Julia London Read Online Free

charity.”
    “It’s not charity. Consider it my thanks for seeing me through a rather trying day,” she said brightly, trying to make her expression as sincere as she could.
    Mrs. Petty considered her another moment. “I ain’t no duenna,” she cautioned.
    To Abbey, that suggestion was nearly as absurd as their present situation. “I really did not think you were, Mrs. Petty,” she replied. “Come on then, I’m famished. And do you know, I think I would like an ale. Do you like ale?” Abbey started to move toward the door, and from the cornerof her eye she saw Mrs. Petty stand and smooth her plain brown skirt.
    “It ain’t proper for a young miss to drink ale,” she muttered disapprovingly as she patted her thin gray hair.
    “Why, Mrs. Petty, that sounded positively like a duenna.” Abbey laughed as she opened the door, and when Mrs. Petty passed, she mocked a curtsey fit for a queen behind the sour woman’s back.
    They were shown to one of two private rooms in the back of the inn. As they waited for the innkeeper to clear the table, Abbey noticed a man seated in the room next to theirs. He was sitting alone, his long, muscular legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He had one hand on a tankard, the other shoved in the top of his buff trousers. He was much better dressed than the other patrons, with a neckcloth tied simply at his throat and a brown brocade waistcoat beneath a tan riding coat. He still wore his hat, and since he was sitting in the shadows, she could not see his face. The only thing she noticed was the red glow of the cigar that was clenched between his teeth. Suddenly conscious she was staring, Abbey nodded politely, then crowded behind Mrs. Petty into the other room.
    Abbey ordered two ales and two pies, and as they waited, she perched her chin atop her fist and eyed the very stoic Mrs. Petty. They sat in complete silence until the innkeeper brought the food. Only then did Mrs. Petty make a guttural sound and attack the food with a gusto that suggested she had not eaten in some time.
    And the meat pie was awful. Abbey picked at it while she sipped her ale, choosing to rearrange the carrots to one side instead of eating them. When Mrs. Petty wiped her wooden bowl clean, she eyed Abbey’s expectantly until the young woman pushed it across the table to her. “Really, I am not hungry,” she said, but it was plain Mrs. Petty did not care if she was or not.
    “I was expecting Lord Darfield to meet me,” Abbey prompted as she watched the woman dig into her second pie.
    “That’s a laugh,” Mrs. Petty said with a mouthful of food.
    Surprised, Abbey asked, “Why is that?”
    “Well, to begin with, he’s a marquis, and a marquis don’t go to the docks to meet his visitor. The visitor comes to him.” Mrs. Petty spoke as if she were talking to an ignorant child.
    “I see your point”—Abbey nodded politely—“except that I am not really a visitor.”
    Mrs. Petty stopped her chewing and glanced up. “What are you then?”
    “Why, I am his betrothed!” Abbey said with some astonishment. Surely Mrs. Petty knew
whom
she was escorting, but she stared at Abbey as if she had just announced she was the Queen of England and burst into laughter, revealing half-chewed food.
    Abbey’s brows rose. “May I ask what you find so amusing?”
    Mrs. Petty managed to stop long enough to swallow her food in one big gulp. “Ain’t every day a fine lass marries a rake,” she said sarcastically. “Then again, maybe you
ain’t
such a fine lass.”
    Abbey sat back as if Mrs. Petty had just slapped her, but she hardly noticed the slur directed at herself. She was mortified Mrs. Petty would defame Michael.
    “A
rake
? How could you possibly say such a thing?”
    Mrs. Petty sneered contemptuously as she propped her elbows on the table, a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. “Let me tell you about your
marquis
. The Devil of Darfield is an outcast. He never leaves Blessing Park