“How much?”
“Twenty pounds.”
“Good God, man. I can buy a horse for that price!”
The innkeeper snorted. “Not a very good one.”
Marcus scowled. The man did have a point. Unfortunately, he’d probably also caught a whiff of Marcus’s desperation. “Fine. Let me take a look at it then. If it suits, I’ll pay.”
Fifteen minutes later, he mounted the horse he’d paid for - a surprisingly fine young stallion - and bid Hannah farewell. They would meet again in Dover this evening, earlier than she and Louise initially planned. And since he’d not intended to go on horseback, the helpful maid offered to take one of his larger bags with her on the coach.
“Safe travels,” she called as he kicked his horse into motion.
“Same to you,” he shouted, and then he was off, merging into the rest of the southbound traffic, and making his way toward the Westminster bridge.
A hard jolt forced Louise awake and away from the lovely dream she’d been having. She clutched her satchel against her with one hand while gripping the railing with the other. A light rain had set in while she’d been asleep. Already, the water was damping her skirts. She’d not been prepared to ride on the outside of the carriage, had not thought to dress for it, and would probably catch a chill if the weather got worse.
Beside her, the coachman leaned forward, whipping the team of horses. With dark locks protruding from beneath the brim of his hat and a sharp look in his eyes, Louise believed him to be roughly twenty years her senior.
“When will we reach the next inn?” she asked as they barreled along, sticking to every bend in the road even when she feared they’d topple over. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Riding seemed far more precarious when one was perched so high up. Even the tiniest movement felt like a massive lurch.
“Six miles,” the coachman informed her, “according to the last post.”
Unable to think of anything else to say and with the distinct feeling he’d little desire for conversation, she kept quiet while additional drops of rain began falling. It wasn’t long before they were riding through what could only be described as a torrential downpour. Louise was soaked, her bonnet a useless contraption drooping over her forehead.
She shivered with cold.
“I can give you a blanket for a couple of shillings,” the innkeeper’s wife told Louise when they finally stopped for a change of horses. “Looks like you’re not quite prepared for the rigors of ordinary travel.”
“I’m not sure a blanket will help,” Louise said. “It’ll just get wet as well.”
“Right you are,” the woman said. “Come with me then for a few minutes. You can warm yourself by the stove until the coachman calls you.”
Grateful, Louise thanked the woman and followed her into the warmer kitchen. She sighed with pleasure as heat from the stove penetrated her icy fingers.
All too soon, however, the coachman announced their departure, forcing Louise back out into thedreary weather. She climbed onto her perch and settled herself beside him, noting with no small amount of envy that he now wore a greatcoat. Lucky bastard.
With a deft flick of his wrists, he urged the fresh team of horses into motion and onto the muddied road. It wasn’t long before they were once again racing along at the same precarious speed as before. Louise tried not to think of what would happen to her if they hit a rough patch and tumbled into a ditch. Her neck would likely snap on impact. Or the carriage would land on top of her and squash her flat.
Better to focus her mind on the cold, or on her reason for putting herself through this ordeal. If the alternative was a hasty marriage to the Earl of Scarsdale - of losing Marcus - then it was worth her present state of discomfort.
Even if it leads to influenza?
Yes. She’d rather take her chances with that than with her father.
A weak sigh escaped her. The problem was he didn’t understand her. In fact, it wasn’t possible for him to relate when he’d chosen duty over all else. To his way of thinking, nothing else mattered, which meant they would never see eye to eye on this issue.
The carriage whipped round a corner and in the next instant, hell descended. The horses reared, their swift change of pace from gallop to halt swinging the carriage sideways. The coachman yelled at the horses while screams from the rest of the passengers filled the air. And then they were toppling over and Louise was falling just as she’d feared she would do. The screams were buried beneath the sound of wood smashing against the ground. The horses cried out as they followed it down, but rather than breaking her neck in the melee or getting crushed, Louise met a soft surface with an indelicate thump.
“This one looks like she might be gentry,” a thick voice shouted while arms tightened around her. A woman’s agonized whimper came from somewhere nearby while a man cried out in pain.
“You bloody bastards,” the coachman seethed. Louise heard the distinct sound of a pistol clicking in readiness, and prayed the coachman’s aim would be true. “I’ll damn you both to hell and—”
Louise flinched in response to a silencing shot and instinctively closed her eyes. The woman who’d been whimpering started to sob while the agonized cries from the man who’d been hurt became a dull groan. Louise trembled as if in the grip of a fever and fought the urge to struggle.
“He would ’ave killed me,” another man said. “And besides, we agreed to no witnesses. In case ye haven’t noticed, yer face coverin’ came undone when ye caught yer prize.”
The horrifying click of another pistol froze the air in Louise’s lungs.
