“Oh, who cares about the horses?” Lily replied somewhat sulkily.
“There might be shops close by,” Camellia pointed out, and Lily brightened.
“No!” Mary’s eyes widened in alarm. “You mustn’t go out walking. What if you get lost? What if something happens?” She turned an appealing eye to Rose. “Rose, you must see that they stay here while I’m gone.”
“You are such a mother hen.” Lily rolled her eyes. “Camellia and I can take care of ourselves.”
“At home, you can. Even out in the wilds, I wouldn’t worry. But it’s different here. The people are different. Promise you will not.”
The girls argued for a bit more, but the serving girl’s arrival with a tray of food put an end to their protests. It had been some hours since they had eaten, and the prospect of a fresh meal after the days of shipboard fare was mouthwatering. They sat down and fell to eating with relish. When at last they were sated, all arguments had long since flown from their heads, and they were more than ready to follow the innkeeper to their rooms.
Lily and Camellia shared one room, and their two older sisters were next door to them. Mary was pleased to see that the door locked from the inside. She turned the key, and beside her Rose let out a sigh of relief.
“I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to lock the door.” Rose sank down onto the straight chair that stood beside the door. “This place frightens me.”
“The inn?” Mary asked, a trifle surprised. “It seems quite respectable, I thought.”
“No. The whole place. The docks. London. It’s so big. So dirty and … squalid.”
“It’s been a difficult day.” Mary hopped up onto the bed. “It is very different from home. But I am sure the docks are worse than the rest of it. Things will be different tomorrow. You’ll see.”
Rose gave her sister a faint smile. “You are always so full of confidence.”
Mary shrugged. “I never like the alternative.”
“You must wonder sometimes how we could be sisters. I feel as though I am frightened by everything.”
“Don’t be silly. You sat there on the docks all alone, guarding our bags. That’s hardly the act of a coward.”
“Well, yes. I mean, I had to. But I was scared the whole time.”
“But that’s the whole thing about being brave, isn’t it? Standing your ground even though you’re afraid.” Mary leaned toward her sister, frowning a little. “Rose, what is all this talk about? What’s bothering you?”
Rose shook her head. “It’s just all so strange. What if our grandfather turns us away? What if we can’t find him?”
“Don’t think that way.” Mary slid off the bed and went to her sister, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders. Rose had always been the most tenderhearted of them, ever willing to offer sympathy, but just as easily hurt and far more likely to worry than any of the others. “You’re just tired, so it all seems worse. But things will get better now. You’ll see.”
She watched as Rose got up and began to get ready for bed. Mary was not about to admit to her sister how much the events of the day had shaken her as well. It chilled her to think what an awful situation they would be in if Sir Royce had not stopped that thief. She should have been more careful, Mary told herself. More watchful. She would have to learn how to deal with the dangers of a new city and country.
And that included men like Sir Royce Winslow.
How silly it was to even think of Sir Royce. The kiss had meant nothing to him—any more than it had to her, of course. She would never see him again. It had been foolish but utterly harmless.#p#分页标题#e#
Still, as she unbuttoned her dress, she could not help but remember the way his lips had felt on hers—the soft, insistent pressure … the heat … the promise of further delights.
Flushing a little, Mary yanked her plain white cotton night rail over her head. Firmly she pulled her mind back from its wayward path. She would not think about him, she promised herself. She would not let her thoughts drift to his thick hair, the color of wheat in the sun, or his grass green eyes, or his strong, competent fingers as they curled around her arm.
No. Definitely. She was done with Royce Winslow.
Mary set off the next morning for her grandfather’s house in far better spirits than she had enjoyed the evening before. A good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast had done much to chase away her troubling thoughts, including those relating to the handsome Sir Royce.
She was certain that her fortunes had turned when she asked the innkeeper if he knew the address of the Earl of Stewkesbury and, after a quickly suppressed look of surprise, he had told her that Stewkesbury House lay on Bariston Crescent and any hack in the city would know where it was.