Elizabeth Thornton by Whisper His Name Page A

brother’s friend.”
    He unwound his muffler and pushed back his hat to give her a better look at his face. It was a young face, pretty rather than handsome, fringed by fairish hair and with light blue eyes. He was smiling.
    “Mr.… Norton,” she said, then fervently, “Mr. Norton! Of course! We danced at the Assembly Rooms! You’re George’s friend! How good it is to see you.”
    He seemed surprised by the warmth of his reception, but he said easily, “We should be on our way at any moment. Perhaps we’ll meet again in Marlborough?”
    “Where are you staying?” she asked.
    “At the Castle,” he replied.
    “So am I!”
    She was groping for a polite way of asking him to dine with her when he surprised her by taking the initiative. “I don’t suppose … that is … if you have nothing better to do, would you do me the honor of dining with me, Miss Vayle? I understand that the Castle keeps a very fine table.”
    “Thank you. I should like that very much.”
    “Then …” He looked at his watch and gave her a shy smile. “Shall we say nine o’clock, in the dining hall? That should give us plenty of time.”
    “Nine o’clock it is,” she said, and beamed at him.
    The Castle’s courtyard was ablaze with the lights from dozens of lanterns and pitch torches attached to its brick walls, and as Abbie alighted from her chaise, she took in the scene with mounting dismay. The yard was choked with vehicles that had been delayed by the mail-coach accident. From snatches of conversation, she deduced that all the inns and posthouses in and around Marlborough were packed to the rafters. It seemed that travelers haddecided to stay put rather than chance the highways in these unpredictable weather conditions. She heard the word
snow
, and her heart sank. If it snowed, she could be holed up in Marlborough for days on end.
    Her hope of obtaining her own accommodations faded as people who were pushing out of the inn complained vociferously of having been turned away on such a filthy night when there were no beds to be had anywhere. She searched the crush of people for Mr. Norton’s face, but there was no sign of him. There was no one to help her but herself.
    Squaring her shoulders, she offered Nan her arm. As they crossed the cobblestones, they happened to fall in behind no less a personage than the dowager Duchess of Champrey and her entourage of servants. Her Grace, a stately, horse-faced woman who towered over her footmen, had a formidable voice that soon sent anyone who got in her way scurrying for cover, and this included hapless members of the Castle’s staff who were bowing the duchess into the inn’s lobby. Though there was a crowd of distinguished guests at the counter, patiently waiting their turn, they parted without protest to allow the duchess to be attended to first.
    Abbie kept her maid’s arm in a tight grip and stuck to the tail of Her Grace’s retinue as though she were part of it. Normally, she wouldn’t have had the nerve to jump her place in the queue, but she was desperate. She had a sick maid on her hands; she had a brother to rescue; it was possible that her every move was being watched, and she was terrified of what “they” might do next.
    Barely moving her lips, she said to her maid, “Nan, keep your mouth shut, and take your cue from me.”
    A worried look crossed Nan’s face, but she nodded to show that she understood.
    The landlord came from behind the counter and led the duchess and her retinue away. Abbie found herself first in line with a crush of people at her back.
    “Her Grace’s companion and maid,” she said on a sudden inspiration.
    The harried clerk handed her a key. “In the attics. Her Grace really ought to advise us when she adds servants to her retinue.”
    Abbie thanked the clerk, then grasped Nan’s arm and propelled her to the stairs.
    The desk clerk had allotted them two rooms no bigger than closets with an adjoining door.
    “Perfect,” said Abbie.