Father stood and greeted him warmly. Meanwhile, Meredith took advantage of the diversion to discreetly swipe at her eyes. If Rhys did leave Buckleigh-in-the-Moor, her father would be so disappointed.
Between Rhys, Gideon, her father, the inn, the village—Meredith felt her loyalties stretched in too many directions of late. At night, she lay wrung out and restless in her bed, racking her mind for a solution. A way to keep everyone happy and secure. No answer had come to her yet.
Farewells were exchanged in the first gloom of dawn. Rhys handed her into the carriage, settling her on the front-facing seat. He spoke a few words to the coachman, heaved his weight onto the opposite bench, gave the carriage roof a smart rap … and then they were under way. The hounds yipped after them, chasing them all the way out of the village. Poor beasts, they’d probably miss Rhys far more than they’d miss her. They’d grown quite attached to him in recent weeks.
Meredith’s stomach danced with every swaying motion of the coach, and excitement fizzed through her veins. She stretched her fingers inside her traveling gloves, and the seams chafed her work-roughened hands.
Here we go, she told herself, as the village’s last thatched roof rolled past. This is really happening. She was truly departing Buckleigh-in-the-Moor, and not for a half-day’s bartering in Tavistock, but for an indulgent stay in Bath. Best of all, she was going there with Rhys. She resolved to leave all her worries in the village, where they belonged, and simply enjoy these precious days. A giddy smile stretched her face, and she unglued her gaze from the small window in order to share it with him.
He was asleep. Arms folded, chin tucked to his chest. Boots propped possessively on her seat, but thoughtfully well clear of her skirts. The coach swung into a turn, and a low, soft snore rumbled from his chest.
She pressed her wrist to her mouth to keep from laughing.
Well, he was a soldier. She supposed he could nap anywhere. And since she knew his sleep to be all-too-often disturbed by unpleasant dreams, she didn’t want to rob him of his well-earned rest. Not presently, anyhow. If she had anything to say about it, he’d be getting little sleep in Bath.
But for her part, Meredith could scarcely bring herself to blink. As dawn warmed the countryside, she kept her face pressed to the window glass, the better to greedily consume every detail. She’d never passed by this route before, and she might pass a lifetime without traveling it again.
After some time, the carriage lurched to a halt. Rhys woke with a start. His boots hit the carriage floor with a jarring thud.
“All’s well,” she assured him quickly. “I believe we’re stopping to change horses.”
He glanced out the window. “We’re nearing Exeter. That’s good. Shall we climb out and stretch?”
They walked a bit, away from the inn, strolling through the fringe of a wooded glen that bordered the lane. It amazed her, what a short distance they’d traveled and yet how many plants grew here that she did not know by name.
“We never talk about you,” she said, taking his arm. And their opportunities to do so might be dwindling by the day.
“There’s not much to discuss.”
“But of course there is. You’ve traveled all over. What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been?”
“Anywhere you are.”
She blushed like a girl, despite herself. “This from the man who claims no talent for romance. No, be serious. I truly want to know. French mountain ranges? A Belgian cathedral? The open sea?”
“Tulips.” He lifted his chin and stared hard into the thickening trees. The pause grew so lengthy, Meredith wondered whether he meant to say anything else. Perhaps he just had a particular fondness for tulips.
“A whole field of them,” he finally said. “In Holland. Red tulips, in endless waves. And a clear blue sky overhead.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“It was.” A dull note landed on the word was. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “I believe they have the new team harnessed.”
And that was the end of that.
As the coach got under way a second time, he stacked his arms on his chest and propped his boots beside her, as though he would sleep again. But this time, she did not hesitate to interrupt.
“Tulips,” she said. “So they’re the most beautiful sight. What about the ugliest?”
He shook his head. “Even if I could decide between the many contenders for that distinction … I’d never answer you that.”
“Never? Why not?”
“Because you should never witness the hell of war. You shouldn’t even hear about it secondhand. That’s the whole reason we were fighting, to spare innocent people like you such ugliness. I’ll be damned if I’ll personally acquaint you with it now.” He turned his head to the window. End of discussion.
She sighed, wishing he wouldn’t close himself off to her. If he only knew how much of his pain she’d already witnessed.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For your service. For fighting. I’d imagine you don’t hear that enough.” At least, he likely hadn’t heard it from anyone in the village, including her. “Your regiment was England’s most decorated, I understand.”
“Who told you that?”
“I read it in the newspaper once.” Or twice. Or several dozen times.
“I had the honor to serve with many good, valiant men.”
“And you were one of those good, valiant men. You led them.”
He shrugged. “I’m here. Far too many of them aren’t.”
She didn’t dare admit it, but she knew every last ribbon and medal and citation he’d been awarded. They numbered almost as many as his scars. The thought that he’d incurred them all with the vague idea he’d be sparing her and others a bit of ugliness …
“I admire you,” she said.
The poor man. He looked utterly panicked. As if she’d lobbed him a snarling weasel, rather than an honest compliment. Actually, he probably would have dealt with the weasel more handily.
“Truly, Rhys. I admire you. And I wish you’d allow yourself more credit for everything you’ve accomplished, instead of throwing it back on fate all the time.” She gave him a sly smile. “And to that end, I think I’ll honor you by hanging a plaque in the tavern, engraved with your name and rank. Our local war hero.”
He just laughed and rubbed his eyes. “There are all kinds of courage in the world, and most of it takes place far from battlefields.” His gaze caught hers, warm and honest. “That whole inn is a monument to your bravery, Meredith Lane Maddox. And I’m going to buy you every ribbon in Bath.”
Oh. A lump formed in her throat. And her heart … her heart just melted. It meant so much, that he recognized the hard work and love she’d poured into that place.
“What is it?” He leaned forward until his knees knocked against hers. “What’s troubling you?”
“I’m just a bit fatigued,” she lied.
He crossed to sit beside her, putting an arm about her shoulder and drawing her head to his chest. She breathed deeply, enjoying his comforting male scent.
“There, now,” he said. “Are you comfortable?”
She nodded.
“Then sleep. You’ve all day to rest.”
They fell into an easy, companionable silence, which somehow spoke more eloquently than any of their conversations. Impulsively, she reached out to take his free hand in hers. Their fingers tangled. His thumb settled over her wrist, and her pulse pounded against it. She couldn’t help but lean against him and snuggle into his warmth, under the guise of sleeping. But she was doing no such thing. She was wide awake, unwilling to miss a single moment. Scenery in entirely new shades of green was flitting by outside, and she might never have another chance to view it, but she couldn’t be bothered to lift her cheek from his lapel. Instead, she closed her eyes, scrupulously memorizing each sensation he caused within her. Every yearning, every thrill, every ache.
This, too, was the experience of a lifetime.
Chapter Fifteen
With dry roads in their favor, they reached Bath just as the late summer sun kissed the horizon. Rhys was well pleased with the fair weather, and with his fair companion. Meredith remained pasted to the window as they drove through the city, eyes wide and lips parted. As though it were not enough to look her fill of the surrounding landscape—she must drink and breathe it, too.
He watched her as intently as she watched the scenery rolling past, smiling to himself all the while.
When they arrived at the hotel, he was forced to abandon the pleasant occupation of noting her every gasp of wonder and reluctant blink. After procuring the finest suite of rooms, as previously arranged, he directed the footmen to unload the valises. He reserved for himself the pleasure of handing Meredith down from the coach.
“Good heavens,” she breathed, staring up at the hotel’s Roman-styled façade, all Bath stone columns and carved balustrades.
“It gets even better inside.”
She said not a word as a servant led them through the entrance hall, up a carpeted staircase, and down to the very end of the corridor. Rhys allowed her to pass through the door first, then followed her into the suite. The servants followed soon thereafter, and he exchanged a few words with them as they deposited the baggage.
Once they’d left, he turned to Meredith. There she stood in the center of the sitting room, a smudge of gray wool and dark hair against the cream-colored walls and carpet. She just remained there, perfectly still, hands clasped and eyes wide. Silent.
Rhys frowned. Her amazement had been entertaining to view earlier, but this continued silence was beginning to concern him. “Merry? Are you well?”
She shook her head. “I may cry.”
He hesitated. “Is that good or bad?”
“It’s terrible.” She swallowed hard, then pressed both hands to her cheeks as she tilted her neck to view the elaborate carved ceiling.
He took a step toward her. “Is there something wrong with the rooms?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”
Now he was thoroughly confused.
She finally took pity on him and explained. “Rhys, this suite is … stunning. Elegant. Palatial. It’s enough to throw me into abject despair. If these are the sort of accommodations to which people of rank are accustomed, how can I ever hope to appease them at the Three Hounds? Why, one of the inn’s new bedchambers would likely fit in that closet!”
“That’s not true.”
“That’s not the point.” Sniffing, she turned to him. “Just look at this place. How can the inn ever hope to compete with establishments such as these?”
So. The superior quality of the place had her upset, not some deficiency. Smiling with relief, he crossed to her side and slid an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t you worry. You’re not competing with establishments like this one. This is one of the grandest hotels in all England. A resort for the country’s wealthiest lords and ladies. The Three Hounds is a coaching inn. Even the nobility have modest expectations when it comes to coaching inns.”
“Ah,” she said. “I see. So I still have some hope of meeting those ‘modest expectations’?”
Tsking softly, he squeezed her shoulder. “You’re already exceeding them.” When her shoulder muscles remained tense under his fingers, he added, “I’ve ordered a hot bath and a hot meal sent up. I know you find this suite devastating in its refinement, but try not to fling yourself off the balcony.”
She laughed and brightened instantly. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being ridiculous.” Turning in his embrace, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you. It’s simply magnificent.”