That made him laugh, as they commiserated over their low circumstances.
“At least with the fine weather, we won’t hit no hasty puddings,” he added, which she understood to meanmuddy roads.
The footman kept up a string of prittle-prattle for hours, putting in his oar upon every subject imaginable, occasionally calling over his shoulder to get confirmation of some fact or story from the other man.
Glynnis thought she was paying attention until she awakened herself with a noise — something between a snort and a grunt — and only then realized her mouth had fallen open while she slept.
Glancing sideways at the footman, who was even then discussing buccaneers, she was relieved to see he hadn’t noticed. Her parasol had drooped along with her eyelids, and she raised it overhead once again.
“Hold up,” her Scottish companion suddenly said.
Glynnis thought he must be speaking to himself, for his command finally stopped his rattling tongue. Then she realized he was looking into the distance as he pulled on the reins, bringing the horses to a halt.
“What is it?” she asked, straightening her hat and peering forward.
“Could be a high toby,” the footman said.
“A what?”
“A land pirate, miss.”
Glynnis frowned.
“A rank rider, a rum padder,” he said. “In short, a knight of the road.”
He signaled to the footman behind. “A rider!” he called over his shoulder. “Get your barking irons.”
“His what?” she asked.
The footman sighed. “Am I speaking English, miss? His pistols. I have a brown Bess, so don’t you worry.” While he drew a musket from under his seat, he knocked her shoe with its long barrel, making her jump.
Oh dear!Lord Aberavon had told her of running into thieves on his journey. However, in his traveling coach, he’d been safely inside with a pistol pointed out the window, and his driver and footman had both been armed with rifles.
They waited as the speck of a horse and rider drew closer and closer. Her insides were quivering. In all her young life, Glynnis had managed never to be the victim of a robbery. And now, while traveling with priceless artwork from the Louvre, she might finally encounter that most exciting of creatures — a highwayman!
***
JAMES RECOGNIZED THEparasol before he could see the faces. And then Glynnis came into view next to his footman, Cuthbert.
What in blue blazes? On the other hand, how fortuitous!
He only hoped the talkative, high-spirited Scot didn’t shoot him before he could identify himself.
“Cuthbert, it’s Hargrove. Put away your weapon.”
When the man did as instructed, and even Glynnis had lowered her parasol, he cantered forward.
“What on earth are you doing with my artwork?” he asked her.
“I thought it belonged to the Duke of Wellington now?”
Confounded woman!Yet when she smiled, he noticed the sun for the first time in days, and a warmth spread through him. He grinned back and dismounted, hobbling the horse before walking around to Glynnis’s side of the wagon.
“Are you trying to sneak into Apsley House with the artwork and perhaps take up residence there? I believe you could pass yourself off as the loveliest statue in Wellington’s collection.”
“I was merely catching a ride to London,” she said.
Feeling relieved he didn’t have to duel for the lady, at least not immediately, he made a great show of looking around, searching.
