Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I was exhausted and sat down in the dirt on the side of the road, not caring about my breeches, my station, or anything else. It pained me too much to keep standing, and I had no idea what was about to occur next.
A moment later, Edward came over, hunching beside me. “Are you well, Alexander?”
“Explain to me what has occurred.”
“Lydia is, was, a servant at Barnett’s. When she heard Miss Smythe was leaving, she refused to stay. She wedged herself up on the carriage between the trunks.”
“And she planned to remain hidden the entire journey?” I asked in disbelief. It would be hot when the sun rose and awkward. Dangerous.
“She said she would rather die than stay.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “A bit melodramatic,” I muttered. “What is she seeking?”
“To stay with Miss Smythe. Wherever you take her.”
I looked past his shoulder to where Miss Smythe stood, her arm around her fellow servant. Except she wasn’t truly one of them. Yet for the first time, I saw something other than fear in her gaze. Determination. I sensed if I said no, she would refuse to travel on without her friend. And I refused to leave her on a dark, lonely road.
“Fine,” I granted, in too much pain to argue. “But that makes the carriage even fuller.”
“I can ride on the box,” Lydia spoke up. “I hate being inside.” I waved my hand, indicating for her to do exactly that, watching as she scrambled back up.
Edward helped me to my feet, and I tried not to grimace as we hobbled to the carriage. I climbed in, sitting down, scowling as Edward lifted my leg to the seat opposite. Geraldine pursed her lips but sat next to me, leaving Miss Smythe no choice but to sit beside my rapidly swelling foot.
I glanced at Edward. “Take us to Wheaton. As swiftly as possible.”
Swift was impossible with Knight’s injury. Inside the carriage, no one spoke. I had my eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain in my foot. Miss Smythe was pushed into the farthest corner of the seat, not looking anywhere but her lap. The only one to make any noise was Geraldine, who sat next to me, knitting. On occasion, she stopped, lifting a hand to her mouth, then with a shake of her head, continued, her countenance drawn. I was too preoccupied with fighting the ache in my foot to question her as to her welfare. When she did knit, the click-clack of the needles was somehow both soothing and irksome, but I kept my mouth shut.
The carriage stopped, and Edward came to the door. “My lord, Knight cannot continue without risking further injury.”
“Bloody hell,” I growled. I did not wish him more harm.
“There is a coaching inn a short distance ahead. I can remain with Knight and a groom. Perhaps a fresh set of horses will take you on to Wheaton more swiftly. I will follow once Knight is rested and his leg attended to.”
I nodded in acknowledgment.
We arrived at the inn and disembarked from the coach. I refused to stay behind as Edward spoke to the innkeeper, making the proper arrangements, while the women went inside for refreshments.
We slowly headed in that direction, my foot feeling as if it were on fire. My gait was halting and painful, and we stopped for a moment to allow me to catch my breath. Lydia appeared from the inn and hurried in our direction.
“Bollocks, what now?” I breathed out.
Lydia curtsied in front of me. “Pardon me, my lord, but Geraldine has requested she remain behind with your, ah, Mr., ah…” She trailed off, unsure.
“Mr. Warwick. Why does she wish to stay behind?”
She leaned in. “She was bilious in the carriage and cannot continue.”
Edward shook his head. “I cannot attend her.”
“I will remain behind as well. I can’t be inside a carriage.”
“Blast it. And what of Miss Smythe?” I demanded.
“I will travel with you, my lord.” Her soft voice broke into our discussion. I had not noticed her approach, yet now that I saw her, she eclipsed anything else in my vision.
“You need a chaperone,” I insisted, meeting her unique gaze.
“It matters not. No one knows of me. Who I am, where I am going. I am but a lowly maid. I believe, from what Geraldine has ascertained, that you are a gentleman of the highest standing.”
I frowned at her brave words.
“Your coachman and servant will be there,” she added.
“And they would ignore any wrongdoing on my part,” I insisted.
She lifted her chin. “I am not afraid.”
The obvious solution was clear. We all would stay at the inn until Geraldine was able to travel again. I suggested it, but Lydia spoke. “Geraldine is worried that the master will awaken and regret his drunken wagers. He may be angry and perhaps chase after Maddie. She urges you to take her.”