“Oh?”
He nodded and buttered a bun, his third. “I have an aunt in Edinburgh.”
“You do? You never said.” She took a sip of tea.
“Yes, well, I do.”
“Is she a Scot?”
“No. Her first husband was a Scot. I believe she is on husband number three at the moment.” He laid his butter knife down on the plate. “Her name is Mrs. Esther Whippering, and we will spend a night with her.”
“Very well.”
“She’s getting on in years but sharp as a tack. Used to twist my ear rather painfully as a boy.”
She paused over her teacup. “Why? What had you done?”
“Nothing at all. She said it was good for me.”
“No doubt it was.”
He opened his mouth, about to defend his youthful honor, when he felt something cold and wet on the hand in his lap.
He’d been reaching for the butter knife with his other hand, and he nearly dropped it again. “My God, what is that?”
“I expect it’s only Mouse,” Melisande said serenely.
He peered under the table and saw two eyes gleaming back. They looked a little devilish in the dark. “What does he want?”
“Your bun.”
Jasper looked at his wife, outraged. “He shan’t have it.”
She shrugged. “He’ll only bother you until you give him some.”
“That’s no reason to reward bad behavior.”
“Mmm. Shall we have the innkeeper’s wife pack a luncheon for us? She seems to be a good cook.”
He felt another nudge against his leg. A warm weight settled on his foot. “An excellent idea. We may not be near an inn at luncheon time.”
She nodded and went to the door of the little private dining room to make arrangements.
Jasper shoved a piece of egg under the table when her back was turned. A wet tongue licked it from his fingers.
Melisande came back in the room and eyed him suspiciously but did not say a word.
Half an hour later, the horses were hitched, the lady’s maid was perched beside the coachman for a change, Melisande and Mouse were in the carriage waiting, and Jasper was having a last conversation with the innkeeper. He thanked the man and leapt up the steps to his carriage, then knocked on the roof and sat.
Melisande looked up from her embroidery as the carriage jolted forward. “What did you say to him?”
He glanced outside the window. Fog was rolling down the hills. “Who?”
“The innkeeper.”
“I thanked him for a perfectly lovely night without fleas.”
She simply looked at him.