Which wasn’t really necessary, considering she was quite unaccustomed to managing the task without assistance, what with her elaborate skirts and petticoats—not to mention fighting the grip of her corset—an undergarment she would have left off while traveling if not for her mother’s insistence.
Those stops were short and few, and just as she feared he intended to travel through the night, the glow of an inn beckoned. Amelia barely contained an exclamation of relief when the coach rambled to a stop in their stable yard.
A coaching inn would be filled with other people. She could find help here, couldn’t she? From the inn keeper, his wife, or even one of the other guests?
The perfect scenario would be to escape, and then take refuge there until the end of the Season.
But the idea was squashed before it could fully form when, gripping her elbow, Mr. Beckworth marched her past the entrance to the lively pub, across the muddy yard, and around the corner to a small but steep staircase that was attached to the exterior of one of the buildings. Obviously familiar with the establishment, he’d apparently planned ahead.
They climbed to a small landing, where he unlocked a door and preceded her inside. With no fumbling whatsoever, he found several candles and illuminated a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling—and a canopied bed up against the far wall.
The massive bed set off an altogether different sort of panic. “No!” she said. “Absolutely not.” If he thought for one minute that she would?—
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, a smirk hiding on one corner of his mouth as he backed toward the door. “I don’t bed unwilling women.”
So he didn’t?—?
“Oh.” She was too tired to feel relief.
“Go to bed, Lady Amelia,” he mocked. “Be ready to leave at first light.”
“Good night.” But she was talking to the door; he’d already gone. Alone now, she rushed forward, only to discover he’d locked it behind him.
Of course he had. She was a prisoner, after all.
And she was alone—for the first time all day. Really, for the first time in… years.
Testing the unexpected solitude, she stepped quietly across the room, dragging her fingertips over the gleaming wardrobe, then the table, and the back of one of the two chairs. A small desk and chair took up one corner, and two small end tables sat like book ends at the head of the bed. A subtle scent of lemon oil teased her senses. The room was clean. She was grateful for that, at least.
All in all, the chamber was, in fact, fit for nobility.
Emboldened, she climbed onto the tall bed and bounced a little on the mattress, confirming that it was thick and firm. From what she could tell, the counterpane was freshly washed.
This room was nice. Better than the ones her father rented.
But the stillness was oddly unsettling. For as long as she could remember, a nurse or governess or, more recently, her maid had accompanied her. Even when she was alone, there was always someone nearby.
Her favorite companion had been her cousin, Clementine, until Clem…
But she didn’t want to think about that.
A knock at the door broke the stillness. The subsequent turning of the lock had her jumping off the bed in case it was Mr. Beckworth returning.
But it was an older woman instead.
Amelia was definitelynotdisappointed when an older woman appeared instead. That little drop of her stomach was something else.
Right. Because Mr. Beckworth was a beast.
Amelia blinked, confused.
The woman who entered was small and sturdy-looking, but not quite elderly. She wore her gray hair in a messy knot at the back of her head, and her blue eyes were watery, her skin rough and lined.
She had not come empty-handed. A large tray was balanced on one hand, and from it rose the scent of fresh baked bread and something savory enough to make Amelia’s stomach grumble.
“Welcome to the King’s Inn,” the woman offered, her voice rough.
“Thank you,” Amelia answered. But now wasn’t the time for pleasantries. The door had closed behind the maid, but it wasn’tlocked. Contrary to Amelia’s earlier leap from the carriage, this moment might, in fact, be a very real opportunity for escape.
