Mara stood. “Because if I’m going to catch the mail coach at the George Inn at Southwark, I should start packing. It leaves rather early, if I recall, so I should hurry if I’m going to make it to Cornwall before she does.”
She started to go, but Lyra grabbed her arm. “You know I would go with you if I could, but I’m supposed to go to Weston Manor on Friday and…”bury Roger.The words were left unsaid, but were there, nevertheless. “At the very least let me send along one of my maids…”
“This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ridden in that black and red carriage without an escort, and I daresay it won’t be the last. Besides, it can be rather cramped.” Mara shrugged. “At least you won’t have to fret about any highwaymen. Ever since Dick Turpin was caught and hanged nearly a hundred years ago, they have been rather scarce since.”
When it was apparent her attempt at humor had failed, the expression on Lyra’s face utterly fearful, Mara took her hands and clasped them between her own. “Everything is going to work out.”
“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Lyra tried to smile, but it wavered. “Just please, be careful.”
Mara reached out and gave her a hug. “I promise.” She added somberly, “I’m just sorry I won’t be there for your husband’s funeral.”
Lyra’s lips thinned. “Oh, I’m sure putting him in the ground will be the easy part. It’s what I may have to deal with when it’s all over that truly concerns me.”
