“No. I do not.” I fixed my gaze ahead, walking a little faster.
The village was in view—little more than a long street with a few old shops. The smell of fish pervaded the air. I held my breath. The coast was closer now. I could almost feel the salty spray of seawater as I watched it crash against the rocks below the shallow cliffs. Colorful fishing boats dotted the nearby water like splattered paint on a grey canvas. I watched as a group of men hefted a net of silver fish into their boat. Their voicescarried over to my ears, their language much less refined than the gentlemen of my acquaintance. My nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Oi, Misses!” A thick-bearded man lumbered toward us.
Clara’s eyes widened. “He is an exact picture of the villain in the novel,” she whispered.
I shushed her and quickly looped my arm through hers.
“Dash it all.” Miss Bentford’s eyes widened, and she tugged Clara’s arm the other way. We took one awkward step away from the approaching man, but he was already beside us.
“I ‘aven’t seen you about. Wha’ brings ye ‘ere?” He reeked of dead fish and ale.
Miss Bentford didn’t seem to have experience contending with strange men like this one, and neither did I. She stared at him, lips pressed shut. Could Mama not have sent us with a more capable chaperone? My heart hammered. Was it best to ignore him? Or was politeness still the best course? I thought of my list.Always display refinement, even while amongst the unrefined.
“We are visiting a friend,” I answered in a curt voice. “Good day, sir.” Then we turned away and walked toward the market area, where a few less frightening people stood. A young man with dark hair observed the interaction from down the path, arms crossed. His brow furrowed as he watched the bearded man follow us.
“Ye smell like flowers. We don’ grow many flowers ‘round ‘ere.”
We walked faster, our footsteps exceeding even the rate of my heart. The man’s hand clamped over my shoulder, stopping us. I shrieked, striking him with my reticule. His eyes focused on it as it swung toward him. Then he snatched it from my hand and ran in the opposite direction, lumbering down an alley between two shops.
I slapped my hands over my mouth as shock enveloped me.
That reticule contained all our money for the next two months.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the younger man—the one who had witnessed the incident—run past us and around the same corner. Were they accomplices of some sort? I supposed Clara would understand, as she had read so many novels. I looked at her in panic, but she seemed just as confused as I was.
I heard loud voices and violent crashes from between the two shops. My heart pounded. What was happening? Another sickening crash was followed by a low grunt. Eventually the noises went away, and the air fell silent. Slow footsteps increased in volume toward us, and I gripped Clara’s arm harder, unable to move despite how much I wanted to.
The young man appeared, holding one hand to his bleeding nose. Blood soaked into the hem of his sleeve.
Clara tugged on my arm. “That’s the dashing hero.”
Was she still speaking of her ridiculous book? I shook her comment from my mind, focusing on the bleeding man’s swift approach. “Don’t come any closer!” I shrieked.
He scowled and rubbed his head with his other hand.
“We have nothing else for you to take!”
He stepped closer, eyebrows raised now. “You can’t be serious.” Then he laughed. Helaughed.“You suppose I went off and clobbered myself in the nozzle, do you? I was attempting to retrieve your reticule, you ungrateful—” He stopped and took a breath.
Clara and I exchanged a glance. I cleared my voice. “You expect us to believe that you didn’t intend to keep it for yourself?” I gave him an appraising glance. He wore clothing much more casual than I was accustomed to, with a worn leather coat rather than a wool one. His skin was tanned, with a cluster of freckles bridging hisnozzleas he had called it. A smear of blood beneath it made my stomach turn. He looked slightlyolder than me, but by five years at most. His hair was black like charred wood, with eyes the color of calm seawater. For a moment they shone with disbelief.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t just accuse me of such a low crime,” he said. His eyes appraised me right back, then moved to Clara. “A simple expression of gratitude would suffice.”
“I don’t see our reticule in your possession,” I said.
He took a step back and grumbled something under his breath. Clara quickly thanked him for his trouble, but I kept my mouth shut.
“We thank you most kindly, good sir,” Miss Bentford added with a shaky smile. “Your efforts were most valiant, indeed.”
The man gave his nose a final swipe, and I was relieved that the bleeding had stopped. I was weak-stomached when it came to such things. He narrowed his eyes at me for my silence but didn’t press further on the matter. Instead, he half-grunted, half-spoke. “Mr. James Wortham. You are new to Craster, I presume? What brings you here?”
He directed his questions at Miss Bentford, but she was clearly not as trained as I was in conversing with men beneath our station. It was also likely that she hadn’t rehearsed nearly as many lies as I had. Being in Craster under our current circumstances meant I would have to lie—and often. It was the only way to preserve our reputations for long enough to secure my earl.
I cleared my throat gently before raising an eyebrow to ensure that thisMr. James Worthamknew he was beneath my notice. There was no need to create false names or identities, only circumstances. “My name is Miss Charlotte Lyons, this is my sister Miss Clara, and our cousin Miss Bentford. We have recently arrived in town to visit a friend.”
“And who might that be?” Mr. Wortham asked.
