There was a group of women in the main room gossiping around a table as she and Beckett left. Mr. Stimson called out his farewell.
The day was remarkably clear after last night’s rain. Gwendolyn was charmed at how quaint the village was. The cottages were small but the gardens very tidy. They had been fortunate in stumbling into it last night.
A ramshackle post chaise stood waiting for her. The horse was not slick or particularly well fed. The postillion appeared to be a farmer’s lad.
“I’m sorry. This is the best I could manage,” Beckett said.
“It’s fine,” Gwendolyn said. She ran a hand over the repair seam at one shoulder of his jacket. His neckcloth had disappeared at some point during their adventure. “Please—” She paused, almost overcome. She forced herself to finish. “Take care.”
“I will.” He caught her gloveless hand and gave it a kiss. “This will be over soon. I will come as soon as I’m able to your sister’s house.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
He gathered her in his arms and swept her into a deep, promising kiss. And she didn’t care who saw them.
Beckett helped her into the vehicle. “Have faith, Gwendolyn.”
She nodded, and then, because protracted goodbyes would only make her seem needy and burdensome, she sat back on the hard, cracked leather bench of the coach.
The postillion hopped on the horse. “Keep the shades down,” Beckett warned her.
“There won’t be any dust after last night’s rain,” she argued. Besides, this vehicle didn’t have anything as fine as shades. Instead, the windows were covered with an unrolled flap of leather. It would make the inside of the coach as dark as Hades... something that might fit her mood.
He shook his head, but he was smiling. She waved an assurance, and she and the driver left.
They were only three hours from London. Perhaps four. The trip with Lady Orpington had seemed forever because they’d had to stop for Magpie. Gwendolyn didn’t wish to stop. Shewanted to curl into a ball and let time speed by until Beckett came for her.
She ate the sandwich. She was actually very hungry. She even drank most of the cider.
To her frustration, with a single horse drawing the vehicle, they did not travel fast, and the driver was not in a hurry.
At some point, she dozed. She’d agreed to keep the flaps drawn as Beckett had asked, and so she did. However, not having open windows meant the post chaise was a touch too warm. Between the closeness and not having much sleep, a nap was an easy choice.
She came awake to find the vehicle had stopped moving. She heard male voices. She had thought she was dreaming them.
Gwendolyn wasn’t.
She peeked out around the leather shade. Two armed riders had stopped her carriage. One was giving the driver a coin while another moved toward her door.
And Gwendolyn knew she was about to be kidnapped again. She reached for the door on the opposite side of the post chaise. It jerked open on its own.
Standing there in riding clothes was the Middlebury butler. She had to think to remember his name. Nathaniel.
“Please come with us, Miss Lanscarr,” he said.
Chapter Nineteen
Beckett had watched Gwendolyn leave with both relief and regret.
Sending her back to her family was the right thing to do. He’d made a grave error in judgment when he’d enlisted her help. She had met Lady Orpington’s needs—a card sharp with the air and grace to fit in with the Colemore’s other guests. However, he had not anticipated his enemies would lash out at her. Or that he would learn of hidden memories and a murder.
His letter to Lady Middlebury had asked her to meet him that night at ten o’clock at the cottage by the river. It turned out Colemore was only an hour or so cross-country from where he was now.
He looked forward to clearing the air. He had questions; she had answers. He wished to secure her promise that Gwendolyn would always be safe. In return, he would tell her he had no designs on the title or the estate.
Then there was the question of justice. He believed he had avenged his mother’s death whenhe’d killed Winstead. But what of the one who had ordered the henchman to commit the deed?
Beck wasn’t certain what road he wished to take. He trusted his instincts and the belief he would make the right decision once he understood the full scope of what had happened that afternoon years ago.
