Page 62 of What a Widow Wants

Matthew walked around to the mews at the back of the house and entered the stable where he’d left his horse scarcely a quarter of an hour ago. A lifetime ago it seemed. Smiling and again affecting a nonchalant demeanor, he entered the stable.

A stable lad of about fifteen bounded up to him. “Can I help you, milord?”

“Yes, I believe you can. I left my horse a short time ago but my business is conducted so I need him now.” Matthew cast his gaze around as the rich familiar smells of leather, straw, and manure proclaimed a well-run establishment. “Where is Spartan?”

“The tall bay, milord? Harry’s walking him up and down the mews, cooling him down a bit.” The lad sounded eager to please.

Matthew hoped that was the case. He drew out a bright gold sovereign and began to flip it in the air. “You seem like a lad clever with horses. What’s your name?”

“William Carter, milord. They call me Will.” The boy tried to look him in the eyes when he spoke, but his gaze kept straying to the flashing gold coin.

“Will. A good, honest name. And you could tell me, Will, about the horses and carriages Lord Theale has, is that right?” A soft, interested tone worked wonders for gathering information. Of course, so did the sight of money.

“Oh, yes, milord. I’ve been with his lordship almost three years. You can ask me anything about his equipage.”

“I see these two large carriages here, so he must have at least six horses, I’d say?”

“Ten horses all told, milord.” Pride in his master’s wealth made Will’s eyes bright.

“Ten horses, indeed.” Matthew started down the row of stalls. “There’s a pair of grays, a pair of bays . . . these three blacks and a dappled mare.” Rubbing the mare’s nose, Matthew turned back to the lad. “But that’s only eight.”

“There’s two lighter grays out with the small carriage.”

“Ah. That explains it. I daresay Lady Theale is tooling about the park. It’s a brilliant day for it, if a bit chilly.”

“Oh, no, milord. Davies took Lady Stephen and her daughter out early this morning.”

“Did he?” The sovereign landed in Matthew’s hand and it was all he could do not to squeeze it in his fist. Damn Theale. Had he sent them away or had Fanny gone of her own accord? He held the coin out to Will. “Did Davies say where they were going?”

“Here we go, Will. I’d say he’s cooled down enough.” Harry had returned, leading Spartan. An older lad of perhaps twenty, he looked Matthew up and down, his gaze coming to rest on the coin in his hand. “What’s this, Will?”

Slowly, Matthew closed his hand over the gold and stared idly at the lad.

“Nothing, Harry.” Will grabbed the reins from the other groom and ran a sure hand over the horse’s flanks. “His lordship was waiting for his horse. Right as rain, milord. He’s fit for anything you set him at.”

“Very good, Will.” Damn, he’d been so close. Without the direction, however, he might just as well sit at home and wait for Fanny to call on him. She’d wanted to tell him something; the letter Theale had burned proved it. Why write if only to say “I’m going away, don’t follow me”? Now he might never know what had happened to her. Burning with frustration, he took the reins from Will and put his foot up in the stirrup.

“Beg pardon, milord, but you should see this place on your saddle girth.” Will’s eyes looked innocently up at him. Too innocent.

“Of course.” Hope dawning, Mathew hopped back down, following Will around to the far side of Spartan.

“I saw this worn place when you left him with us. Right here.” Will pointed to a perfectly smooth section of the leather girth. “I’m not sure what could have happened to it.” The boy lowered his voice. “They were heading for Copsale, Davies said. By the post road.”

Relief swept through Matthew and he drew a deep breath in thanksgiving. “Thank you so much, Will. I’ll postpone my trip and have that replaced today. Good lad.” Matthew flipped him the coin, and swung into the saddle. “Good day to you, lads.”

“I didn’t see no worn place.” Harry poked Will with his elbow.

“Then you need sharper eyes, Harry.”

Smiling, Matthew trotted Spartan out into the cobbled lane of the mews. Copsale was almost a day’s ride to the south and a bit east from London. The sun stood directly overhead now. If she’d left at first light she had perhaps a four-hour head start on him; if he was lucky only three, accounting for the stops to change horses. He could push the big bay a bit so at a canter he might overtake her before nightfall. If he did not, he had no idea with whom she planned to stay in Copsale. Little matter. Turning the horse toward the south, he set out at a brisk trot. If he had to knock on every single door in Copsale, he would find his lady and their child.

CHAPTER 27

Forcing herself to rise, Fanny peered down the road at the vanishing carriage. So help her if she ever saw Theale again she would haul off and slap him for doing this. A nice, meaty slap that would leave her handprint on his withered cheek for a good long while. The fanciful thought buoyed her for a moment, but grim reality lay all around her. She was stranded in the middle of a field, miles from either Southwater or Copsale, late in the afternoon of a cold day with a young child. Time for her hero to appear, like they did in those bad Drury Lane plays, just in the nick of time.

Where might her hero be? If Matthew had received her letter, might he not be pelting down the post road even now toward her? Despite the foolishness of the whim, she walked to the road and stared down it, looking for him. If wishes could come true she’d hear his hoof beats and he’d appear to sweep her and Ella up onto his white charger, just like in the children’s stories. Unfortunately, she had no idea that even if he’d received the letter he’d come to Copsale.

And then, of course, villains also might ride into sight. That practical thought sobered Fanny quickly and she headed back to her daughter. She must find some place for them to hide until Matthew, or some other kind soul, could come to their rescue. Kneeling down before the trunk, she opened it and began rummaging around.