“Revenge,” Robert said simply, feeling Madeline shiver again. “Have the men escort Madeline, er, Miss Mercer to the inn. I’ll help you track down Devonshire.”
“I am unharmed,” Elizabeth said in an agitated tone. She stood framed in the carriage doorway. Her hair had come loose from its pins and cascaded past her shoulders in a wild display, as though tossed by the wind. Her dress and coat were torn and her face red with outrage. “Would someone help me down from this carriage from hell, or am I to manage it myself?”
“I will help you, milady,” a man with an American accent said, as he jumped from his horse and strode toward her, holding out his hand.
“Who are you?”
“No one of consequence,” he said with a broad grin.
“Elizabeth,” Robert said as he jumped from the driver’s bench and held out his arms to help Madeline. “You should thank me as well for saving your life.”
Elizabeth huffed. “Madeline and I were doing just fine, thank you very much.” She spared the American a glance, then pulling her torn coat around her, she marched toward Madeline. She looped her arm through Madeline’s and drew her back toward the carriage. “Madeline had things well in hand. I am confident she would have been able to stop the horses. She is an extraordinary woman.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth, but I feel as though the carriage would have crashed if not for the duke’s help.”
“Do not give the man so much credit. Look at him. Like so many of his gender, he is already puffed up with his own importance like a Christmas peacock, cooked and stuffed and ready for the table. If not for you and your clear thinking, we would have panicked and jumped, likely to our deaths. No, I credit you for saving our lives.”
The American who had helped Elizabeth from the carriage touched his hat and gave a slight bow. “You do not have a high opinion of men, it seems.”
“And why should I, when they have such a high opinion of themselves? If I added to the praise, their heads would be so large with pride, I daresay they could not carry such a weight.”
Robert smiled inwardly at the exchange. Their argument held a light flirtatiousness about it. The American seemed smitten, and Elizabeth kept glancing in the man’s direction as though assessing him from head to toe. He prayed his suspicions were correct. He wanted Elizabeth to find happiness.
“Surprisingly, the carriage is in working order,” Robert said. “Do you know why the driver veered off the assigned route?”
Elizabeth shivered, blowing on her hands to warm them. “Our driver said that there were complaints from one of the lords in the area that our caravan was destroying his roads.”
“A more likely scenario,” Robert said, “was that the driver was working with Devonshire and Devonshire killed him to eliminate loose ends. I will act as your driver and my men will accompany us to the Rose and Thistle Inn.”
Robert exchanged a glance toward Jeremy. Jeremy nodded, confirming that the men Robert had ordered were in place to track down Devonshire and guard the Rose and Thistle Inn. Devonshire was many things, but he was not a fool. Most likely, he was on the run.
Chapter Thirty
Later that evening, Madeline set her sketches on the carriage seat as the Rose and Thistle posting inn came into view. Elizabeth had accompanied Madeline but had dozed on and off during much of their journey, as had Madeline.
Lights shone from the windows of a stately, ivy-covered, four-story stone building that looked as wide as it was tall. The other carriages had arrived earlier, and from the sounds of laughter and music pouring from the inn, the merriment had started without them.
After the duke had stopped the runaway carriage and swept Madeline into a dream world of passion, Elizabeth had feigned outrage at seeing the duke and Madeline embracing, then laughed with the comment, “Well it is about time.”
Elizabeth then ushered Madeline into the carriage and helped her change back into her traveling dress. As the duke drove them to the inn, Elizbeth showered Madeline with questions, the primary one being whether or not the duke had offered marriage.
Madeline had brushed the comment aside and changed the subject. But the question lingered to torment her. Why hadn’t he offered marriage? And if he had, would she have said yes? It would please her mother if she were to marry the duke.
To distract her from her thoughts, she had sketched the image of the driver who had been murdered. She knew it was possible that the man was working with Devonshire but perhaps the driver felt he didn’t have a choice. She tried to capture the shock and fear in his eyes as he fell to the ground and disappeared from view as the carriage raced out of control.
Did the driver have loved ones who would mourn his passing? Did he have regrets? She wanted to honor his passing and had also sketched his likeness before he had been killed. She admitted she had not given the man much thought before. He was just someone who drove their carriage. She should have paid more attention to him, learned his name, and asked if he had a family. If he did, she planned to give them the sketch of him as he was in life.
Her mother had taken care to get to know everyone she met. Her mother said the servants in Conclarton Castle confided in her because they liked to gossip. That wasn’t the reason. They confided in her because she took an interest in them and their families and they trusted her. Madeline examined the sketch she had started and vowed to be more like her mother. She would start with learning the man’s name and if he had a family.
She glanced out the window as the carriage slowed, and her thoughts turned inevitably toward the duke.
There was little doubt she had feelings for the man. But marriage? Was that something she even wanted? Since arriving in England, she had been flooded with how a woman was ruled by the whims of her husband. He could dictate the parameters of her education, her activities, and approve or disapprove her friends. In America, she had experienced more freedom. Could she give that up?
She shook away the dark thoughts when Elizabeth nudged her, asking if something was wrong.
“A little tired is all. By any chance did you know the name of our driver?” When Elizabeth shook her head, Madeine replied, “No matter.” She looked outside the carriage window again. “I wasn’t expecting something this grand,” Madeline said, remembering the one-story inns she and her mother had stayed in when they traveled from Boston to New York. The roofs in those inns had leaked and the walls looked as though they would collapse in a stiff wind.
“Robert assured me the Rose and Thistle is one of the finest posting inns along this route to London,” Elizabeth said. “Speaking of the duke, here he is now.”
