“There was no way to bar him into the barn.”
“You know what I mean. No need to give him all that fuel and a fresh mattress. A bit of discomfort is due him. And you told Mum to cook enough for him, which seems too generous to me.”
“He will hardly be amenable to our demands if he has been freezing, eating gruel, and sleeping on a bad mattress.”
“She has a point, Son,” Tom said over his shoulder while he maneuvered the wagon among the herd that now crowded them.
Jason bent to his bales. “Don’t be asking me to serve him, that’s all. I’ll not be bringing him meals, or playing his valet. You cater to his needs, Caro, since you think it so wise.” His expression told Caroline that he still didn’t like giving Lord Thornhill comforts of any kind.
She could expect nothing less, she supposed. Jason had taken the situation with Amelia very hard. He refused to blame her, which meant he had to blame someone else. Himself in part, for not watching over her better. Lord Thornhill mostly, since a gentleman should behave better. Jason and Caroline had been equals in play when they were children, but Amelia had been the younger sister who needed protection.
“That’s enough,” Tom said, turning to eye how many bales were left. All around them the horses ate, necks bent low. “If it turns colder the pond over the hill will ice and we’ll have to break it up. Looks to be a bad few days ahead. They should be fine until tomorrow, though.”
Caro’s gaze surveyed the little herd through the steady fall of snow. She lingered on an especially fine mare of dappled pale gray whose coloring blended with the landscape. Three years old now, Guinevere had the blood of champions in her and should be bred with a stallion of equal lineage come spring. The one that qualified in these parts was not available, however. At least not at a fee they could afford.
One more reason to dislike Thornhill and his family. She would think about every item on that list the next time he turned that disarming smile on her.
Chapter 3
With dusk came cold. Adam built up the fire. Enough snow had fallen that the hills shone white, reflecting the failing light.
Nigel would know he was missing by now. Would he raise the hue and cry or tell himself something very ordinary had happened?He probably nipped up to a chamber at the inn with some woman, and missed the coach’s leaving while taking his pleasure. If so, it would be another day at least before the full significance of that unaccompanied baggage was acknowledged. Even then he would never guess who had his cousin.
If he was right about where he was, he could walk to his cousin’s estate cross county in a day if the sun showed long enough to give him some sense of direction.
He had made the best of a bad situation all day, but as the light dimmed outside he began to consider that had been a mistake. These might not be typical criminals, but that did not mean he should make this crime easier on them.
He allowed his anger to rise. His food would come soon. One of the men would bring it up, he guessed. When that door opened and that fellow appeared, his hands occupied with the tray he carried, one push should send him sprawling. Once at a disadvantage, he would be easy to overcome.
Then, door open, stairs clear, a quick bolt to freedom. He’d take a horse from the stable and find a village, at least.
He hoped his coat hung on a peg along the way, of course.
Footsteps on boards outside the chamber. The scraping of that bar. He pressed the far wall and faced the door, ready to lunge when it opened.
Only a man did not kick it back. Caroline maneuvered the door while she balanced a tray. She noticed him at the wall.
“What are you doing? Preparing to overpower me?” She set the tray down on the bed. “Let us have it then. Do your worst.”
“My, you are suspicious.”
“You are coiled like a cat preparing to pounce.”
He shrugged off his intentions. “I was not expectingyou.”
“Obviously not. This is your dinner. It is quite good. I will tell the cook you send your appreciation of her efforts.”
He went over and peered beneath the white cloths. “That would be Mrs. Smith. Only that is not her real name. You might have chosen something more original.”
“Her name is indeed Mrs. Smith. She told you as much, after all. It is astonishing you think it isn’t, despite the evidence of your own ears.”
“She could not remember it at first when you introduced us. With a name a common as Smith, I think it would be hard to forget if it really were hers.”
“Anyname would be hard to forget if it were hers, don’t you think? Nor did she forget it. You flustered her, that is all.”
“So you say. I say you gave her a different name in an attempt to obscure her identity. If I am to play a role in this farce you are writing, at least show some creativity. Mrs. Pepperstone, for example. That would be a fine name.”
“You are all nonsense and that is a stupid name.”
