Free Supervising Sally by Marina Oliver Page B

fighting.’

    An hour later Phoebe returned to the taproom. George, she was thankful to see, had gone, and the earl was seated by a table which had been laid for a meal. A buxom woman, whom she presumed was the innkeeper’s wife, was busy setting out plates and knives. When Phoebe came in she bobbed a curtsy and retreated to the kitchen.
    The earl rose to his feet, poured her a glass of wine and brought it across to her. ‘Here, it’s tolerable. Better than I would expect to find at such a place. Where is Sally?’
    â€˜Thank you. She is asleep. The poor child was exhausted and cannot face any food.’ Phoebe sipped the wine gratefully. ‘I need this. Where has that lovely meat vanished to? I could eat the whole of it.’
    â€˜It’s being prepared in the kitchen, proper-like for gentry, according to the innkeeper.’
    â€˜I hope they don’t take too long. Where is the amorous swain?’
    â€˜He very soon saw the wisdom of departing and spending
the night at another inn, on his way back to Benton Manor. I don’t think he was relishing having to explain to his uncle, or whatever Clara’s architect is, why he absented himself without permission.’
    â€˜Good. He deserves a thrashing, the young fool.’ She chuckled. ‘I think Sally’s faith in him wavered when he refused to attack you. It will be even more damaged when she realizes you routed him without a fight.’
    At that moment the innkeeper and his wife came in, bearing trays on which Phoebe was relieved to see both the venison and the chickens, and several side dishes which the woman proudly displayed. Finally, after being assured several times that they required nothing else, they withdrew, and Phoebe, glancing apologetically at the earl, picked up a bread roll and tore it apart.
    â€˜Forgive me, my lord, but if I don’t eat soon I shall collapse,’ she said, and nibbled at the bread while he carved slices of venison for her.
    When they were finished, with the remnants of the meal cleared away, and a bottle of port placed on the table, the earl drew two chairs near to the fire. He poured two glasses of port and brought them across to Phoebe, handing one to her.
    â€˜I know port is not considered a drink for a lady,’ he began.
    â€˜But I suspect you consider me no lady,’ Phoebe said, taking the glass. ‘After my father died, I developed quite a taste for it as Mama and I had to make do with the wine he had laid down. We didn’t tell Reginald we had it, or he would have taken it to his own house, and we would not have been able to afford to buy wine. Papa was quite a connoisseur, I believe.’
    â€˜Reginald?’
    Phoebe frowned. ‘Reginald Bradshaw, my sister Jane’s husband. He owns mills in Yorkshire, not far from Ridgeway Park.’

    â€˜Is that how Beatrice comes to know you?’
    â€˜No. My father was a doctor, in Buxton, and Lord Drayton used to consult him.’
    â€˜But I understood you were living with your sister.’
    â€˜Mama had been very ill, and we did not have much money. There were the medicines to buy. Jane persuaded Mama to live with her, and was expecting me to become an unpaid governess to her odiously undisciplined children. Lady Drayton took pity on me, and offered me the post as companion to Sally.’
    Phoebe bit her lip. He might be unwilling to escort her to Brussels, but when Beatrice recovered, she was sure that lady would find some way of sending her and Sally there.
    The earl was silent for a few moments. He rose to his feet and began to pace about the room. ‘Is Sally reconciled to coming back to London?’
    â€˜Oh yes, she is now.’
    â€˜How did you persuade her?’
    Phoebe grinned. ‘I pointed out that anyone who really wanted to protect and marry her would not have allowed you to prevail with mere words, and if he really loved her he would not be deterred by a threat of