*
Conscious of thelady in his care, Flynn was not happy with how things had gone. If only Ben hadn’t run the other carriage into a ditch and turned up with only one horse, they would have reached Canterbury in comfort and at a reasonable hour.
Flynn brushed aside bushes and crept to the window where lamplight shone out. Inside the stable, a lamp sat on a bench where the farmer bent over a horse lying on the straw. Althea had guessed right. A rifle was propped against the wall near him. Flynn didn’t wish to surprise the fellow and be shot through with holes for his pains. He walked cautiously through the door keeping his hands in view. “I’m pleased to find someone still awake at this late hour.”
Startled, the man glanced up. Flynn offered him a warm smile as the man grabbed his rifle. He leveled it at Flynn. “Who are ye? What do ye want?”
“Lord Montsimon. A carriage accident,” Flynn said. “Lady Montsimon waits with the horse.”
The man nodded cautiously. His keen gaze took in Flynn’s fine clothes. “Unfortunate, my lord.” He was a sturdy fellow, broad shouldered. “A cold night to be about. Bring the lady to the house. I’ll raise my wife to tend ye.”
“We will be most appreciative, thank you, sir,” Flynn said.
“Any one hurt? Servants, the carriage horses?”
“No. Only Lady Montsimon and I in the phaeton.”
“Very risky to ride about in the dark, my lord.” The man’s eyes turned sharp.
Flynn raced excuses through his brain. “We were returning home from visiting my wife’s mother. A fox startled the horse and the damn thing took off. We left the road, got lost, and the carriage ended up in a ditch. We are making for Canterbury where we have relatives.”
The man nodded.
“Could I borrow your cart? I shall pay you handsomely.”
The man shook his head. “My son has the use of the dray. Won’t return until daylight.”
Flynn stifled a sigh. “I wonder if we might await him here.”
“Of course. Ye are welcome to stay the night. But ye will find the accommodation less than ye are used to. I’ll stable your horse, and my son can drive ye to Canterbury after breakfast.”
“Kind of you. I’ll fetch Lady Montsimon.”
As Flynn made his way back to Althea, he realized he no longer thought of her as Lady Brookwood. She emerged from behind the tree straightening her clothes. “Oh! I didn’t expect you to be so quick.”
Even in the poor light, he saw her face redden. He tamped down a smile as he unloosed the reins. “We have a bed for the night.”
“And something to eat?”
He smiled at her hopeful voice. “I’m sure they can be persuaded to feed us.”
She tripped along beside him. He slowed; he’d forgotten how two of her steps equaled one of his. “There’s just one thing.”
“What?”
“You are Lady Montsimon.”
She stopped. “Why did you tell them I was your wife?”
“I could hardly say otherwise. These simple farm folk can be high-minded. Please try to hurry.”
“You might have said I was your sister.”
“We are nothing alike. And you’re not Irish.”
She shot him an assessing look. “I doubt they would notice.”
“I bet his wife would. Do you want a warm bed for the rest of the night or not?”
