The laughter of this French knight followed her outside as she exited, intent now upon locating her coachman, Mr. Daniels, as quickly as possible. Still stinging from Mr. Bateman’s taunting, she marched through the muddied garden, past a few young men lazing about and chewing on long pieces of straw, and turned to look inside the mews.
“Mr. Daniels!” Her driver lay sprawled on a bale of hay, his eyes glazed and an empty bottle in his hand. Gin!
“My regards, hic… Mrs. Bloo, Mrs. Bloomin’ton.”
The evening, apparently, was to take yet another turn for the worse. “Are you drunk, Mr. Daniels?” But it was a pointless question. “You’ll need to sober up quickly, sir, as there are no rooms to let here. We must get back on the road quickly if we’re to find anything vacant at the next establishment.”
She did not relish the prospect of traveling in the dark.
“Not going anywhere tonight, misses.” The driver pointed toward their carriage, which she only just realized was listing to the side. “The wheel came loose when I drove her around back.”
This could not be happening. Aubrey tamped down the frustration threatening to erupt at his words. “You’re going to have to fix it.” She did her best to inject authority into her voice.
Mr. Daniels merely dismissed her request, much as people had done for most of her life. When his eyes seemed to focus on something behind her, she realized that the most imposing figure of Mr. Bateman had ambled in.
And of course, Mr. Bateman took one look at the driver, the listing carriage, and comprehended her situation right off. “Is this the manner in which you maintain your vehicle, Mr…”
“Daniels.” Aubrey supplied.
Mr. Bateman nodded in her direction before turning back with narrowed eyes to address her jug-bitten driver. “Is it, Mr. Daniels?”
Her driver had the grace to look somewhat ashamed, nonetheless, “Can’t do much tonight… Not by myself, that is.” The coachman made an attempt to gather his wits enough to get himself into a standing position, albeit, not a very steady one.
Mr. Bateman shrugged and then winked. “I’d assist him myself,Princesse, if I could spare the time. But Mr. Neskers did advise against waiting too long and I have no wish to forfeit the last room up ahead, if that is indeed, the circumstance.”
Aubrey inhaled a deep breath, in an attempt to rein in her temper.
But of course, he was on horseback and would make much quicker time than she could. Even if her driver managed the repair. Aubrey glanced outside and shivered. What did one do under such circumstances? When she’d decided to move to London, she’d known she would be faced with new challenges and she’d been invigorated by the prospect. It was difficult to remember her enthusiasm when she felt herself on the brink of tears.
The possibility of sleeping outside was not one she’d prepared herself for.
Mr. Bateman brushed past her and strolled farther into the stable. He would saddle his magnificent horse and ride merrily off to claim the room that ought to be rightfully hers.
She’d arrived here first.
“Where the hell is she?” He came storming back out, eyes blazing. “The mare I stabled, not half an hour ago? Where is she?”
Mr. Daniels frowned. “One of the other guests rode off on her. I just assumed…”
“Which way did they go?”
Mr. Daniels held out both hands helplessly which sent Mr. Bateman bolting from the stable.
By the time he returned, the words spewing from his mouth nearly set her ears on fire.
Aubrey did not approve of horse theft. It was a hanging offence for a very good reason. And yet a tiny part of her found some satisfaction in that he was not going to be the person to claim her room.
Mr. Bateman slammed a fist against one of the stalls and then stared at her with what she could only consider a petulant expression. “I suppose you find this amusing as well.”…amoosing.
Guilt pricked her. This man loved his horse. She remembered how lovingly he’d brushed her, and that he’d even kissed the animal.
It had not only been a mode of transportation to him, but she had been his friend and companion.
“I do not. Is it possible she’ll return on her own?” She’d heard of horses tracking down their owners after years of separation but wasn’t sure if there was any truth to such a claim.
Mr. Bateman closed his eyes, his head tilted back. “I cannot wait. I need to be in Margate before weeks end.”
“They don’t have any horses to rent here.” Mr. Daniels chose that moment to be helpful. They told me so when I asked about another carriage.”
