For now.
“I won’t make you regret it,” she answered.Today.
“Good.” And without waiting for her to respond to that, he closed the door, leaving her alone in the carriage, absent his sturdy legs blocking her escape, no lock to keep her from flinging the door open.
But they were both wiser now. He to her inclinations, and she to the limitations of her own abilities. She was outnumbered. And drat it all, shehad, in fact, given him her word.
A few minutes later, the coach was moving again, and the remainder of the day proved to be… surprisingly restful, if not a little boring and a little lonely.
Twice, she was escorted into various inns and, judging by the reverence afforded Mr. Beckworth and his men, she could only assume he was their “King” as well.
Those stops were short but efficient and, a few curious looks notwithstanding, no one said anything to Amelia about her unusual ensemble.
Without Mr. Beckworth’s huge body taking up half of the bench, she had enough room to lie down somewhat comfortably. She used the blanket as a makeshift pillow, and napped on and off as the miles passed.
Which was heaps easier while wearing breeches. In fact, everything she did was easier. Sitting. Lying down. She could even sit with her legs crossed.
They were so very… freeing.
Lulled by the motion of the carriage, and with no one to talk to, the time inevitably led her to contemplate how she’d come to be in this position.
Not only her status as a prisoner, but… her overall position in the grand scheme of things.
Born into the nobility, she had always been aware that she’d been afforded great privileges, far beyond anything experienced by the lower classes. She had always known this logically, as a fact, and she was grateful for all the benefits of that privilege.
But…
What would it be like to never wear stays again? To never have to sip tepid lemonade and smile at jokes that weren’t funny? To not have to agree with gentlemen who spouted supposed wisdom she knew was mostly nonsense?
She was a privileged lady, but she was alsoa person.
Amelia rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling of the carriage and grimaced.
She had never once had to wonder where her next meal would come from. She’d never had to go without, well, anything, really.
All the same, however, her choices were so very, very limited. And having opened the door to this introspection, Amelia objectively considered her upbringing.
She’d been deliberately taught how to walk, how to talk, how to eat. And when her governess had found fault in Amelia’s posture, she’d been forcibly taughthow to sit!
Just after Amelia turned twelve, her least favorite governess—Mrs. Farnsworth—had convinced Amelia’s mother to purchase a “steel back,” insisting that wearing the metal contraption fora minimum of four hours a day would promote an elegant deportment and a swan-like neck in her daughter.
And if four hours was the prescribed length of time to see normal results, her mother had reasoned that six hours would prove even more effective.
At the time, it had felt like torture, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
Amelia had been taught how to think. Or, more accurately, toldwhatto think. And in some cases, told not to think at all.
If she had been born into the working class, she would have been expected to find some kind of employment—as a teacher, a governess, or perhaps a companion.
And that thought summoned bittersweet memories of the time she’d spent with the only companion she’d been allowed other than her maid: her cousin.
Clementine, who’d come to Amelia’s parents when she’d had nowhere else to turn, had been more than a paid companion to her, she’d been a friend, or a sister even. In the time spent together, Amelia had confided in Clementine, shared secrets she couldn’t tell anyone else.
Oh, how they had laughed! Amelia had learned how to have fun with Clementine.
And then Clementine ruined everything by seducing Amelia’s intended, the Marquess of Winterhope.
Amelia rolled to face the back of the bench. The sun was low on the horizon; it would be dark soon.
