8
On the day of departure,Fancy and her bosom chum exchanged tearful goodbyes. She clung to Bea, every fiber of her balking at deserting her friend in a time of need. What if the villain launched another attack? Fancy might not be worth much when it came to fighting, but she had a strong pair of lungs and could scream bloody murder as loud as anyone.
She had mounted that argument over and again to no avail. Da could be as stubborn as Bertrand when he made his mind up. Nothing she said could sway him from his plan that the Sheridans should go their own way.
“Don’t blame your father, dear,” Bea said now, as if reading her mind. “He wants what is best for you. Indeed, his decision might be the right one.”
“’Ow can you say that?” Fancy swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. She’d never been a watering pot, but since the attack, she’d found herself perilously close to tears over naught. “I would be an extra pair o’ eyes and ears. You don’t know when the bastard might strike again—”
“Wick and his men will look out for me.”
Her friend’s confidence quieted Fancy’s protests more than any arguments could have. For Bea had never been a trusting sort, especially when it came to men. Yet now she exchanged a look with Mr. Murray, standing at a discreet distance by his waiting carriage. Some unspoken message passed between them. And Fancy realized the truth that her friend had not yet put into words.
Bea ’as fallen in love,she thought in wonder.And Mr. Murray loves ’er back.
Bea was glowing in a primrose carriage dress, her lavender eyes sparkling, her white-gold hair bound proudly back and no longer hiding her scar or her beauty from the world. Love had transformed her, prepared her for any hardships ahead. She had Mr. Murray to depend upon now, and he could offer more protection than a tinker’s daughter ever could.
Gladness and a poignant ache filled Fancy’s heart.
“You’re in good ’ands,” she said with a smile.
“So are you.” Bea leaned closer. “But, my dear, don’t forget your promise to me. While Wick says Knighton is honorable, you must remain on guard. If he tries to take advantage of you—”
“’E won’t,” Fancy said tremulously. “But I won’t forget my promise.”
Bea touched her forehead briefly to Fancy’s “Take care, my dear. I shall miss you.”
“You be careful, too.” Fancy’s smile wobbled. “Until we meet again.”
They hugged and then Bea was gone.
Fancy wiped away a few errant tears, then went to help her da and brothers finish packing up the wagon. They were loading the last travelling cases when a conveyance pulled up the circular drive. Her eyes widened. The time she’d been in Knighton’s carriage when he rescued her, she hadn’t been in a frame of mind to notice its splendor. The enormous black coach, led by half a dozen bays with glossy manes, was like something out of a faerie tale. Its lacquered sides and spotless windows, framed by fringed velvet curtains, were dazzling.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of her.
Her brother Liam ambled over and said in fervent tones, “Gor, pinch me, Fancy, for I must be dreamin’.Thisbe our ride?”
“Yes,” she said, equally awestruck.
While Da had accepted the duke’s offer to accompany them to Northumberland, where there was a secluded campground known only to tinkers, he had decreed that it wasn’t right for Fancy to travel alone with Knighton. Her brothers had drawn straws; Liam, who’d chosen the shortest, was to be her chaperone. He’d endured ribbing from the other lads who’d lifted their pinkies at him, calling him a bona fide nob since he would be travelling in a lord’s fussy carriage rather than a tinker’s good, solid caravan.
Liam was getting the last laugh, however, for their brothers now watched on with open-mouthed expressions as the driver opened the door to the sleek coach, letting down the steps. From what Fancy could see, the interior was upholstered in midnight velvet and outfitted with fixtures of polished brass.
Then the Duke of Knighton emerged, and she lost track of the carriage altogether. He gleamed from the top of his hat to the toe of his boots. His strapping form was clad in shades of dark blue and grey, his jaw freshly shaven above his cravat of maize silk.
Sweet Jaysus, ’e’s ’andsome,her heart sighed.
He bowed and held out a gloved hand. “Ready, Miss Sheridan?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Her heart thumping, she placed her hand in his.
His fingers engulfed hers, his masculine heat seeping through the barrier of black leather. He handed her up into the carriage, and Liam bounded in next, letting out a whoop of excitement as he took in the spacious and modern cabin. The facing benches were wide enough to fit four people apiece, with plenty of leg room.
Sprawling next to her, Liam opened the wicker hamper on the floor.
“Gor, get an eyeful o’ all ’em victuals,” Liam exclaimed.
“Mind your manners.” Fancy shot an anxious look beyond him, where Knighton was conferring with Da. “You don’t want ’Is Grace to think you’re a beggarly sort, do you?”
