Page 129 of Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Hearing Bad News at a Coaching Inn

The White Horse, Hatfield Heath, halfway to Cambridge

W hile the change of horses was occurring out in the courtyard of the White Horse, James, Earl of Leicester, was inside sipping a cup of tea. His gaze had settled on the small fire that had been set in the inn’s parlor. Apparently, the owners of the White Horse were expecting a long winter and were therefore stingy when it came to the use of coal. The heat from the hearth barely reached his small table.

“Your coach is nearly ready, sir,” the owner’s wife said as she approached with a bill of services. “Would you like anything else before you depart?”

James gave a cursory glance at the invoice, wincing when he realized it would take almost a quarter of the coins he had in his purse. “No, thank you. I’d best be going.” He fished the required amount out of his purse and handed them over, glad he had a few twenty-pound notes hidden away in his trunk.

“You have a destination in mind for the night, sir?” the proprietress queried. “I only ask because word came down this morning that one of the inns in Cambridge has closed unexpectedly.”

“Oh?” James responded, only mildly alarmed. He was still counting on staying at Lord Huntsford’s estate, Excelsior Park. Given the size of the marquess’s stables and carriage house, his driver, Simmons, and the groom, Westcott, would have accommodations, as well.

“Owners can’t afford to remain open. Not with the cost of coal as high as it is,” she explained. “One of our stable boys is out cutting wood right now, so we don’t have to be buying coal at such high prices. Highway robbery, I tell ye, what these blokes want for coal.”

For a moment, James wished there had been a forest behind Leicester House. He’d have a footman felling trees every day until he could once again afford to buy coal. An apple tree and a row of yews wouldn’t last more than a few weeks if burned in all the fireplaces of his townhouse. “Wise decision,” he murmured.

“Lord Huntsford certainly doesn’t have to worry. He has coal mines,” she went on as she began clearing the tea set. “Even marrying off his Lady Stephanie won’t put a dent in his coffers. I hear the wedding will be right after Parliament lets out.”

At the mention of Lady Stephanie, James blinked. “Wedding?” he repeated.

The old woman nodded. “Word is, she’s betrothed to the Marquess of Weatherby,” she said with a grin, displaying a hole where a front tooth should have been. “Why, there’s been a steady stream of suitors comin’ through here for the past month,” she added with a nod. “Opportunists, I say they was. All looking to collect the dowry.”

James wasn’t about to admit that he was one of those opportunists. And surely the old woman was mistaken. He’d been at White’s men’s club only two nights ago, and nothing had been said about Lord Weatherby and Lady Stephanie. Besides, Weatherby was old enough to be her father.

“I must be going, ma’am. Thank you for a fine tea,” James said as he stood. “I don’t wish to keep my coach waiting.”

“Safe travels, guv’nor,” the woman said as she dipped a curtsy.

Hurrying to the coach as if the inn was on fire, James didn’t even wait for the groom to open the door. He practically launched himself into the coach, settling into the worn squabs with an audible grunt and a moan of disappointment.

“Is anything wrong, my lord?” Westcott asked when he poked his head into the coach.

“Only what they charge for changing out horses,” he replied as lightly as he could manage. The last thing he wanted his servants to know was that he was broke.

“At least they’re open,” the groom commented. “Sounds like some are already closed for the winter.”

James nodded. “As I’ve been told.”

“Very good, sir.”

The coach door slammed shut, and James closed his eyes with a grimace. Lady Stephanie was his last hope. If she really was already betrothed, then he had no idea what he was going to do.