CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mara stood off to the side, patiently holding her single valise and waiting for the rest of the luggage from the other passengers to be loaded on top of the hired chaise before being allowed to board. An eerie sort of fog had descended over the Thames, and she tried not to think of it as a bad omen, but she couldn’t get over the prickly sensation that she was being watched. Several, quick glances about showed nothing out of the ordinary, no shadowy figures lurking alongside the inn or any other such nonsensical imaginings, so she had to assume it was all due to her own nervousness.
Naturally, Mara was torn about leaving London, for she hoped Roarke might soon send word about Bentley, but she had no other choice, for she was the only one who could get through to Lily, especially if her mind was confused. At least she could count on Lyra to contact her if necessary. She’d already promised to send word to the servants at Eversleigh Hall to be on the alert for anything suspicious.
“Here now, miss, will ye be boardin’ or not?”
Mara quickly snapped out of her reverie as she handed over her payment to the driver and climbed inside. She was the last one to enter the rather confined interior, and with an inward sigh, she managed to squeeze in beside a rather rotund, middle-aged woman. Three other passengers sat before them—an older couple with graying hair and a hunched over gentleman in the corner. She couldn’t decipher his age, for he’d placed his hat over his face and slumped down in his seat, obviously prepared to sleep the day away.
Likely a sailor suffering the ill effects of drink the night before,she mused. But surprisingly enough, when the driver cracked the whip to send the four horses into motion, the quick jerk of the carriage didn’t even gain a groan from his corner.
Slightly disappointed, Mara turned her attention to the other occupants, but when the woman beside her took out some knitting needles, and the couple across from her opened a pair of books, she decided that she could do with a bit of a rest herself. After all, it would be a long journey before she finally made it to Cornwall.
So, after getting as comfortable as she was able, she laid her head against the side of the coach and allowed the rocking motion to overtake her until she finally fell into a weary slumber.
Roarke had never been so uncomfortable in his life. He almost regretted the fact that he hadn’t merely followed the mail coach in his own comfortably sprung carriage, but then, he didn’t want to make itthatobvious he was following Mara.
Besides, he had a pretty good look at her sitting directly across from him. He decided that it was safe enough to push back the worn cap to steal a glance at her. His heart lurched in his chest when her head gave a slight bob. A strand of her golden hair had come loose from her simple bun, and he longed to brush it back over the delicate curve of her ear, but he knew such an action wouldn’t be met with gratitude.
It was bad enough when he’d asked his valet to procure him a set of plain street clothes, along with mentioning that he’d be riding the mail coach without any servants, did the man clearly eye him as if he’d gone completely mad. In his most calm and rational tone, he’d had to explain that the reason for such eccentricities was due to the mysterious messenger that had shown up asking after Miss Miller and his intentions to keep an eye on her to make sure she was safe. While Richmond wasn’t completely convinced of his master’s well-being, he nevertheless did as he was told. In the end, the man was even able to locate a pair of sad, leather boots that managed to fit Roarke rather well. Although they weren’t the polished Hessians he was used to, they worked well enough with his disguise.
One thing was certain, if Roarke never laid eyes on another suit of hideous brown wool in his life again, it would be too soon.
Then again, if it gained him the answers he sought, it would all be worth it.
Mara woke with a sudden start and immediately glanced across from her. She thought she caught sight of a pair of vaguely familiar eyes, but the man in the corner turned slightly away from her and tugged his cap back into place. She felt a thin whisper of dread crawl up her spine. Something about the stranger just didn’t set well with her, but seeing as how she had to endure his company for however long he was on the same coach, she could only hope that he might depart at the first stop.
Mara diverted her attention out the window, but unfortunately, it was so coated with grime that she couldn’t see much. With a sigh, she stared at the roof for lack of anything else to do until the woman beside her finally spoke up.
“If’n ye keep movin’ aboot like ye are, these stitches are gonna nae be worth a ha’penny.”
“I’m sorry,” Mara offered a small smile in the way of an apology. “I guess I’m just a bit restless.”
“Do ye knit?” the woman asked.
“I’m afraid I never learned.”
“More’s the pity,” she tsked. “My ma taught me when I was but a wee bairn back in Scotland. I suppose if ye be wantin’ somethin’ to do besides squirm aboot, I could teach ye a tack or two. Name’s Annie Grace.”
“I’m…Anna Smith,” Mara returned in greeting, deciding it was best to go with her nom de plume. “You’re very kind to help alleviate my boredom.”
“I’m just tryin’ to save me scarf,” Annie replied, although the gruffness of her statement was softened by a friendly wink. She handed Mara a ball of white yarn and another pair of long needles and began her instruction. “Now all ye have to do to begin is hold the yarn in yer right hand and cast-on like this…”
By the time the mail coach stopped to change horses and give their passengers a chance to rest up a bit, Mara was actually starting to enjoy herself. She might have even remained in the vehicle to continue her new hobby if it wasn’t for the fact her rumbling stomach reminded her that it was time for luncheon.
Mara held up the hem of her flowered muslin gown and cloak as she stepped to the ground. Thank God for Lyra and her generous loans as her wardrobe was still sadly lacking.
As the numerous, muddy puddles would attest, it had rained here the night before, and by the darkening sky and the thunder in the distance, it appeared that it might do so again. As it was, she had to hold on to her bonnet, lest the wind rip it from her head. The temperature had also seemed to drop, but that wasn’t highly unusual for mid-November. She just hoped the weather didn’t disrupt their progress, because she was anxious to get to Eversleigh Hall.
As she realized she wasn’t the last one to disembark, Mara glanced back over her shoulder at the strange man in the corner and would have said something, but when he emitted a soft snore, she decided it would be best to leave him alone. But since he would likely miss this opportunity to eat, her charitable nature rose up, and she promised herself that she would bring something back for him.
About a half hour later, Mara and Annie piled back into the coach to join the man in the corner, who hadn’t seemed to move an inch in all that time. The older couple had remained behind to be replaced with a mother and her young son, who was quite a bit more talkative than his predecessors. Mara would have guessed the lad at about eight years of age for he still wore short pants and carried a bilboquet; a popular ball-and-cup game. He tired of it soon enough, and his attention focused on Mara and Annie as they took out their yarn.
“Wot are ye doin’?” he asked as the coach took off once more.
Mara thought his curiosity rather endearing, but the woman beside him, likely his mother, didn’t think so, for she cuffed the boy on the side of the head. “Here now, quit botherin’ the ladies.”
He hung his head and appeared dejected after the scolding, even if his eyes might have told a different reaction. He certainly had a stubborn streak, and she doubted this was the first time he’d been in trouble.
