“I thought you’d already left.”
“Or you wouldn’t have played?”
That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant. “I heard later that you left earlier. You sing well. I don’t.”
“I’ve never heard you sing.”
“That’s why.” She’d eaten and drunk all that shecould, so there was no reason for further delay, even though she was relishing this conversation.
She understood now what Hermione had said. Conversation with a beloved was precious. All the same, she said, “We should leave.”
“If you’re ready,” he said, courteously.
She rose and he opened the door to call that the curricle be made ready. Then he turned back to pick up her cloak and help her on with it. As he did so, his hands brushed the nape of her neck, sending a secret shiver through her. At least, she hoped it was secret.
How could she let him go?
How could she lose what they had?
How could he?
As she drew on her gloves, he put on his outerwear and soon they were walking out to the innyard. There, they found the two horses arranged on the vehicle, but four ostlers hunting around. An older man hurried over. “Beg pardon, milord, but they seem to have mislaid the curricle bar.”
“Mislaid? How is that possible?”
“Well, milord, it had to be taken off, milord, as a new pair would need an adjustment, you see? It was set to leaning against the wall over there. But it’s gone.”
Everyone stared at the wall as if the metal bar might suddenly reappear.
Kynaston turned to Ariana. “Would your brother have done this?”
“No. Why?”
“To prevent my following.”
“Back to London,” she reminded him as carelessly as she could. She’d much rather he never discover the culprit. “There must be another bar around.”
Kynaston looked at the head ostler, but he shook his head. “We don’t get many curricles here, milord, a curricle not really being a traveling vehicle, you see. The smith can likely make something in the morning.”
“Wood would do for a while.”
“Perhaps, milord, but I’d not fancy it. Under strain it might snap and injure the horses.”
Kynaston muttered a curse. “Keep looking. We’ll return to the inn.”
Once back in their room, he said, “You should have returned with your brother. I’m likely to be stuck here until the morning. There’ll probably be a stagecoach for London passing at some time.”
Ariana had no intention of returning to London on a public stage, for any number of reasons. “Maybe,” she said, “but though they often leave London in the dark, most arrive in daylight. Can we hire some other conveyance?”
When he left to find out, she prayed he would fail. Her prayers were answered. He returned to say, “There’s a gig, but it’s a sorry specimen. He keeps one chaise for hire, but it’s out.”
“I’d say we could ride,” Ariana said, “but I’m not dressed for it.”
A hint of a smile twitched his lips. “Pity you don’t have your brother’s clothes.”
She smiled back. “Dreadfully ill-fitting! Ethel was better suited and rather liked wearing breeches. I found it embarrassing, even though no one could see.” Memories of a shirt made her blush.
“A bashful Hippolyta?” he teased.
