“The very same. Miles of it, in fact.”
“Can we go swimming?” Arthur asked, his earlier sullenness forgotten.
“Autumn is a bit chilly for swimming, but if Miss Winslow will allow a quick dip, I have always thought cool water hardens the constitution.”
The boys exchanged excited looks, already chattering about what they’d do at the beach. Miss Winslow smiled, clearly relieved by the shift in mood.
Morgan straightened, watching them with a mixture of affection and relief.
The beach excuse was partly true. The boys would love it. But the real reason was far more practical. Fewer distractions in Sussex. Fewer social obligations. Fewer opportunities for him to neglect his nephews while buried in parliamentary business or dragged to yet another tedious ball.
A month. He could manage a month in the country with Ambrose’s nephews.
“Go on, then,” Miss Winslow said gently, ushering the boys toward the stairs. “Let’s pack your things. We’ve a journey ahead of us.”
The twins raced off, their excited voices echoing through the hall. Miss Winslow followed at a more sedate pace, throwing Morgan a grateful look over her shoulder.
Morgan stood alone in the entryway, hands in his pockets, mentally preparing himself.
One month. Two seven-year-olds. A country estate.
How hard could it be?
The countryside stretched endlessly on either side of the road, fields of green and gold rolling beneath a pale blue sky.
It should have been peaceful. It should have been exactly what Eliza needed after days of riding, of looking over her shoulder, of jumping at every single sound.
Instead, it was a disaster.
Rosie stumbled again, her gait jerky and uneven. Eliza felt the shift immediately and pulled the reins gently, bringing the mare to a halt.
“Easy, girl,” she murmured, dismounting quickly. “Easy.”
She ran her hand along Rosie’s neck, soothing her, then crouched to examine her hooves. The problem was immediately obvious. The front left shoe was gone.
“Oh no.”
Eliza’s stomach sank. She scanned the road behind them, but the shoe was nowhere to be seen, lost somewhere in the last mile, probably.
She straightened, looking around. Fields. Trees. A narrow dirt road that stretched in both directions.
No inn. No village. No help. Too far to go back to the inn in Sussex she had stayed at. Too far to push forward to the position she sought at Kirkhammer Hall.
Eliza pressed her hands to her face, frustration welling up inside her and tightening her chest. She’d been so careful. So cautious. And now this.
“I’m so sorry, Rosie,” she whispered, stroking the mare’s nose. “This isn’t your fault. It’s all right. We’ll figure this out.”
But her heart was racing. She was stranded in the middle of nowhere, exposed on an open road.
What if someone came by? What if they recognized her? What if word somehow got back to London that a young woman matching her description had been seen wandering the Sussex countryside?
She glanced up and down the road again, her pulse quickening. No one.
Not yet.
I can’t stay here forever…we will catch a chill, starve, die of thirst!
Yet her only option was to wait. She hoped that whoever came along was willing to help, and not ask too many questions.
