“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. D.”
“I suppose you’ve not got a name,” Mrs. D. said cheerfully. “On your way to Gretna Green?”
Helena nodded, only to have Ethan glare at her.
She glared back.
Mrs. D. watched the exchange then eyed Ethan. “A gentleman might see to his lady’s comfort by surrendering his cloak.”
“It is cold!” he protested, drawing that garment more closely around himself. “I will not fall ill on this journey.”
Mrs. D. was clearly unsurprised. “That is a fine Romeo you have there, my dear,” she advised Helena in an undertone. “Not even wed and he is indifferent to your comfort. I will not be telling you a secret if I confide that situation is scarce likely to improve.”
Nor was Mrs. D. telling Helena anything that she did not already suspect.
The older woman rose partly to her feet, rocking with the motion of the coach in a most alarming way, then pounded a mighty fist on the roof. “Hoy there! Stop the coach!”
“What madness is this?” Ethan demanded. “We have need of haste!”
Mrs. D. ignored him.
Helena found the policy a sound one and did the same.
Flora stirred, blinking sleepily at her mother, then offered Helena a tentative smile.
“I’m needing my bag,” Mrs. D. said to the man who opened the door. She pointed at the roof. “The dark one, just there.”
The man eyed the small space upon the floor of the coach, his intimation clear, but the formidable lady glowered at him. He fetched the bag and dropped it into the carriage so that it landed heavily. It was wet and splashed a bit on impact, then he slammed the door and the coach rolled onward.
“Not so fine as your other frippery, but Flora will not mind lending it,” Mrs. D. said, rummaging in the bag.
“I do not mind,” Flora said softly, then yawned.
Mrs. D. produced a cape of heavy wool and gave it a shake, then offered it to Helena. “You’ll not fall ill when I am in the vicinity, to be sure. Go on. Wrap up. It won’t be biting you, to be sure.”
The garment smelled of smoke but it was thick and so warm that Helena was well beyond any criticism. “Thank you, Mrs. Dawlish,” she said when she was enfolded in it. “I greatly appreciate your kindness.”
“And there is a true smile as a result.” They rode in silence, jostling together for some time. Mrs. D. leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Have you a brother, my dear?”
Helena nodded.
“And is he grown to manhood?”
“He is many years my senior and recently returned from the war on the Continent.”
“Good.” Mrs. D. fixed Melbourne with a disapproving eye, her expectation clear that Nicholas would follow to defend his sister’s honor.
“And he shot me,” Ethan said hotly.
“Did he then?” Mrs. D. was delighted. “Some sense in the family, then, to be sure. I had always hoped my girls would have a brother, but we were not so fortunate as that.”
“He shot me in the arm,” Ethan said, indicating the spot.
Mrs. D. feigned alarm. “He missed then, I wager.”
Flora laughed.
Ethan’s outraged glare made the older lady laugh in her turn.
