That didn’t bode well. If the man was following them, the duke’s timely arrival would go far in keeping the villain at bay. It certainly shed new light on the situation. She let out a pursed breath. “I see. I suppose wecouldpretend I’m your mother.” She gave them her most diabolical smile. “It shall make things easier in administering any needed punishment. And, keep you from accidentally revealing my status.” She looked over the ill-fitting garments Lars had located from a trunk in the attic since Barrett hadn’t had luck in finding anything ready-made the day before. There would be raised eyebrows from the all-too-proper duke. “He’s going to believe the absolute worst of me,” she muttered under her breath. As if he didn’t already. “Come along then. But we shall have to pretend you are six. He saw me seven years ago.” She turned and started up the hill pleased, and relieved, to hear the two of them following.
~~~
Sebastian stepped out of his barouche and sauntered over to the carriage blocking the road. “I recognize this conveyance. It belongs to the Earl of Rivers.” That could only mean one thing—Lady Rebecca Thatcher was in the vicinity and already on her way to Dorchester.
The driver nodded and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow.
Sebastian glanced at the woman standing next to him. “Where is your mistress?”
Neither answered. His gaze flicked to a strand of trees that lined the road. Raindrops dripped from the leaves. They parted, spewing moisture in all directions, revealing a grown-up Lady Rebecca Thatcher. He caught his breath. She wasn’t tall but her confidence and forthrightness gave her a larger than life presence. She still hadn’t the slightest care for her appearance, he was annoyed to note. Her clothes were soaked through, her hair darker than he remembered due to the fact it was saturated with rain as she wore no hat, yet she wore elbow length gloves. The lady had no sense of fashion.
Still, seeing her after all this time was like being leveled by a cannon ball with a direct hit in his torso. God, had it been seven years since he’d last seen her? When his lips had found hers in the depths of a garden flush with fauna? Sweet and plump and pliant—er, when he’d pried her arms from around his shoulders in her clumsy attempt to force him to marry her.
The dampness on her skin gave it a translucence quality he recalled from the moonlight that had bathed her complexion. It had been a disastrous night for her.
She’d ambushed him in the gardens. No one had seen, thankfully, but the hem of her gown was damp from dew and some of her hair had escaped their coiled braids. Her cheeks had flushed as if she’d been running.
The memories pierced him as if this were the very morning after. Sebastian beat back the recollections with the force of an anvil and inclined his head. “Lady Rebecca.” He utilized his coldest, most ducal tone.
She curtseyed. “Your grace.”
“I hear you are to visit my wayward sister.”
“Er, yes. I received a note from Gabby, er, Lady Huntley just yesterday.” She moved off to the side and two boys ventured into sight.
“Yours?” he asked.
Her hesitation was so slight, he almost missed it. “My… sons.”
“What’s this?” He frowned, surprised at the shaft of disappointment that coiled through him. “I hadn’t heard you’d married.”
Her shoulders squared; she met his gaze head on. “I haven’t.”
A sharp gasp sounded from her maid, or the woman he now believed to be her maid.
Rebecca’s chin lifted and she spoke without an ounce of shame. “This is—”
One of the tow-headed boys stepped forward and bowed properly from his waist. “I’m Peter, Your Grace. This is my brother Percy.” After a nudge from Peter, Percy quickly followed suit, bowing as well.
Surprise flashed across Lady Rebecca’s face but was quickly masked. Their manners were impeccable. She’d taught them well, at least.
Even within the shadow of the trees, the resemblance between the boys was remarkable. They were twins. “It is my greatest pleasure meeting you,” Sebastian said, softening his manner.
Rebecca stepped forward, putting herself between him and her sons. “How fortuitous your coming along as you have, Your Grace.”
He bit back his annoyance at her less than subtle move. He may not approve of a woman having children out of wedlock, but he liked to believe himself a humanitarian. He’d voted in favor of limiting the number of hours a child should work in a day in 1819. Granted, twelve was too long, but he would continue the fight against the harshness of child labor. Still, he kept his expression impassive. Rebecca Thatcher was a wily devil. “You have a broken wheel,” he said.
A wry smile touched her lips. “Do you think so?”
One of the boys snickered.
Tension squeezed the tendons at the back of his neck. Of course it had to behimthat happened upon a stranded woman and her twoout of wedlockchildren instead of allowing that rickety cart he’d past on the road to reach her first. Alas, it was too late to leave her to her own devices now. Especially one so prone to trouble—hence the bastard children. Not to mention they were both destined for Dorchester.
His gaze slid to the two boys, but of course, she was blocking his view of them. He suppressed a groan. Clearly, he wouldn’t be able to drive straight through to Dorchester with his new passengers. Stifling a sigh, Sebastian addressed her driver and his own. “Let’s shift the luggage. The Wild Rose is up ahead. We should be able to garner assistance there. Once the wheel is repaired—” he walked over and ran his fingers over the break in the wheel, then looked at her driver— “or in this case, replaced, you can continue on to Dorchester for your mistress.” He turned in time to see a look pass between Rebecca and her children he couldn’t decipher but raised the hair on his neck.
“Help Barrett with the baggage,” she said to the boys.
“That’s not necessary,” Sebastian said. “They will only be in the way.”
