Undaunted by the other woman’s rudeness, Gillian tried again. “I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness.”
“It ain’t kindness,” Mistress Douglas said at last. “And there’s no need to thank me. I was only doing what he paid me to do.”
“What my husband paid you to do?” Gillian asked.
Mistress Douglas shook her head.
“Then whom?”
“The smuggler.”
“I don’t know any smugglers.”
The innkeeper’s wife shrugged. “Don’t matter,” she replied. “So long as he knows you.” She nodded toward the wooden tray. “There’s an envelope. He left it for you.”
Gillian waited until the innkeeper’s wife left, then closed the door behind her and secured the latch. She hurried over to her breakfast tray and picked up her fork.
An envelope of cream-colored vellum lay on the tray exactly where Mistress Douglas said it was. Gillian stared at it as she poured a cup of tea. She managed to keep her curiosity about her mysterious benefactor at bay until she’d satisfied her overwhelming hunger, but once she’d finished her eggs and kippers, Gillian lifted the envelope from the tray.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the heavy cream vellum and turned it over to study the seal. The green wax puddle over the folded edge of the envelope bore the impression of a mounted knight.
Gillian ran the pad of her finger over the impression, intrigued by the choice. The vellum wasn’t the sort of stationery one would expect a smuggler to use; neither was the wax seal.
Seals were personal representations. Before he’d been awarded his title and coat of arms, her father had used gold wax pressed with the symbol of a lion. He’d selected the lion because it reaffirmed what everyone already knew: Carter Davies was the acknowledged king of the silk merchants. So, why would a smuggler choose to use green wax and the figure of a mounted knight? Why not a boat? Or a Jolly Roger? Or a cutlass? Or were those symbols a bit too obvious?
Gillian broke the seal and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded the sheet of paper and was astonished to find a fifty-pound banknote issued by the Bank of England and three gold sovereigns.
A sheen of unshed tears burned her eyes as Gillian read the note and realized her prayers had been answered:
Madam,
I have taken the liberty of presenting the innkeepers with full payment for your complete room and board until the end of the month.
It is my way of thanking you for allowing me to intrude upon your privacy while I sought shelter from the cold. You gave me refuge when I needed it most, and I’m grateful.
I have also taken the liberty of securing a coach and hiring a driver to take you wherever you wish to go. Please do not hesitate to avail yourself of his services as soon as possible.
I enclose additional funds should you require them for the journey.
The Blue Bottle Inn is no place for a lady.
You needn’t stand watch at the window any longer. The way home is yours.
I am,
Your servant,
Galahad
Gillian’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Nor was he her husband. She had shared a bed and an intimate kiss with a stranger. A smuggler. A smuggler who knew she waited at the window and watched. A smuggler who knew she had seen him in the early morning fog and the nighttime shadows. Gillian folded the sheet of paper and returned it to its envelope.
She should be shocked, perhaps, even ashamed. But she was not. She was grateful. She was deeply, profoundly grateful to her mysterious benefactor for coming to her rescue. Gillian hadn’t been alone after all, because the man who called himself Galahad had known she was there.
The original Galahad had been renowned for his purity and virtue. Gillian tucked the envelope and the fifty-pound banknote in the lining of her bodice. She couldn’t vouch for this Galahad’s purity, but Gillian had to commend him on his virtue for, like all true chivalrous knights, he had come to the aid of a damsel in distress. And he kissed like a dream...
Merely the Groom