She loved Henry Mortimer, and she needed to tell him so.
Unfortunately, the rapidity with which she had come to this conclusion outmatched Henry’s walking pace from the waterfall back to the village, and he was not presently available for her declaration.
She had always been decisive.
She elected to take a room at the inn and, in a blaze of optimism, informed the innkeeper that the room was for herself and her husband. Once ensconced, it occurred to her that she was dirty, hungry, and wearing a stained, wrinkled, possibly odoriferous dress. While she waited for Henry to come back to Darley Dale, she decided to rectify these various personal dilemmas.
She ate. She bathed. She paid an eye-popping amount of coin to one of the tavern maids, who produced for her a clean, if very revealing, frock.
And while she was pondering how pink Henry’s cheeks might turn when he saw her bosom in this dress, she stretched out on the narrow bed and fell asleep.
She awoke in a patch of sunlight. She blinked, squinting at the light in the window.
Why on Earth was it so bright? Had someone lit a torch or—
She sat bolt upright.
Morning. It wasmorning.She’d slept right through the evening and night, and—and Henry had not come. She looked frantically about the room, as though he might be hiding behind the washstand, but he was nowhere to be seen.
She threw herself out of bed.
Had he gone back to London? Without her?
Hang the man—he claimed to have pined for her for years, and then he could not wait a handful of hours for her response?
She dashed down the stairs and hurtled to the common room, where the innkeeper was humming and polishing glasses. She realized with some horror as she approached the man that she’d forgotten to put on shoes.
“Have you seen my husband?” she said without preamble. “This is the only inn, is it not?”
The innkeeper gaped at her. “Mum?”
She supposed he was not used to women appearing at this hour in his public room in their stocking feet and with their breasts half-bared. She hoped he would not have her arrested. “My—oh, dash it—a man. A tall dark-haired frowning man, traveling on foot. He should have come here last evening—I thought he would ask after me! Did you see him?”
“Aye,” said the innkeeper slowly. “I know the man you mean. He came in last night and asked if any ladies had taken a room for themselves. But did ye not tell me you were with your husband? I told him I’d had no ladies alone.”
Damnher foolish enthusiasm! Margo bit her lip. “Where did he go? Did he say?”
“Why, he stayed here, mum. Last night. He’s gone over to the tavern this morning to break his fast.”
Relief and delight made her dizzy. She went up on her toes and gave the innkeeper a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Oh thank you, sir!”
He goggled at her.
Pull yourself together,Margo ordered herself.If you are jailed for public indecency, it’s going to be very hard to declare yourself to Henry.
But she knew where he was now. He was coming back. He had not left, not at all.
After a quick trip to her room to retrieve her coin purse and a liberal application of tips all around, Margo ascertained the location of Henry’s room. A whispered word to the chambermaid had her inside, but she wanted—
She wanted to do something grand. She wanted a great sweeping gesture for Henry, something meaningful and romantic, something that would show him how true and deep her feelings were, for all that they’d taken her a while to sort out.
She tapped her finger against her lips for a moment and then went back out to find the chambermaid.
Unfortunately, when the door crashed open several minutes later, Margo had only gotten as far as stripping off the low-cut tavern dress and revealing the even more low-cut chemise and stays beneath it.
She whirled toward the door, caught sight of Henry’s terrifying glower, and backed up directly into the bed. She squeaked and sat down hard.
“Margo?” Henry looked utterly thunderstruck.
