“Henry,” he said. “My name is Henry.”
“Henry? Just Henry? I can't call a stranger by his first name! Though perhaps we’re no longer strangers, not after having talked to each other all this time.” She paused. “You could say we’re almost friends, can’t you?”
“Friends! Good lord. It's more of a one-sided jabbering on your side and me not getting a word in.” He pulled himself together. “Henry Gardener at your service.”
“Oh, what a perfect name! I suppose it's from centuries of your family working at Ashmore Hall. It's like being called Fisher, or Shoemaker, or Miller, I suppose, one's name reflecting one's occupation. But Bell?” She pulled a face. “It doesn't say much. It’d be nice to be called something more elevated. Something medievally Germanic. Like Isolde, or Swanhilda or Kunigunde. My parents didn’t even have a mind to name me Lucinda. No. Just plain, unoriginal Lucy. If I ever have a daughter, I’ll call her Isolde. It's such a strong, knightly name! Oh, isn't this day today wonderful? The sky is blue and the clouds over there are so pretty, and I’m so happy I could burst.”
“It’ll rain.” Henry Gardener cast a worried eye on the black clouds that gathered on the horizon. Distant thunder rumbled. He flicked the whip, and the horses sped up. “What happened that you missed the stagecoach?”
“The axle broke, and it tipped over on the side of the road. We were lucky that no one was hurt. It was a bit of a grand adventure, if you think about it. Except walking through the remaining forest to the inn, with all the luggage in tow, wasn't much fun at all. And then I missed the coach to Somersbrooke village, because it only passes through once a day. Do you think there are highwaymen here?”
“Highwaymen?” He looked taken aback. “Not likely.”
“Because it’d be a great lark if one were to show up. Don't you think? I've never seen an actual highwayman yet.”
“Even if there were, what would he take? Fourteen bushes?”
“Maybe he’d kidnap me, instead, and ransom me for a high price.” After a pause, she added, “You would,of course,rescue me.”
Henry snorted. “Would I? Maybe I'd find my bushes more valuable and make sure they’re out of the highwayman's reach.”
“You disappoint me, Mr Gardener.” Lucy gave him a mock frown. “I see you don’t have a single drop of knightly chivalry in your body. If you were Saint George, you’d stand by and worry about the dragon trampling some rose bush while it munches the princess. Rest assured; I’d save you if a highwayman ever were to kidnap you.” She waved her fist in front of his nose. “I have a mean fist.”
He cocked an amused eyebrow at her. “I doubt this would impress the highwayman, who’d be in possession of a pistol. And why the blazes would a highwayman want to kidnap me?”
“Maybe you’re a prince, or a duke in disguise for which he could ask a ton of ransom?”
He seemed momentarily speechless. “Balderdash.”
“I know. I talk a lot, don't I? And most of it doesn't make much sense, but that's the way I am, I suppose. My friend Arabella says—” She broke off.
“What does she say, your friend?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re meaning Lady Arabella of Ashmore Hall?”
“Oh.” Lucy felt her eyes grow to saucers. “I suppose you’d know her. How silly of me not to realise. Yes, I mean Lady Arabella of Ashmore Hall.”
“So, you’re not a servant seeking employment.” He furrowed his brows. “You’re a gentlewoman. One of sufficient rankto be acquainted with the sister of a duke.”
She sighed but didn’t demur.
“Arabella—that is, Lady Arabella—and I went to Miss Hilversham’s Seminary for Young Ladies in Bath. We grew as close as sisters. But I haven't seen her in a while.” She counted off her fingers. “I haven't seen her for three years, since I got exp—I mean, since I left the Seminary. It's almost forever.”
“What is a lady doing out riding in a common stagecoach? Why didn’t Lady Arabella send a carriage? And where is your chaperone?”
“The truth is…” Lucy fiddled with the tassels of her pelisse and avoided his eyes. “The truth is I set out with my own carriage and chaperone. But the coachman got sick on the way and my companion left me at—another inn. She preferred to stay behind and—and nurse the coachman. He was sick. So, I took the stagecoach,but it broke down. And then I missed the connection. Like I said.”
Silence.
He raised one eyebrow sardonically. When their eyes met, she looked away.
“Really.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “How altruistic of your chaperone to want to nurse the ailing coachman.”
“Yes, really.” She cleared her throat. “But we were talking about Arabella. I mean, Lady Arabella. How well do you know her? You must see her often since she loves the gardens so.”
“I see Lady Arabella now and then.”
