesbury’s chair and stole a sausage from his friend’s plate.
“Get your own breakfast, thief. An’ leave her alone. She’s no’ chatty in the morning.” Amesbury stabbed at Lord Carlyle’s hand with his fork but wasn’t quick enough to save the second sausage.
Carlyle grinned at her around a mouthful of stolen goods. “Let me guess. You feel as if you’ve been thrown in a sack and beaten with a cricket bat?”
Lottie couldn’t help laughing. “Something like that. I’ll mend. Thankfully, so will my coachman.”
“He’ll keep the leg?” Amesbury asked.
“Yes. He’s tremendously lucky. The doctor is very skilled, as Mrs. Pringle said.” Carlyle eyed the empty platter in the middle of the table. “You may have mine if you aren’t too picky about from whom you steal.” Lottie pushed her plate in his direction. The level of pain in her body seemed to be impacting her appetite. Watching the friends interact was utterly fascinating, though. It revealed a playful side of Lord Amesbury. Yesterday’s confidence, then apology, and this morning’s teasing conversation with his friend made her wonder how many more layers there were to the man. He wasn’t the one-dimensional villain she remembered.
Lord Carlyle grinned. “My endless thanks, Lady Charlotte. Mac, I like her.”
Despite the fact that he somehow managed to be even more animated than Amesbury at this ungodly hour, it was difficult not to like Lord Carlyle in return. Lottie smirked when Lord Amesbury rolled his eyes.
That they were sitting here, not only civil but nearly friendly, struck her as strange. Last night’s apology must have been working on her years of animosity while she slept, because instead of hiding behind her raised hackles, she’d found this breakfast—well, nearly enjoyable. Though it pained her to say it, she might not hate the man as much as she thought. Trust him? No. Genuinely like and esteem him? A laughable concept. But maybe she didn’t wish him to perdition.
In her defense, it had been a great apology.
“Eat quickly, Cal. We should get on the road. Lady Charlotte, thank you for the pleasure of your company this morning. I hope your coachman makes a full recovery and that you’re back tae fighting form soon. Perhaps we will meet in London.”
Lord Amesbury sketched a shallow bow while Lord Carlyle finished the last bite from her plate. Carlyle bowed over her hand. “You are a gem, Lady Charlotte. Thank you for breakfast. Might I ask a small favor? Don’t forgive him too quickly. Watching him grovel is fun.”
Chapter Five
As Lottie rattled into Town in one of her father’s older traveling coaches, her teeth knocked together, and she bit the tip of her tongue when the coach hit a hole in the cobblestone street.
Darling held tight to a leather strap overhead, looking slightly green around the gills. “If it’s this bad for us, how is poor Patrick faring?”
“I gave him the well-sprung carriage, but I’m sure the journey will be hard. His recuperation will be easier at home, though. You gave him the laudanum?”