One
“But I thought this was Old St. Vincentshire!” Delia Somerset’s heart fell. “I never would have gotten off the mail coach otherwise.”
The distracted innkeeper pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Terribly sorry, Miss. You got off one stop too soon. This is Half-Moon Village. Would you care to rent a room for the night? I’ve only one left, and I doubt that’ll be the case much longer. Storm’s on the horizon, just in time for the holidays.”
But Delia had expected to arrive at her new employer’s estate today. Thinking she was near the end of her journey, she’d spent her last half guinea on a pair of gloves in the most adorable shop earlier that morning. All she had left were three shillings.
“How much for the room?”
“Seven shillings.” The man raised his brows. “Do you want it?”
She’d been a fool to spend so much on something so impractical. But the gloves were made of the most beautiful fawn-colored leather, and they had… called out to her.
“I’ve three shillings. Could I possibly impose on you—”
“I’m afraid not, Miss. Not when the next traveler who stops will give me ten.”
Delia adjusted her spectacles and glanced around at the taproom’s patrons. Not a single respectable lady in sight. And although none of the men appeared to be outright scoundrels, Delia was also painfully aware that none of them appeared to be proper gentlemen.
The trouble was, even if the innkeeper were willing to rent her a cot or small room for her three shillings, she would not have the money to purchase another ticket for tomorrow’s mail coach.
“How much farther to Old St. Vincentshire?” she asked.
“Half a day’s walk. If you hurry, you ought to make it before dark. But I wouldn’t recommend a lady such as yourself go alone.” He pushed up his glasses a second time from where they’d slid to the tip of his bulbous nose, disapproval evident in his stare. Delia thought she might have even spied a hint of concern.
She loosened her reticule and pulled out the very last of her monies. “I’m expected at Thorncliffe Abbey to take up my position as the Countess’s companion. If you’d be so kind as to credit me the difference, I’ll send the balance as soon as I arrive.” Indeed, Lady St. Vincent ought to be willing to advance her a portion of her salary under such dire circumstances.
Oughtn’t she?
A cold rush of air swept behind her when the door opened to allow two more men to stomp across to address the innkeeper. “Any rooms available?” They didn’t bother to wait for Delia to step aside but simply spoke over her.
Which wasn’t an unusual occurrence for her. She’d become quite used to being considered unimportant… invisible.
“The last one.” The man behind the desk dismissed Delia in turn as he directed his attention toward the new arrivals.
“We’ll take it.”
Watching one of the newcomers reach into his pocket, Delia resigned herself to walking the remaining distance that afternoon. She had short legs, but she could move quickly. She would hurry. She would enjoy spending time outside rather than inside a stuffy old coach.
She hefted her valise again and then quickly ducked outside into the brisk wind. When she tipped her head back to look at the sky, a single snowflake swirled and landed on her cheek.
Less than ten minutes later, as she marched up the road in the direction the mail coach had departed, flurries swirled all around her.
Delia consoled herself that at least she had a decent pair of gloves to wear—even if they weren’t all that practical.
The snow would pass quickly. England rarely had a decent wintery storm around Christmas. Some cold rain perhaps, and a few brisk days, but nothing more.
She buried her chin in her cloak and, marching along, watched as the snowflakes dusted the dirt road an icy white. She should have taken her chances at the inn.
She should not have bought her gloves.
After slipping twice, nearly landing on her bum, she had no choice but to slow her pace considerably. But the crusty layer of snow was just thick enough to be treacherous.
Which meant she’d arrive in Old St. Vincentshire all that much later.
Trudging along in the cold with nothing but her thoughts for company, Delia contemplated this new chapter of her life—which so far was not proving nearly as easy as the first had been.
There would be no more balls.