and tea for the lady,” Nick said before she had a chance to speak.
“Tea?” she shot back, giving Nick a reproving look. “I can have tea anytime.” Looking up, she sent the barman a wide smile. “I’ll have ale too. A small one, if you please.”
“She’ll have tea,” Nick countermanded. “And we’ll share a plate of your best meats and cheeses and bread to go with it.”
“Mustard or chutney with that, Guvnor?” the man asked. “My missus spent time in India with her father afore I married her and she makes a right tasty fixin’ with apples and pears.”
“It sounds delicious. We shall try both.”
The man nodded, then shot Emma another disapproving look before turning away.
“He’s not very friendly,” she complained as soon as he was out of earshot. “Surely I am not the only woman to ever set foot across the premises.”
“With the exception of his wife and possibly a daughter, you might well be. This isn’t the sort of public house that caters to working ladies and their companions.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind. I should not have mentioned it.”
Emma cudgeled her brain trying to make sense of his statement. “But what sort of women—oh—” She broke off suddenly, leaning close again. “Do you mean loose women? Are those the kind you’re talking about?” Not that she knew much about such unfortunate females, but even she had heard rumors of their existence.
Then a new thought occurred. “Surely he doesn’t think that you and I… that I am—” she breathed.
“No. He doesn’t,” Nick said in a firm tone, “which is precisely why he hasn’t asked us to leave. If you don’t want him to change his mind, I suggest you be quiet and behave. No more trying to order pints of ale for yourself.”
She shot him a reproachful look. “Gainsaying my request for an ale was rude of you, you know. I do not see why I cannot have a glass.”
“My God, you’re a handful. How did you ever even manage to acquire a post as a governess? They can’t have known you well. That much is certain.”
She looked down, using the movement to hide her sudden dismay. In all of today’s excitement, she’d completely forgotten the story she’d told him—or rather the erroneous assumptions he’d made that she’d conveniently allowed him to believe. Now what to say?
To her immense relief, the tavern keeper chose that moment to return with their drinks. He placed a rich nut-brown mug of ale in front of Nick, then a pot of hot tea and a cup in front of her.
“Have you any milk and sugar?” she ventured, noticing their absence.
The barman gave a disgruntled huff and shuffled off again.
“Do you think he heard me?” she asked.
Nick grinned. “Oh, he heard you. It will be interesting to see if he complies.”
From the other side of the room came the discordant squeal of wood being scraped against wood as the four occupants of one table pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet. Their heavy leather boots rang out against the oak plank floors as they crossed to the far corner. All of them talked and laughed noisily as they went, ale mugs clutched in their hands.
One of the men stopped in front of what appeared to be a round slice of barrel wood affixed by a nail to the wall. Out of its scratched and scared surface, he yanked several pewter-colored metal objects with short white feathers attached to the ends.
“What is it they’re doing?” Emma inquired, making no effort to disguise her interest.
“Looks like they’re starting up a game of darts.” Nick raised a surprised brow. “Are you not familiar with the game?”
“No. How does it work?”
He sent her another slightly disbelieving look, then answered her question. “Basically it’s a competition that tests coordination and accuracy. Each player tosses a set number of darts at the board and scores points depending on how close to the center they land. There’s variation on throwing techniques
“Tea?” she shot back, giving Nick a reproving look. “I can have tea anytime.” Looking up, she sent the barman a wide smile. “I’ll have ale too. A small one, if you please.”
“She’ll have tea,” Nick countermanded. “And we’ll share a plate of your best meats and cheeses and bread to go with it.”
“Mustard or chutney with that, Guvnor?” the man asked. “My missus spent time in India with her father afore I married her and she makes a right tasty fixin’ with apples and pears.”
“It sounds delicious. We shall try both.”
The man nodded, then shot Emma another disapproving look before turning away.
“He’s not very friendly,” she complained as soon as he was out of earshot. “Surely I am not the only woman to ever set foot across the premises.”
“With the exception of his wife and possibly a daughter, you might well be. This isn’t the sort of public house that caters to working ladies and their companions.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind. I should not have mentioned it.”
Emma cudgeled her brain trying to make sense of his statement. “But what sort of women—oh—” She broke off suddenly, leaning close again. “Do you mean loose women? Are those the kind you’re talking about?” Not that she knew much about such unfortunate females, but even she had heard rumors of their existence.
Then a new thought occurred. “Surely he doesn’t think that you and I… that I am—” she breathed.
“No. He doesn’t,” Nick said in a firm tone, “which is precisely why he hasn’t asked us to leave. If you don’t want him to change his mind, I suggest you be quiet and behave. No more trying to order pints of ale for yourself.”
She shot him a reproachful look. “Gainsaying my request for an ale was rude of you, you know. I do not see why I cannot have a glass.”
“My God, you’re a handful. How did you ever even manage to acquire a post as a governess? They can’t have known you well. That much is certain.”
She looked down, using the movement to hide her sudden dismay. In all of today’s excitement, she’d completely forgotten the story she’d told him—or rather the erroneous assumptions he’d made that she’d conveniently allowed him to believe. Now what to say?
To her immense relief, the tavern keeper chose that moment to return with their drinks. He placed a rich nut-brown mug of ale in front of Nick, then a pot of hot tea and a cup in front of her.
“Have you any milk and sugar?” she ventured, noticing their absence.
The barman gave a disgruntled huff and shuffled off again.
“Do you think he heard me?” she asked.
Nick grinned. “Oh, he heard you. It will be interesting to see if he complies.”
From the other side of the room came the discordant squeal of wood being scraped against wood as the four occupants of one table pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet. Their heavy leather boots rang out against the oak plank floors as they crossed to the far corner. All of them talked and laughed noisily as they went, ale mugs clutched in their hands.
One of the men stopped in front of what appeared to be a round slice of barrel wood affixed by a nail to the wall. Out of its scratched and scared surface, he yanked several pewter-colored metal objects with short white feathers attached to the ends.
“What is it they’re doing?” Emma inquired, making no effort to disguise her interest.
“Looks like they’re starting up a game of darts.” Nick raised a surprised brow. “Are you not familiar with the game?”
“No. How does it work?”
He sent her another slightly disbelieving look, then answered her question. “Basically it’s a competition that tests coordination and accuracy. Each player tosses a set number of darts at the board and scores points depending on how close to the center they land. There’s variation on throwing techniques
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