“Why’s that?”
“Well, Alfie called you Old Rory.”
“He would. I’m older than young Rory. And I’m much older than wee Rory.”
“There are three Rorys?” I asked, regretting the question as soon as I asked it.
“There are five Rorys. Granddaddy Rory, big Rory, ole’ Rory—that’s me—young Rory, and wee Rory.”
“Dare I ask why?”
“Firstborn in my family is always Rory,” she said with a shrug, tightening the last strap before yanking the portmanteau from my hand. “Do ye want this on the back? Or in with ye?”
“With me,” I said. “Forgive me, but isn’t Rory a?—”
“Lad’s name?” She dropped the portmanteau by the door and it landed in the mud with a dampplonk. “What of it?” she questioned as she tugged on the straps keeping the door shut.
“Not a thing,” I replied, finally coming to my senses. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Rory.”
“It’s just Rory to ye. Ye dinnae ken any of the others.”
“Right.”
“That went well,” Lady Davina murmured to me.
“You could have warned me.”
“And miss this? Absolutely not.” Mirth spilled from every note.
“Remind me to tell your brother that I’ve given up my life as a solicitor. I’m taking my rightful place in the House of Lords. Claiming my ancestral seat, as it were. He’ll have tofind someone else to sort out your misadventures,” I muttered, acknowledging for the first time that there was a fate worse than the earldom I’d inherited. That fate almost certainly awaited me in that carriage.
“No, you’re not. You’d rather eat Alfie’s hat than make nice with thebeau monde.”
I gulped, eyeing the boy’s head covering wearily. “No,” I insisted. “I suspect whatever you have planned for me will be infinitely worse.”
“Worse than the dancing? The endless dancing?” she retorted.
She was right, I really did loathe the dancing. “Fine,” I snapped, just as ole’ Rory successfully unfastened the door and heaved my portmanteau inside. I stomped in after it, not properly handing Lady Davina in as was her due. If she wanted to dress as a man, she could bloody well enter a carriage like one. All that besides, it was probably for the best that I tested the strength of this agglomeration before she got in.
It swayed dangerously as I settled on the rear-facing wooden bench before creaking ominously when Lady Davina followed and dropped primly onto the opposite seat before tossing her hat beside me. At least if the carriage collapsed, there was no piece of this jumble substantial enough to cause injury.
The carriage rocked as ole’ Rory climbed up to the barrel beside Alfie’s, the wood groaning in displeasure. With a jolt, it creaked forward, swaying threateningly as we clambered off down the cobblestone street.
Good Lord, what had I gotten myself into?
Four
LONDON—APRIL 10, 1817
DAVINA
Mr. Summers swayed uneasilywith each divot the wheels found. And there were, unfortunately, quite a lot of them as we navigated the lesser-traveled side streets.
I had been confident in my plan, perhaps overconfident. Once I procured the carriage and Bonnie Annie had strenuously implied that our drivers needed to be elsewhere, Alfie out from underfoot and Rory out of London, everything had fallen into place.
That was, until Mr. Summers pointed out the structural inadequacies of our transportation.
I was fond of my little adventures, that was true. And it was also true that Mr. Summers had rescued me from more than one mishap they’d resulted in.
