After an hour of listening to Roland discuss the changes he wouldmake to the estate and the household, which he considered badly run, she was thankful when dinner was announced. At the dining table, Prue toyed with a glass of red wine, angry that he planned to make so many changes and seemed unmoved by her father’s murder. The food turned her stomach. She forced down some of the oyster soup and picked at the meat—she would need to be strong—while listening to Roland continue to outline his plans. They sounded impractical, and she realized he had no knowledge of running an estate. Nothing he suggested would improve the lives of their tenants or the estate’s revenue. “Papa considered the steward, Mr. Fellows, and Mr. Smythe, the bailiff, to be very capable.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “They don’t do enough to warrant their exorbitant salaries.”
She longed to argue, aware of how wrong his ideas were, but resisted saying so. It would do no good and only make him angry. Instead, she discussed the succession houses. “We shall have an excellent crop of fruit for the summer.”
He looked pleased. It seemed wise to have him believe she’d begun to accept her situation. As soon as the flummery, which proved hard to swallow, was removed, she complained of a headache and returned to her bedchamber.
Thankful Roland had not asked her how she’d returned from Lord Bain’s, Prue curled up on the bed. If he knew, he would be sure to use that as an example of her recklessness. She plotted her next step while she waited for the hours to pass. When Allie came to assist her into her night things, Prue was forced to confide in her. If she didn’t, the maid would set up the alarm. She explained about her decision to go to Gramma in Richmond and made the maid promise not to reveal it to Nyland. She knew the butler could be trusted to keep silent but disliked placing him an awkward position.
“I will leave tonight. Don’t bring my morning chocolate until eleven, Allie. Tell Nyland that those were my orders. Say I had aheadache, had taken feverfew and wished not to be disturbed. I’ll hide my riding habit away in a box. At luncheon, go to Nyland and tell him you cannot find me. Say you first thought I’d gone for a ride before breakfast, as my riding habit had gone. But when I didn’t return, you grew worried.”
Allie’s soft, blue eyes were round with distress. “Ooh, milady, all on your own in the dark? That will be very dangerous. You canna travel without a male to escort you.”
“I shall manage.” She held the young woman lightly on the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Now, listen carefully, Allie. I want you to fetch my father’s greatcoat and hat from his dressing room. Fortunately, his valet has gone to London. The village is only eight miles away. And the stagecoach for the city stops there early every morning.”
“But you won’t be on the waybill, my lady. What if the seats are all taken?”
“There’s always room for a small person to squeeze in,” she said, hoping it was true. “I’ll take some jewelry to pay the coachman.” As she spoke, Prue went to the dressing table and opened her jewelry box. She drew out a garnet and pearl brooch she disliked and never wore along with a gold ring. “These will do.”
“But where will you go when you reach that big, dangerous city?”
“I’ll find my way to my great-grandmother’s home. Have I your promise not to tell anyone where I’ve gone? I am relying on you.”
Allie firmed her mouth, and her eyes flashed. “Not even if Mr. Stanton tortures me, my lady.”
“I am sure he won’t do that, Allie,” Prue said hastily. “Just say I left without telling you.”
“Very well, milady. I do hope you’ll reach your Great-Grandmama’s home safely. Some awful people travel by stagecoach. Why, my Aunt Millicent told me a horrible story about…”
“Yes, I know. I shall take a pistol from the gun room.”
“A pistol? Ooh. Nasty things! Do be careful!”
“I will be. Papa taught me to shoot. Now I need Papa’s coat and hat. Oh, and some gloves, and wait, I’ll need riding breeches too. I’d better come with you.” She would have to wear her own riding boots. Her father’s bedchamber was at the end of the corridor. His wire-rimmed spectacles sat on the table beside the bed. She tried them on. They were a fraction too big for her face but would make a helpful disguise. But after she struggled to see through them, she tucked them away to wear only if absolutely necessary.
Returning to her chamber, Prue packed a gown to wear at Gramma’s house in a valise. It was well past midnight when, having dressed in her father’s breeches held up by a sash, Prue shrugged on his greatcoat over the borrowed white shirt. Her father had not been a big man, and she was quite tall for a woman, but he was much broader in the shoulder. That couldn’t have been helped. The beaver hat was too large also, but when she pinned up her hair and tucked it beneath the hat, it stayed in place. Then she sent the reluctant maid to bed.
Prue sat fidgeting, waiting for the time to pass. Finally, at the sound of Roland’s bedchamber door closing on the same floor as hers, she waited for another half an hour to be sure he’d gone to bed, then she slipped out. A lighted candle held high to light her way, she went downstairs while avoiding the treads she knew from years of experience would creak.
An hour later, after she’d saddled a gelding aided by a small lantern, she urged the horse into a trot along the drive. Once well past the house, she urged him into a canter. Snugly dressed in her father’s greatcoat and hat, and her valise strapped to the saddle, a rise of exhilaration flooded through her as she rode on guided by the light of a sulky moon. She’d never ridden the big roan before, and he made his disgust at leaving the warm stable known as he sidled and tossed his head.
“Easy, Dancer.” Prue patted his glossy neck and spoke quietly tohim, and finally, he settled into a smooth rhythm. They cantered along the road toward the village. With luck, in a few hours, she would have reached the inn and later, boarded the stage bound for London. Freedom was within her grasp!
With still a few miles before she reached the town, Dancer pulled up with a decided limp. Muttering an extremely satisfying curse she’d heard stablehands use, she dismounted. The horse had cast a shoe. Prue groaned. She took hold of the bridle and walked with the animal along the road as the sky lightened in the east. Bone weary, her thighs and bottom aching, she would sell her soul for the comfort of a cup of hot tea and one of Cook’s raisin muffins.
Still not within sight of the village, Prue limped along with a rubbed heel while the horse, objecting, neighed and tried to pull away from her. The exhilaration of earlier had ebbed away because of the fear she’d be too late to join the stagecoach. Prue ran her bottom lip through her teeth and swallowed. Crying wouldn’t help. She mustn’t give up. At the clatter of horses’ hooves on the road behind her, she stopped; her breath caught, and her pulse hammered. Was it Roland? Had he found her gone and had come after her?
When the curricle came into view, she almost sagged at the knees with relief. It wasn’t Roland. The unfamiliar vehicle drew closer, drawn by a pair of fine gray thoroughbreds. A gentleman! She whipped the glasses from her coat pocket and donned them, peering through them at the distorted view. She might be able to get a ride to the village, with her horse tied behind. All was not yet lost. It suited her plans to leave the horse at the stables there and arrange for someone from Sedgwick Hall to fetch it.
The shiny, midnight-blue vehicle had reached her, the lanterns swinging, the superb horses snorting as the gentleman, who was alone, pulled on the reins.
“May I assist you, sir?”
Oh, no! Prue swallowed a groan. Despite the lack of a clear viewthrough the glasses, she recognized his broad shoulders and the deep timbre of his voice. Lord Hereford! She hastily tugged the hat lower on her forehead. He mustn’t discover who she was. He might insist on driving her back to Sedgwick Hall. Or worse, would he take her somewhere else and ravish her? Suddenly vulnerable, she stiffened as he leaned over to greet her.
*
The slight, odd-lookinghunched figure in the overlarge greatcoat looked decidedly out of place with that finely boned horse. Undoubtedly shifty. Especially as he hid his face with the brim pulled low.
