“Sheep and cows, Uncle, and a few hogs. And perhaps he will not leave town so shortly. I invited him to the dinner for Lord and Lady Iverson Friday.”
“Where he’ll fit right in with those other useless swells, all puffed up with their own consequence.”
“Sir Adam is not like that, and you are sounding like a French revolutionary. Besides, he might not attend. He did not exactly accept my invitation.”
“Good. I think I will have that piece of cake after all.”
“Will you be polite to him if he does come?”
Whatever Beasdale muttered was lost in the sounds of swallowing. Jenna persisted: “You would not be so selfish, would you, to deny me the opportunity to get to know such a pleasant gentleman simply because he does not suit your notions of an eligible parti?”
“Since you have invited him already, what would be the use? Perhaps it’s for the best. Once you get to know the chap you’ll see that you two won’t suit at all.”
She smiled, a soft, private smile that quite ruined Beasdale’s digestion for good. He groaned. “Devil take it, poppet, I only want your happiness. You would not be content in the country, minding those ducks and geese.”
“Sheep and cows, Uncle. But are you saying that if, by some chance, which is far too early to consider”—although she had, of course; her blushes gave her away—“I did marry Sir Adam, you would not invite me to visit here?”
“Do not be foolish, girl. I am not like that idiot earl who disowned your father. You will always be welcome in my home, no matter whom you marry.”
Jenna stood up and bent to kiss her uncle’s cheek. She drew back when he added, “Of course, I’d be more welcoming if you were to wed Leonard Frye, the new junior partner. He comes from a powerful investment family. He is prudent and polished and knows what is proper.”
“Mr. Frye is also a prig.” Jenna called for Hobart to take the tea cart away. “I’d sooner wed one of Sir Adam’s hogs.”
“Harumph.”
Adam, meanwhile, was walking back to his inn, thinking of the visit. Beasdale was as stiff-rumped as ever, but his niece was even more of a delight than Adam had thought possible. Her conversation, her wit, her humor, all entranced him deeper than her physical beauty ever could. The only thing he did not like about Miss Relaford, in fact, was that she was so far above him. Granddaughter to an earl, by George. Niece to a nabob, botheration. No amount of wishing was going to make him worthy of such a prize. Blast it.
What made Adam feel worse was that he’d never really considered marriage before. He always knew he could not afford a wife, and he was too practical a fellow to hunger for what he could not have—or at least he had been before this trip to London.
Thinking of hunger made him stop to buy a hot meat pie, since the few bites he’d taken at Beasdale’s house were not nearly enough to satisfy his appetite. Neither, now, was the mere glimpse of heaven enough to satisfy his yearning.
He wanted a life companion, someone to share his thoughts, share his woes, and share his successes, besides sharing his bed. He wanted a friend, but one who would give him unquestioned, unconditional love. He wished he could find someone who believed he was worthy of being loved in return, despite all his faults and failings.
He did. A small dog followed him and his dripping meat pie back to the inn.
“ ’Ere now, I don’t allow no dogs in my inn.”
Adam looked down, surprised to see the dirty brown mongrel was still at his side. “He’s not my dog. He just followed me for a taste of my meal.”
The innkeeper frowned at the small dog in disgust. “And next ’e’ll be beggin’ from the customers. ’Arry,” he called to one of the ostlers, “come get another cur for drownin’.”
“Drowning?” Adam echoed, looking at the animal, which was shivering with the cold, but which wagged his tail.
“Right. Else the blighter’ll be gettin’ in the way of the horses, or stealin’ food from the kitchens, or chasin’ the chickens m’wife keeps out back. For sure ’e’ll bring fleas in with ’im, was I to let you take ’im to your room.”
He’d drown the dog because the creature was hungry and lonely and cold? Hell, Adam was hungry, lonely, and cold, too. No one was going to drown him, or his new dog. “I’ll be leaving then, and taking him with me.”
The innkeeper shrugged. He already had Adam’s money for the room. Now he could rent it out again.
And now Adam had no place to sleep, with darkness falling. He had a ragged dog, too, which meant the hotels he knew would not accept his custom either, had he wished to spend another part of his purse on a room. He also had his lucky coin, though, for all the good it had done him. He might as well wish for a featherbed and silk sheets!