Chapter 3
Amelia’s heart hammered. She expected her father to grab the door handle and pull her from the coach. Nothing happened except that the three other inside passengers greeted them in varying degrees of surprise and annoyance. “Mighty tardy, sir!” “Almost missed the coach. Can’t expect us to wait!”“You left it a bit late, my dears.”
There was no time to answer before Amelia was jerked back against the leather squab as the coachman set the horses faster on their journey. She twisted in her seat to look back at her parents’ carriage, while her rescuer nodded to all around and begged their leave for the hold-up.
There stood her father, riven to the spot beside the door she had exited. He wasn’t ordering his driver to follow them. Her mother half leaned out the carriage door, also immobile. As she watched, her father slowly climbed back inside. “What are they doing?” she asked her rescuer, who had taken the seat opposite and was propping his walking stick beside the door and stowing a valise on the floor.
He lowered the window and slanted his upper body out to see. “Turning the horses in the opposite direction.” He closed the window and smiled at her.
“They’re not coming after me?” She hugged the bandbox on her lap.
“It appears not. You’ve given them the slip.” He stared at her. “Your parents?”
“Yes! But why would they not follow me?”
He raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “Have you no idea?”
“No, I do not. Unless they realised that I’m on my way to Aunt Lavinia.”
“Well, this is the Bath-bound coach.”
“Yes, but it still doesn’t make sense for them not to give chase.” The search for a logical answer ricocheted through her mind.
He gave her a reassuring smile.
She gave up the question for now and sagged back against the seat. “I must thank you for your assistance again, Mr ...” She must know his name now.
“Ah, Wells … Adam Wells. And you are?”
“Miss Amelia Fortescue.”
“A pleasure.” He raised his hat in acknowledgement.
“Why did you help me?”
“I was touched by your tale of being forced into a marriage not of your choosing. That should not happen. To blight two or more peoples’ lives with such a mismatch should not be permitted.” He gave a disapproving frown.
“I’m so glad you agree with me, and were willing to help me escape that fate. I did not realise you were bound for Bath as well.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“How long will it take?” she asked.
“It’s about four hours’ travel from here.”
“You have business in Bath? You said nothing about catching the coach when we spoke earlier.”
“An unforeseen task arose, requiring a brief trip to Bath.” He seemed disinclined to make any further comment, so they lapsed into silence.
The stage had run from London, and its occupants must have been tired from the day’s travelling because soon heavy breathing and snoring filled the coach. Mr Wells glanced up at her from the book he had pulled from his coat pocket to read. A smile, in acknowledgement of her horror at the rumblings of their companions, flicked across his face before he resumed his reading.
“Do you travel by stage coach often, Mr Wells?” she enquired.
He closed his book and looked at her. “Very infrequently, Miss Fortescue. Generally, I travel in my own vehicle.”
“You have a carriage, sir?”
“A very comfortable one.”
