But truly, I only allowed people to think I went off half-cocked. In point of fact, it required a great deal of organization to purchase a naval lieutenant’s uniform and sneak about one of His Majesty’s vessels without detection. If I had put no effort into it, I never would have been able to board in the first place.
But in this instance, I perhaps could have considered more carefully—at least the carriage.
“Where the devil are we going?” Mr. Summers demanded, his usually pale complexion blanched to a ghostly grey.
“Nowhere near Slough,” I teased, as I worked the pins free from my wig.
“I’ve packed for three days. Please, I am begging you, tell me I have brought enough clothing.”
He hadn’t, of course, but I’d brought the few useful things that still remained from Gabriel’s closet. Alfie was currently wearing my deceased brother’s long-untouched boots. Though, now that I had Mr. Summers in front of me, it was quite clear that he was smaller than Gabriel. Much smaller.
My late brother was, quite simply, a great oaf of a man, tall and broad in a way that the wiry, compact Mr. Summers was not.
“What do you know about tailoring?” I asked, tossing the wig atop my hat.
His thumb and forefinger found his eyelids as he grumbled, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Because you don’t know how to sew?”
“Because I get carriagesick,” he replied before dropping his head to rest between his knees. “And you just implied that we would be in this death trap for more than three days.”
My own stomach dropped dangerously. I had absolutely failed to account for all the variables.
“Well, sit here by the window,” I insisted, scooting to the other side of the wooden bench. I nudged his portmanteau out of the way with my shoe. Most carriages had two windows. At one point even this one probably had. But the far one had been boarded up and the one at my side was little more than a neatly carved hole in the door that was strapped on.
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not proper. Gentlemen sit rear-facing when ladies are present,” he murmured pathetically to the floorboards.
“Gentlemen also do not cast up their accounts on a lady’s boots.” I caught his forearm and hauled him to sit beside me. He obeyed with a pathetic groan, resting his sweaty brow against the edge of the perpetually open window.
“This is a disaster,” he groused to himself even as the color returned to his cheeks. His flush bloomed slowly while the dampness dissipated from his brow.
“Sitting beside me is that bad?”
“Stop being obtuse, it doesn’t suit you,” he snapped. “We’re stuck in this great heap of junk for Lord only knows how long—well, I suppose you know, but you won’t tell me. We’re traveling only Lord—and you—knows where, to do only Lord—and you—knows what. I’m going to flash the hash at any moment. And you’re entirely unchaperoned. If this carriage doesn’t kill me, your brother certainly will.”
“There’s Rory.”
“Rory is not an acceptable chaperone and you know it.”
“I had actually thought of that. It’s like that time you found me at Gunter’s.”
“What is like that time at Gunter’s?”
“Reciprocal havoc.”
He was silent a moment, probably recalling that incident, before finally turning to me for the first time since I hauled him beside me. It was years ago that he caught me unchaperoned enjoying an ice. At least, I was until an unwanted suitor wished to claim my attention. Mr. Summers’ rescue—if it could be called that—had required a bit of imprudent familiarity and fibbing. We’d mutually agreed to refrain from discussing it with Xander. The accord ensured that I was not scolded for my brief unchaperoned foray into the world and he was not called out for impersonating my cousin.
Mr. Summers’ countenance was much improved as he contemplated me in his usual, serious way, warm brown eyes searching mine for some answer. “I won’t tell anyone because I don’t want your brother to have me hanged. What’ve I got on you?”
I offered him a little smile. “You really worry about that too often. Besides, Xander cannot have you hanged, you’re an earl now.”
“Barely,” he grumbled, lip sinking lower into his regular frowning pout at the reminder of his newly acquired title—the one he’d spent months studiously pretending he hadn’t inherited.
“It’s simple. You won’t tell anyone because if you did, we’d be forced to wed. And that, I’m certain, would make you even grumpier than you usually are.” I poked his shoulder with my index finger to emphasize my point.
