Free Candice Hern by Once a Dreamer Page B

shake. Damn. She already thought him a fool. If he was not more careful, she would think him demented as well. “Oh, I am sorry. I am afraid there were no available private parlors. But there is a formal dining room that appears perfectly respectable.”
    “I am certain it will do nicely. Let us—”
    “I feel obliged to remind you, ma’am, that it is a public place and I still have concerns about your reputation. Misconceptions may be drawn about—”
    “Bosh. If we are going to chase my idiotic niece halfway across the country, I am certain there will be more than one occasion when we are seen together in public. If I am not concerned about it, neither should you be, Mr. Westover.”
    “As you wish,” he said, but still hoped to heaven they did not run smack into her stiff-rumped Great Aunt Straitlace. Or some gossipy grande dame of the ton on her way into Town. Would the obstinate Mrs. Tennant remain so sanguine if confronted with such a situation? “The inn is quite full,” he said, “so the dining room may be somewhat crowded.”
    “Then let us make haste,” she said, and led the way down the long corridor, displaying for his hungry eyes an expanse of ivory flesh exposed by the low back of the dress, almost making up for the too-high bodice.
    One ode at a time, he cautioned himself. He would address the gorgeous neck and back later, after the upper lip. And the emerald eyes. And the dark glory of her hair. And the fiery temper. And the mule-headed stubbornness.
    Lord, but she was a banquet. A poet’s feast. Memories of Mrs. Tennant would keep his pen busy for months.
    The Red Lion was a large and luxurious inn. Neither the Mail nor the stagecoaches stopped there; instead it catered to private post travelers, and so was not as rough and rowdy as other inns. Since they did not have to accommodate the quick group meals required of the Mail and coach stops, dinner was leisurely and pleasant.
    Tonight, though, it was crowded, and Simonprocured the last available table in the dining room. He ordered their meal and poured the wine when it was brought. Vowing to avoid all topics that might renew discussion of the Busybody, and anything else designed to diminish him in her eyes, he steered the conversation toward more innocuous subjects. He asked about Belinda’s father, Captain Chadwick, which led to a discussion of the war, the new Lord of the Admiralty, and renewed rumors of an invasion by Napoleon. Simon was thoroughly enjoying the conversation and the company when the landlord approached their table.
    “I do beg your pardon, sir, madam, but I wonder if I might impose upon your good natures?”
    “Yes?”
    “We are quite full up, as you see. And yet a woman traveling with two young ladies has just arrived, and we have no place to accommodate them for dinner. I wonder, sir, if you might be willing to share your table with them? She is a gentlewoman, I assure you, and the two young ladies are extremely well mannered.”
    Damn. Here was the very sort of situation he had hoped to avoid. If others were to join their party, what might they think of a beautiful young widow alone in the company of a man of no relation to her? Simon knew exactly what they would think.
    He turned toward the entrance where three women stood. One was plump and middle-aged,the other two were quite young and rather wide-eyed with curiosity. He looked to Mrs. Tennant to see how she felt about the matter. She smiled and nodded her head. She was either very stubborn or very naïve. But the landlord had seen her obvious sign of assent, so there was nothing for it. “Yes, of course,” Simon said. “We would be happy to share our table. Please send the ladies over.”
    “Thank you, sir, madam. I am most grateful. I did not wish to turn the ladies away.”
    Before Simon knew what was happening, three chairs were added to their table, one separating him and Mrs. Tennant, dashing his hopes of at least sitting beside her. He stood as the ladies