Along Came a Duke by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

Barkworth, are you?” She laid her paper aside. “Surely your Uncle Winston would not desert you to some terrible roué.”
    â€œHe all but abandoned my mother when she married Papa.” She’d loved it when her mother would tell her how she had been destined to marry a lofty lord and then run away with Tabitha’s father instead. It was such a romantic story and spoke of true love, not this willed union and business agreement her uncle had devised.
    â€œPerhaps your Uncle Winston is making up for his shortcomings by providing you with an exceptional groom.” Practical to a fault, Daphne found Tabitha’s arranged marriage ever so tidy. “At the very least, Mr. Reginald Barkworth can be counted as a gentleman of good breeding.” With that said, she went back to her paper.
    Who was willing to marry me for my fortune, sight unseen, Tabitha resisted pointing out.
    Though Harriet would have, if she were awake.
    Not that Tabitha was in the mood to hear them begin debating the subject yet again, not when she was tired and famished. As if to punctuate that thought, her stomach growled. Loudly.
    â€œGood heavens!” Daphne declared, peering over the edge of her paper. “Whatever was that racket?”
    â€œMy stomach. I’m famished.” While her friend gaped at her, Tabitha tried to fathom how it was that Daphne and Harriet and Lady Essex could subsist on tea and toast all day.
    Even Mr. Muggins appeared unsympathetic—but then again, the innkeeper had sent up a bone for the terrier, most likely to keep the dog from chewing up the furniture in his best room.
    â€œHowever do I get something to eat?”
    Daphne was no help; enthralled as she was by some notice in the paper, she barely looked up. “How would I know? Father usually goes down and then the trays are brought up. Not that I ever partake. Never do like to eat when I’m traveling.”
    Tabitha wished she shared that inclination. But being hungry only intensified the nervous gnawing that had been churning in her gut for a fortnight.
    â€œDo you want me to come with you?” Daphne asked, all the while looking longingly at her newspaper. She read the ads and legal notices like Harriet devoured serial stories and Miss Briggs’s infamous Darby novels.
    â€œNo, no, you enjoy your paper,” Tabitha told her.
    â€œIt does seem quiet down there,” Daphne said, tipping her head toward the door. “Lady Essex will be none the wiser if you were to just pop downstairs to ask for a quick supper.”
    â€œDo you think it would be proper?”
    â€œYou could take Mr. Muggins with you,” she suggested. “There isn’t a man alive who would come between you and that beast. A far better chaperone than Lady Essex.”
    They both laughed, for their towering guardian, with all her rules and strictures about proper decorum, most likely wouldn’t wake until dawn—leaving them quite unprotected.
    Tabitha’s stomach growled again, and Daphne shook her head. “Do you like being hungry?” With that said, she continued on, “I might remind you that Lady Essex does not believe in taking breakfast while traveling—or did you forget about this morning?”
    How could Tabitha have forgotten? The lady had hustled them out the door and into the carriage without even a warm scone.
    Or a bite of bacon. A slice of ham. Not even a hard-cooked egg. Oh, she’d arrive at her aunt and uncle’s house tomorrow afternoon on her last legs.
    And what if Mr. Barkworth was there? Awaiting her? She’d be a sullen, hungry, bedraggled wreck.
    She’d probably be so delirious with hunger she’d marry him without a second thought just to get to the wedding breakfast.
    That decided the matter. Tabitha nodded and went to the door. Immediately, Mr. Muggins was on his feet, following his mistress.
    â€œOh, Tabitha, before you leave—” Daphne