‘Do see sense, Sophie— I mean, Miss Fairfax,’ Sir Weston amended hastily. ‘Consider what you are saying. Think of your sisters and the Fairfax family name. You have no money, no prospects and no gentleman of honourable standing will take you now. I am your only hope for respectability. And Madame Dupres’s company will be no salvation if you are not married to me before tomorrow is done. You will be considered damaged goods Sophie– aladybird no less!’
‘Well, I’d ratherbe a ladybird outside this coach,’ Sophie growled, fumbling for the window latch, ‘than a buffle-head within it!’
‘Sophie!Ma chérie!’ Lu Lu shrieked. ‘You cannot mean to stop here. We are in the middle of nowhere, and consider my new primrose silk slippers. They were not made?—’
‘Hush, Lu Lu!’ Sophie said crossly, just as another cry echoed through the night.
She paused, frowning.
‘Yes, there is someone in pursuit,’ Sir Weston smirked.
‘If we stop now, you risk our lead, and either Lord Rotherby will be your husband, or Damerel will return you to your brother who, if I am to believe his reputation, will ensure your disappearance from polite society for good.’ Sir Weston’s eyes glittered. ‘Surely, marriage to me is preferential to that?’
‘Doubtful,’ Lu Lu muttered.
Sophie drew a deep breath, determined not to let Sir Weston glimpse her inner turmoil. She knew he was speaking the truth; her fate would be unrequited love or Thomas’s convent. She could not bear either, and yet remaining in the same space as him was impossible too.
With fresh determination, she forced the sash window open, letting in a blast of cold night air.
‘Arrêtez!’ she yelled at the driver, and had the satisfaction of feeling the coach lurch to a violent standstill.
‘I choose me!’ she exclaimed, wiping the smile from Sir Weston’s face. ‘And I hope you’ve a plausible story for whoever is in pursuit, because neither Rotherby nor Damerel are known for their restraint. Lu Lu?’
Sophie jumped out onto the lonely heathland roadside and turned to grasp Lu Lu’s reluctant hand.
‘Eh non!This road is not safe for a walk,mademoiselle,’ the beleaguered coach driver said.
‘Ma chérie, my slippers!’ Lu Lu wailed.
‘Consider the mistake you are making, Miss Fairfax!’ Sir Weston hissed.
‘On the contrary Sir Weston,’ Sophie replied, ‘youare the only mistake here, and Madame Dupres will be far safer with the driver and me, than incarcerated with you for another second!’
‘Eh non!’ the coach driver repeated, sidling back. ‘No ladies with me!’
Sophie drew herself up proudly.
‘I am Miss Sophie Fairfax of Knightswood Manor in Devonshire, and I’ll not travel another second inside your coach with a cad and libertine! Either we get out or he does, and he is most certainly not sitting with you.’
It was at this exact same moment that a barouche and pair emerged over the crest of the hill behind them.
‘Regarde!’ Lu Lu shrieked in profound relief. ‘We are rescued,ma chérie!There is no need for you to be Gaspard Bouis or Dick Turpin with that ridiculous crossbow anymore.’
She shuddered and began waving a white lace kerchief at the barouche, which appeared to be bowling along at a great pace.
‘We arenotrescued,’ Sophie hissed, grabbing Lu Lu’s lace kerchief. ‘For we do not need rescuing! Inside, now!’ she ordered Sir Weston, who scowled before retreating into the coach. ‘And you, sir,willmake room for us on your seat,’ Sophie instructed the coach driver, who cursed as she pushed Lu Lu up onto the seat and tucked a thick blanket around her. ‘There,’ she said consolingly to her friend, who already had the look of one facing the gallows, ‘this will be so much better than travelling inside with that…person!’
Then the driver called to his horses, which sprang forward with fresh purpose.
It became almost immediately clear that riding atop the Fairfax chaise around the grounds of Knightswood in broad daylight, was entirely different to riding atop the worst-sprung coach along the Chartres road at midnight, but Sophie was determined to make up for lost time. And even if Lu Lu was pressing her lace hanky to her mouth in a distinctly discouraging fashion, she was convinced the cool night air was far better for her than the stuffy coach with that lecherous libertine ogling their every move.
In truth, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she’d managed the whole odious situation quite credibly, and in the past minutes the chasing barouche had even fallen out of sight again.
She exhaled raggedly. She was so done with gentlemen masquerading as libertines, libertines masquerading as gentlemen, and everything in between. She’d ruined it all, and the only thing she could do to give those who remained a chance, was disappear. Her life ahead wouldn’t be the one she dreamed of but, as Lord Rotherby had pointed out at the beginning, dreams only ended in disappointment anyway.
It was just as she was contemplating this likely fate as a ruined debutante, doomed to haunt potted roads between medium-sized French towns forever, that a lone rider loomed out the darkness ahead of them.
‘It’s past midnight,’ Sophie frowned, as the coach driver cursed colourfully.
