The stagecoach that took Lucy from London was so similar to the one that had brought her there it would’ve been amusing if she’d been in any mood for amusement. The farmer’s wife had been replaced by a ruddy-faced country squire and the curate by a town clerk, but otherwise the occupants, the stuffy air, the unpleasant jolting, and the smell were exactly the same. It was only her entire life that had changed.
Or has it?she thought ruefully, wedged between her maid, Sarah, and the bony shoulder of the clerk.I am still desperately in love with Jack Orton and still wretchedly uncertain what he thinks of me.
She’d been so sure she knew him. That was the root of all this sudden doubt. She’d thought she knew him almost as well as she knew herself, and yet…he had kept this secret from her. And she must marry him, regardless! They’d been caught embracing, the engagement announced. They’d spent thenighttogether. She blushed, staring at her gloved hands, which were clutched on her lap.
Her thoughts jolted along with the heavy coach’s passage, swaying roughly, incessantly, from side to side.Of course he loves me,when she remembered him in her room.Or maybe he is just fond of me,when she remembered him in the park.Maybe he thinks this marriage plan as good as any.A fortune and a friend, all wrapped neatly together. A man of Jack’s easygoing temperament might call that a good bargain and be happy to take it, thankful he’d been spared anything worse.
I want more than that,came a spearing cry from deep inside her. And, again and again, as strident and irritating as the snore of the woman sitting opposite:I have no fortune, I have no fortune.
The grim events that awaited her in Northumberland would settle that question, at least, though she hated the cost at which the certainty would be bought. She couldn’t think of her aunt sick, dying, without a clammy squeeze of grief. She’d never loved the woman, but she could feel sorrow for her. And her aunt was her last living relative on earth. Her passing would be a dismal loss. And Lucy would be truly alone.
Except for my husband.
Her fingers clenched involuntarily and her breath hitched. Would he cry off if her aunt left her penniless? Would he marry her out of duty and always regret it? Would he marry her because he was sorry for her and liked her and was fond enough to try and make do with the gamble he’d taken, while all around his friends went on to great and wealthy matches and the house of Orton fell into ruin, crumbling?
Jack, Jack, why did you kiss me when you knew my poverty might ruin you? Why did you come to my room and ruin us both?
Except she’d begged, hadn’t she? Feeling brave and wanted and certain—trusting Jack—she’d begged him to lie with her. For the first time in her life, she’d demanded and taken. But sheshould have known better. The world did what it wanted with Lucy Fanshaw. TheOrtonsdid what they wanted.
The ridiculous thing was she missed him. Felt guilty for leaving town without waiting to see him. But the doctor’s note had left no time for delay, and she’d left a message via William and Caroline, which was all she could do when his staff wouldn’t accept a letter. She would write from her aunt’s house and explain the whole… But even as she imagined herself doing so, mentally shrinking from all the awkward, clumsy phrases that couldn’t possibly explain anything, she knew he’d come after her.
He’d probably reach her aunt’s not long after she did, driving in his hellish way. Jack who could never be still… Jack with too much energy and his soul burning like a candle… Jack would hunt her down and demand, exasperated, what on earth she thought she was doing.
Running from you!
Running from what she felt and from what he might say—from what he mightnotsay. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing out. The squire was looking at her in frowning concern when she reopened them. It was a relief when the coach rumbled to a stop and the cry came for a change of horses.
Lucy got out, leaving Sarah to guard her things and to keep an eye on the hasty ostlers flinging traces over the new team. The coach would only stop for a few minutes, and Lucy didn’t want to be left behind while she sought some food for herself and her maid. She’d been in too much of a hurry to pack anything.
But halfway across the coach yard, she startled to a stop, hearing a familiar voice.
Captain Sedgewick.
“Damn you, you cursed, rottenthief!” He was berating an unconcerned-looking man in rough clothing. “You promised me a carriage, not a pile of firewood!”
The man aimed a considering frown at an extremely decrepit-looking farmer’s cart. “Ee’s a good vehicle, that is. Sound as you like. And I reckon as you’re the one in a hurry and refusing to wait for the wheelwright to fix yours, you’re maybe in a position as where beggars can’t be choosers, like.”
“You’re the only beggar around here! And I refuse to pay half what you asked.”
“Well then,” said the man slowly, chewing on a straw as he looked from the enraged captain to the cart. “Well then…I reckon that as I’m in no hurry to sell the cart, I mays as well keep it.”
“Devil take you to hell and keep you there,” muttered the captain, along with a few other oaths Lucy was glad she couldn’t quite hear. He dug furiously in his purse and dumped a handful of coins in the now-smiling man’s hand. “You can hitch my horses to it for that price. Make sure it’s ready to go in no more than fifteen minutes.”
“Marcus! Marcus!”
Lucy’s head snapped round as, to her even greater astonishment, Eleanor Orton burst out of the inn, a ridiculous bonnet slithering over one eye as she rushed to the captain’s side.
“For heaven’s sake, Nora!” snapped the captain. “I told you to stay in the parlour and keep out of sight!”
“But Marcus!” she plucked desperately at his arm. “You’ll never guess who is here! I saw them from the window; they’ve stopped outside and they’re talking to the driver of the coach that just pulled up. It’s Jack! Jack’s here! And your sister! And even George Simmons!”
Lucy’s heart stopped. And at that very moment, the captain looked up and saw her on the other side of the yard. “You!”
Nora whipped around. “Lucy! Oh no!”
“Get in the cart,” the captain ordered Nora, roughly pushing her towards it. He hurried to the man he’d brought it from, who was leading two sweating horses towards them. “Quick as you can, man! Dammit! Make haste!”
“But, Marcus!” wailed Nora, looking between the dilapidated gig and the frozen Lucy. Both seemed to fill her with horror. “My luggage! And this cart! You surely can’t—”
