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He was good, Daphne thought with reluctant admiration.

He yawned. “Daff?”

She didn't mince words. “Are we there yet?”

He rubbed nonexistent sleep from his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are we there yet?”

“Uhhh…” He glanced around the inside of carriage, not that that would tell him anything. “Aren't we still moving?”

“Yes, but we could be close.”

Simon let out a little sigh and peered out the window. He was facing east, so the sky looked considerably darker than it had through Daphne's window. “Oh,” he said, sounding surprised. “Actually, it's just up ahead.”

Daphne did her best not to smirk.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and Simon hopped down. He exchanged some words with the driver, presumably informing him that they had changed their plans and now intended to spend the night. Then he reached up for Daphne's hand and helped her down.

“Does this meet with your approval?” he asked, with a nod and a wave toward the inn.

Daphne didn't see how she could render judgment without seeing the interior, but she said yes, anyway. Simon led her inside, then deposited her by the door when he went to deal with the innkeeper.

Daphne watched the comings and goings with great interest. Right now a young couple—they looked to be landed gentry—were being escorted into a private dining room, and a mother was ushering her brood of four up the stairs. Simon was arguing with the innkeeper, and a tall, lanky gentleman was leaning against a—

Daphne swung her head back toward her husband. Simon was arguing with the innkeeper? Why on earth would he do that? She craned her neck. The two men were speaking in low tones, but it was clear that Simon was most displeased. The innkeeper looked as if he might die of shame at his inability to please the Duke of Hastings.

Daphne frowned. This didn't look right.

Should she intervene?

She watched them argue a few moments longer. Clearly, she should intervene.

Taking steps that weren't hesitant yet could never be called determined, she made her way over to her husband's side. “Is anything amiss?” she inquired politely.

Simon spared her a brief glance. “I thought you were waiting by the door.”

“I was.” She smiled brightly. “I moved.”

Simon scowled and turned back to the innkeeper.

Daphne let out a little cough, just to see if he would turn around. He didn't. She frowned. She didn't like being ignored. “Simon?” She poked him in the back. “Simon?”

He turned slowly around, his face pure thundercloud.

Daphne smiled again, all innocence. “What is the problem?”

The innkeeper held his hands up in supplication and spoke before Simon could make any explanations. “I have but one room left,” he said, his voice a study in abject apology. “I had no idea his grace planned to honor us with his presence this eve. Had I known, I would never have let that last room out to Mrs. Weatherby and her brood. I assure you”—the innkeeper leaned forward and gave Daphne a commiserating look—“I would have sent them right on their way!”

The last sentence was accompanied by a dramatic whooshing wave of both hands that made Daphne a touch seasick. “Is Mrs. Weatherby the woman who just walked by here with four children?”

The innkeeper nodded. “If it weren't for the children, I'd—”

Daphne cut him off, not wanting to hear the remainder of a sentence that would obviously involve booting an innocent woman out into the night. “I see no reason why we cannot make do with one room. We are certainly not as high in the instep as that.”

Beside her, Simon's jaw clenched until she would swear she could hear his teeth grinding.

He wanted separate rooms, did he? It was enough to make a new bride feel extremely unappreciated.

The innkeeper turned to Simon and waited for his approval. Simon gave a curt nod, and the innkeeper clapped his hands together in delight (and presumably relief; there was little worse for business than an irate duke on one's premises). He grabbed the key and scurried out from behind his desk. “If you'll follow me…”

Simon motioned for Daphne to go first, so she swept past him and climbed the stairs behind the innkeeper. After only a couple of twists and turns, they were deposited in a large, comfortably furnished room with a view of the village.

“Well, now,” Daphne said, once the innkeeper had seen himself out, “this seems nice enough.”

Simon's reply was a grunt.

“How articulate of you,” she murmured, then disappeared behind the dressing screen.

Simon watched her for several seconds before it occurred to him where she'd gone. “Daphne?” he called out, his voice strangling on itself. “Are you changing your clothing?”

She poked her head out. “No. I was just looking around.”

His heart continued to thud, although perhaps not at quite as rapid a pace. “Good,” he grunted. “We'll be wanting to go down for supper soon.”

“Of course.” She smiled—a rather annoyingly winning and confident smile, in his opinion. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Extremely.”

Her smile wobbled just a touch at his curt tone. Simon gave himself a mental scolding. Just because he was irate with himself didn't mean he had to extend the anger toward her. She'd done nothing wrong. “And you?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

She emerged fully from behind the screen and perched at the end of the bed. “A bit,” she admitted. She swallowed nervously. “But I'm not certain I could eat anything.”