Chapter 1
1817Red Rooster Inn, Oxfordshire.
“Excuse me, sir. I need your help. I missed the stagecoach.” Lucy clutched her travel-worn carpetbag as she addressed the burly man behind the bar. He turned to her with a frown.
She held her breath as his sharp, beady eyes appraised her figure, noting her drab brown dress, her threadbare pelisse. She tugged at the bonnet ribbon, setting it askew, so her unruly, bouncing curls spilled over her eyes. She flipped her hair away. Darting a glance at his face, she saw the disapproving set of his jaw. He’d see a girl travelling alone, without a companion. Without any class, style, or money.
“Not my problem.” He turned away to pick up a dirty rag. With his other hand, he picked up a wine glass, and proceeded to polishing it with a squeak.
“Please. I need to be at Ashmore Hall before nightfall.” Lucy twisted her hands in an agitated manner. She felt the first flutters of panic unfurl in her stomach.
He paused. “Ashmore Hall, eh? The Duke of Ashmore’s Residence?”
“The very same.”
A look of alertness entered his eyes. “You in service there?”
Lucy hesitated. “Well…”
“You’re starting out, maybe?”
“I’m new there.” That was definitely true.
The innkeeper’s face softened. “My daughter’s in service, too. Up North. The Duke of Ashmore doesn’t just employ anyone. Tough luck, starting the first day late. You’ll lose your job before you’ve even begun.”
“Can’t you help me?” She had to reach Ashmore Hall before nightfall. She couldn’t afford to stay at the inn. Her breath quickened at the thought of having to spend the night by the side of the road.
He set the glass down. “You sure you want to go there?”
“Oh, yes. It’s urgent.”
“Very well.” He jerked his chin toward the window. Outside, a man loaded bushes onto a cart. “Try talking to that fellow over there. He's on the way to Ashmore Hall. Ask him for a ride.”
Lucy could have hugged him. Instead, she quirked a relieved smile at him. “Thank you! I’ll not forget your kindness.”
The manin the outer courtyard was tall and rough-looking. He carried a Hawthorne bush over his shoulder, a second under the other arm. The cart was almost full.
“Sir?” Lucy stepped in his path.
“Move aside,” he growled. “This is heavy stuff coming through.” He stepped around her and dropped the plants onto the cart. Then he pulled out a rope and tied it around the end of the wagon to keep them from falling off.
“Yonder innkeeper informed me you could give me a ride. I missed my coach and the next one arrives tomorrow, late in the afternoon. But I can't wait that long.”
The man made no appearance of having heard a word she’d said. He climbed into his seat.
She followed him. “Please?”
“Do I look like I drive a stagecoach?”
But Lucy would not be deterred. “It would be so very kind of you if you’d take me along.”
“There's no space.”
“Up here next to you there is, if you moved aside a bit? I don't need so much space. It's just me and my bag here.” She patted her carpetbag.
The speckled hat shadowed the man's face. “Move, girl, you are making my horses nervous.”
“Please, please, please take me along, I really need to reach Ashmore Hall by nightfall. I won't be a bother.” The pitch of her voice elevated to a panicked squeak.
