Felicity closed her eyes and prayed for her head to stop hurting. “The sixth one did die. In a carriage accident.”
“That be a lie, your ladyship. Your Mr. Pemberton done lied to you about acting like the seventh earl so old Rum and Catherty would stop huntin’ down the sixth earl ’cause of all the money he owed them. Even faked the funeral and set up a fine headstone for the old bastard, though he was still alive.” Scarface caught hold of her arm and yanked her straighter in the seat. “But they found them out. Thanks to us. We beat the fool till he admitted it. Ole Rum and Catherty will get what’s theirs now. Plus some, I reckon.”
That couldn’t possibly be true. Felicity wanted to shake her head,but knew it would hurt too badly. “I do not believe you. Drake would never hide such a thing from me.”
The men huffed and snorted, waving her words away.
“You go on thinking that, your ladyship.” The grubby man shook his head. “You was foolish enough to engage yourself to a pauper. ’Pears to me you’ll believe ’bout anything. Ain’t my place to convince you.”
She closed her eyes, praying harder than she had ever prayed before.Please send someone to save me. Please.Her head ached so horridly, it was hard to think, hard to make sense of much else. But what they had said about Drakepretendingto be the Earl of Wakefield stayed at the forefront of her thoughts.
She clamped her lips tighter shut. It couldn’t be. It could not possibly be true.
But the trio of ghouls had said Drake had done it to stop the determined Rum and Catherty from continuing their hunt for his uncle. Had they been trying to do the man bodily harm to extract payment for the money he owed them? Did such a thing truly happen?
The carriage hit a rut and shook her with such a hard bump that she whacked the side of her head against the wall. She bit her lip harder to keep from crying out, preferring not to call any more attention to herself than she already had. She wanted so very badly to cry, but she didn’t dare. Something deep inside warned her that tears would only make the situation worse.
Her stomach churned even harder, making the nausea almost impossible to bear. Her head hurt so badly, it was surely about to split in two. The man who had said their destination was not much farther had lied. Just as she gave up all hope, the carriage jerked to a stop.
“Keep her here whilst I check,” the grubby man said as he kicked open the door to the carriage and stepped out.
The gust of fresh air from the open door hit her in the face, coaxing her to open her eyes. Sunshine streamed into the carriage, but itwas cooler now, much later in the day. She squinted against the brightness as it made the pounding in her skull worse.
Grubby Man reappeared in the open doorway, grabbed hold of her arm, and pulled. “Come on, your ladyship. Your accommodations await.”
The scar-faced man and the mountain-of-flesh ruffian snorted with laughter.
She stumbled out of the coach and vomited as soon as she hit the ground, retching so hard that she felt as though she was turning herself inside out. When she finally finished, she stumbled to one side, nearly sagging to the ground, but one of the men roughly yanked her to her feet.
“Walk, woman. I ain’t carryin’ you. You ain’t no light filly.” The scarred man shoved her along the dirt path leading to a ramshackle cottage that appeared to be built into the hillside. The whitewashed wood of the place was in dire need of refreshing and one of the only window’s shutters hung off to the side, one of the hinges broken. Smaller structures, two of them, stood off to the side. One appeared to be a stable of sorts, while the other’s purpose was questionable. Felicity prayed that small, windowless box was not to be her prison.
Chickens meandered all around, pecking at the ground in search of bugs. An overgrown field of wildflowers surrounded the clearing, effectively hiding the place from view until you were nearly upon it. The door to the cottage was open. Just outside it stood a bent, older woman, clutching a cane of twisted wood, her graying hair haphazardly stuffed into a dingy white cap. Beside her was a much younger, hulking man with his eyes squinted into a scowl.
“This here be your keeper,” the scarred man said as he yanked Felicity to a stop in front of the old woman. “Mrs. Bean here knows to keep you alive and to use that stick of hers to keep you cooperating. Understand?”
Felicity didn’t answer. Her head was spinning so badly, black spotsswam through her vision. Her blood roared in her ears, and it was all she could do to keep from dropping to her knees. Heaven help her. Was she dying?
The blackguard yanked her straight and spoke louder. “Understand?”
“Yes,” she hissed, wishing the earth would swallow the man alive, then spit out his bones.
“Got some fire to you after all.” He laughed and shoved her forward, letting go of her arm.
She went to the ground, landing on her knees in front of the old woman.
“Where be the rest of my coin?” Mrs. Bean asked him.
“You get the rest when it be done. Keep her alive and none the worse for wear. If a beatin’ be needed, hit her where the bruises won’t show. Understand?”
The old woman scowled at him, then answered with a single nod.
Felicity sagged over onto her side, unable to remain upright any longer. She lay there on the ground with her eyes closed, praying for her head to stop tormenting her so she could run away at her first opportunity. A breeze washed across her, and all she could hear were the grasses rustling in the wind and the chickens softly clucking, almost purring like cats. It occurred to her that it had gone quiet for a while.
She opened her eyes to Mrs. Bean and the old woman’s young giant standing there, staring down at her.
The ancient matron leaned on her cane and jutted her chin forward. “Hit you in the head pretty good, did they?”
“Yes,” Felicity said, keeping her voice soft and low so it wouldn’t make the pounding between her ears worse.
