“I daresay a nice stipend would ease her grief, what with another mouth to feed coming along! These are trying times.” Mr. Brill put in.
“Poor lass,” murmured the young woman beside Caroline, who had shyly introduced herself as Miss Louisa Best. Caroline had yet to see Miss Best’s face around the broad brim of her plain straw bonnet, since she kept her eyes downcast. Her brief comment marked the first time she’d spoken since she’d murmured her name to her fellow passengers by way of introduction.
“I myself am bound for York,” Brill declared, offering no further details. He fixed Miss Best with a curious stare, like a magpie sighting something shiny. “And where are you traveling to, Miss Best?”
“Scotland,” she replied. “I’m going to be governess to three young ladies of quality, to teach them English manners.”
Mrs. Hindon gasped, and Mr. Scroop coughed. Brill chuckled. “Manners, eh? You’ll be hard-pressed to do that, I daresay.”
“Barbarians!” Mrs. Hindon said, pressing a hand to her vast blue bosom in horror. Caroline swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Hadn’t the gentleman who’d assisted her been a Scot?
“Scotland is no place for a decent Englishwoman,” Scroop pronounced, like God giving a commandment.
“Why? What have you heard?” Miss Best squeaked out the question that hovered on Caroline’s own lips.
Mrs. Hindon made a frightened mewl and widened her eyes as she looked to the men to explain.
Mr. Brill leaned forward. “They don’t wear clothes, for a start. Well, not clothes as you and I know them.” He held up a hand as Mrs. Hindon gasped. “I know ’tis an indelicate topic, but it’s the truth. They dress in rags, and eat their meat raw, or they eat oats, like horses.”
Caroline frowned. Her grandmother had told her stories of Scotland. Though she’d died when Caroline was very young, Caroline didn’t remember any mention of raw meat or naked savages. Her grandmother had spoken of meadows blooming with heather, fast-flowing rivers filled with salmon, and—
“If we English had not put down Bonnie Prince Charlie’s rebellion all those years ago, and forced a modicum of civilization on the Scots, I daresay they’d be completely wild by now,” Mr. Scroop said, shutting his book, and concentrating on giving Miss Best the benefit of his opinion.
“But I have a letter from a countess, a real countess, who lives in the Highlands. She writes well enough.” Miss Best opened her reticule and fumbled for a folded letter, which she held out like a talisman.
Scroop sniffed, declining to touch it. “She likely had a proper English cleric write it for her. The Scots can’t read and write like we do. They don’t even speak English outside of Edinburgh, and even there, they maul and molest our language until it’s nearly gibberish!”
Caroline recalled her rescuer’s soft Scottish burr. He’d been perfectly understandable, and he was certainly kinder than either of these men. She noted the hard light of malice in Scroop’s eyes, the dull ignorance in Mr. Brill’s. Indignation heated her skin. They were frightening Miss Best. She watched the young woman put the letter away with shaking fingers.
In fact, they were frighteningher. Caroline bit her lip. Had she made a terrible mistake? She should have stayed in London. Perhaps she could have talked Somerson out of making her choose a husband yet, pleaded for time. Her Scottish rescuer hadn’t said anything about the terrors of Scotland. Of course, he was expecting her to have an escort, a bridegroom, who would marry her quickly over the anvil, then bring her straight home again to England.
She bit her lip and stared out the window at the passing scenery. She’d made an impulsive decision that could affect the rest of her life, something that could result in a far more tragic future than she’d face as wife to Speed or Mandeville. She’d trusted a stranger on the street and rejected the counsel of her own half brother, an earl and a gentleman. She held her breath. She should turn back, go home, apologize, and marry as she was expected to. She considered her choice again, and shuddered.
She shut her eyes, wondering what her Scot truly looked like, trying to conjure a kind face out of a shadowed cheek, a fragment of dark brow, and a single gleaming eye. Hehadbeen kind, and she was determined that he should look so, and be exceedingly handsome as well. She imagined a smiling countenance with blue eyes and auburn hair—or perhaps brown eyes and dark hair?
Beside her, Miss Best swallowed audibly, holding back tears. Caroline laid a hand on her arm. “Surely it isn’t as bad as they say. The Rebellion of ’45 was long ago, and Bonnie Prince Charlie is gone,” she soothed. “My grandmother used to tell me stories about Scotland, and there wasn’t a single mention of—”
Another gasp of horror filled the coach. “You’re a Scot?” Mrs. Hindon warbled, as if she feared Caroline was about to produce a claymore from under her cloak and murder everyone present, starting with her.
“No, I’m English!” Caroline said quickly.
“And where are you traveling to?” Mr. Brill asked.
Caroline swallowed. “To Sc-Scotland.” This time the word rolled awkwardly off her tongue, and a tidal wave of doubt swept through her belly.
Mr. Scroop’s brows lowered suspiciously. Mrs. Hindon gasped. Mr. Brill laughed coldly.
Miss Best turned to stare past her bonnet at Caroline. “Have you been there before?”
Caroline swallowed. “No.”
“Then why go now?” Mrs. Hindon demanded. Everyone looked at Caroline, fixed their eyes on her like hungry vultures eyeing prey, someone weak, vulnerable, and far from home, where she should have had the good sense to stay.
But her future, whatever it might be, lay ahead. Of that she was certain. The tidal wave receded. She could hardly admit that to her fellow travelers, or tell them the truth.
“I’m going ...” Caroline racked her brain for a story they’d believe. “I’m on my way to—” Another hard jolt cut off her words.
“That was a bad one!” Brill said, but the passengers were watching Caroline, waiting for her to answer. She felt a bead of sweat slip between her shoulders. “I’m going to a wedding!” she managed. Hadn’t her rescuer assumed she was eloping?
