“You have a plan.”
“I do indeed.” He fidgeted, and glanced at the clock. “Do hurry, sweetheart. Time and tide waits for none, as somebody once said.”
“It’s a proverb, I think,” she muttered as she picked up her shawl.
“I have ordered the coach, since it’s bloody cold. Riding was out of the question.”
She was walking to the door. “That’s a sensible notion.”
“Yes. All right. I’ll meet you at the front door. No shilly-shallying, now…” He almost tripped over the carpet in his haste to open the door for her.
“Max, you’re acting rather unlike yourself this morning. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
He huffed out a large breath. “Of course I’m all right. I’m just impatient. There are things we must do today and I am anxious to get them done as soon as possible.”
“Very well,” she frowned. “I’ll be but a moment.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he called after her as she hurried up the stairs.
Good God, he’s got a bee in his bonnet about something!
*~~*~~*
To say he was impatient was an understatement. Max felt as if he glowed around the edges.
All his plans, every single stratagem, had worked so far. Yes, he’d had to rise well before dawn, write his notes, dress and ride to London, and then rouse his quarries from their own sound slumber.
However, when he had explained his plans, everyone had seemed to be encouraging and compliant; thus he could fetch Kitty and get them on their way with every reason to believe success was within reach.
The only stumbling block might be the woman herself. He prayed otherwise, but was prepared to do whatever it took, should that be necessary.
She was prompt, bless her. And correctly clad for morning calls in a pretty blue dress and dark blue spencer. Her bonnet matched and once again he patted himself silently on the back for his foresight. Although this particular part of the plan had been simple guesswork.
The coach made excellent time from Mowbray House to London and their first destination, and Max had no problem allowing Kitty to chat, or comment on general topics. All that was required of him was a brief response, something along the lines of “hmm” Or “indeed” and the silences were comfortable and companionable.
He did refuse her entreaties to tell her about his plan, simply telling her all would be revealed in good time and she must humour him and be patient.
It obviously irked her, but she obeyed, and he had to acknowledge that she was a woman of her word. However, when they reached the first destination, she leaned forward, looking out the window of the coach. “I don’t recognize this street, Max. Where are we?”
“Just a moment, Kitty…” He jumped down to the pavement as a servant in elegantly formal livery approached the door with papers in his hand.
“Mr. Seton-Mowbray?”
“Yes.”
“His Grace asked me to give you these, sir. He says they’re everything you need and as promised, Mr. George Granmont will be awaiting your arrival.”
“Very good. Thank his Grace for me, would you? I must make haste.”
“Of course, sir.” The servant touched his forelock and closed the coach door behind Max as he re-entered, clutching his papers, and sat beside Kitty once more. A tap on the roof and they were off again.
“I do not understand all this, Max. What have you there? That seal on one of those papers looks very formal…”
“Not much longer, Kitty, I promise.” He reached beneath his seat. “Here. I found these when I was out earlier this morning. I thought you might enjoy them.” He pulled out a small bunch of bluebells wrapped in pretty paper with a blue ribbon and offered them to her.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I do love bluebells. The scent…” she breathed in and closed her eyes. “Reminds me of the woods around Ridlington. I remember picking great armloads when I was little. Hecate and I…” She stopped on the words, and buried her nose in the flowers.
“She is well, Kitty. It will take her time, but she will fully recover. I truly believe that.” He touched her shoulder.
