Chapter Twelve

Dru kept one eye on the innkeeper, and circulated amongst the passengers, whispering that if they were up for an adventure and could get to their seats, the coach would be leaving directly. One by one they escaped into the courtyard; she watched Mr Hendricks slipping pound notes to the stable hands to keep them quiet, carefully checking harnesses and blinders, examining wheels and making sure that all was at the ready. Then he hopped up into the driver’s seat without letting go of the ribbons. He took up the whip and waited.

She ran for the carriage and he whistled to her, offering a hand to swing her up into the seat beside him. He gave a quick snap of the reins—they were on their way.

They were gaining speed, heading for the end of the stones and the beginning of the open road. Behind them, the coachman came roaring out of the taproom, and she turned to see the man shaking a fist and swearing.

‘May I suggest you cover your ears, Lady Drusilla? I fear the man behind us does not realise there is a lady present. And head down, please.’ He reached over and forced her to duck as they went under the stone arch that marked the edge of the coach yard, then released her, letting her spring erect again like a bent reed.

She looked behind her at the rapidly disappearing inn, then in front of her, then at him again. ‘You drive four in hand?’ she said, unable to contain a gasp of feminine admiration that would have done Priss proud.

‘When I was a wag at Cambridge, I was considered the best of my lot at foolish stunts like this,’ he answered calmly, keeping an eye on the horses. ‘It will be more work for you than riding, but far more comfortable. And if you do as I say, we shall make quite good time. I expect we will find your friend within the hour. Then we shall see if Mr Gervaise is quite the man you remember him to be.’

That was an odd remark. She remembered Gervaise to be pretty, but soft and useless. She doubted he had changed a bit in three days. She glanced again at the man next to her, as he gave a smart crack of the whip to speed the horses. She sighed happily. Gervaise certainly would not have been able to drive himself to Scotland. She dared not tell her sister how they’d made the last leg of the journey. A man that could handle the ribbons as her Mr Hendricks was doing could likely dance as well. And manage an elopement without getting caught. When Priss learned of that, poor Gervaise would be out on the street and Hendricks would be left fighting to save his honour.

He cracked the whip over the horses’ heads again, and said, ‘Keep your reticule handy, my lady, for there are likely to be tollgates. It is up to you to pay, and to keep a watch on the passengers, while I manage the team. And if you can learn to blow the horn to warn oncoming traffic, as well? I think you will make an admirable guard.’

The wind was buffeting her bonnet, so she removed it and placed it behind her feet, letting the breeze blow the pins from her hair. The sun was touching her cheeks and there was a strong and handsome man at her side. It was bittersweet to think it was almost at an end. But the moment was glorious. So she smiled, and persuaded herself that it was a lark he’d arranged, just to amuse her. ‘Mr Hendricks, is there anything that you cannot do?’

‘It is a wonder what can be accomplished, if one only tries,’ he said, as modestly as possible. ‘And being born with fewer opportunities gives one reason to dare.’

As he stared down the road, his spectacles slipped down the bridge of his nose. And without another thought, she reached out a finger and adjusted them for him. Then she blurted the truth.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, tipping his head to the side to better catch the words.

‘It was nothing important,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I was wondering how fast we were going.’

As they took the next turn in the road, the carriage rocked dramatically to the side, and he slipped his arm around her waist for a moment to keep her from sliding off the seat. Behind him, she could hear the angry mutters of the passengers, and offered a silent prayer that they would arrive in one piece and hear no complaints about the inexperience of the driver.

‘We are going as fast as we are able and somewhat faster than the coachman would have gone. At least eleven miles an hour, I think. But do not worry, I will have us there safely.’

Dru gave him a satisfied nod, and turned her attention to learning the coach horn, afraid that she would speak again, where the road was quiet and he might hear the truth.

I love you.

She might have managed to turn the words into a statement of respect for his abilities, which were prodigious. But more likely she’d have clung to him like a foolish girl, and said it again with the sort of sheep-eyed expression that made her near to nauseous when she saw it on others. Now, at least, she could understand the reason for it and the idea that it really was possible to fall in a swoon of rapture, as she nearly had in the hayfield. She was in love with Mr Hendricks. And when he left her, she would weep as loudly as any girl in London.

They took another turn and she grabbed for his coat tails with one hand and raised the carriage horn to her lips with the other. The best she could manage was a gooselike squawk and not the sprightly tunes that some guards could play. But if there were obstructions in the way, it was better to give them some sort of warning and she must do her best.

Of course, puckering her lips on the mouthpiece made her think of kissing. And kissing would, now and for ever, make her think of Mr Hendricks.

In response to her grab for him, he caught her waist again and held her until danger was past. It was so like him that it made her want to cry in frustration. If he had not been there, every step of the way, smoothing her path, seeing to her comfort and making her happy, she would not be thinking such foolish thoughts now.

And none of it had meant anything to him. He was an employee. A servant. He had been doing his job. Her father would pay him, he would leave and that would be the end of it. Unless, of course, she went to her father and insisted that he be kept on in some permanent way, so that she could have his company whenever she liked.

Although what he would do, she had no idea. Father already had clerks and secretaries and stewards enough. And she could not exactly ask for a manservant of her own.

But he had assured her that what had happened last night had not been part of the position. It was instead the thing which they were both trying very hard not to speak of.

She was trying, at least. There was no indication in Mr Hendricks’s usually tranquil demeanour that it required any effort on his part at all. Even if she could convince Father to hire him, she could not keep him like a pet. He would have duties to perform. She would wander about the house, mooning after the man, hoping to catch sight of him, just as she would have cautioned Priss not to have done. And Mr Hendricks would continue to politely ignore it.

And when he found the wife he claimed to be seeking, a girl of modest expectations with a father who valued good sense over parentage, it would break her heart.

Hendricks nudged her; she let go with another feeble blast on the horn and dropped the required coins to the toll keeper. Then he gave a nod in the direction of a building on the horizon. ‘There is your inn. And still twenty miles to Scotland.’ He was pulling up on the reins and the carriage was slowing marginally.

‘Well done, Mr Hendricks.’ She put a hand on his arm and felt the muscles. They did not seem to strain to control the horses, but they were taut with the effort. Such strong arms, but gentle as they held her. She took a breath and let her hand drop away, pointing towards the courtyard, as though she still cared. ‘There is the carriage, plain and black, with a crest on the door. And there is our livery.’

‘Your livery?’ He’d tensed on the reins in a way that made the horses start and the carriage jolted at the sudden slowing of the pace.

‘Yes,’ she said, lifting her chin as though the truth was a small omission that should have been obvious to him. ‘It is my family’s carriage that we have been seeking.’

‘And you could not have mentioned this before?’ he said. ‘For when I asked about it, in all the inns between here and London, another detail would have been a welcome aid.’

‘I did not want to run the risk of someone identifying the crest,’ she replied. ‘The fewer people that realise the identity of the couple, the better.’

‘But, apparently, I could not be trusted with the information.’ There was definitely reproof in his voice.

‘A few days’ acquaintance is hardly a reason to take someone totally into confidence,’ she said.

‘Of course not. What reason would I have to expect such intimacy? My lady.’ Her title was added as an ice-cold afterthought, to make it plain that she had been badly mistaken if she thought him unmoved by recent events.

He cracked the whip for emphasis. ‘Now do you mean to tell me, before we arrive, how Mr Gervaise came to be riding in your father’s carriage? Or is it to be a surprise? Speak quickly, for we are almost in the courtyard.’

He was right. There was no reason to keep the secret any longer, for he would know the answer the moment they saw Priss. ‘Mr Gervaise is riding in my father’s carriage, because he has eloped with my sister, Priscilla.’

The horses broke their gait and a cry of complaint went up from the passengers. And then, all was right again, and they were slowing to an orderly stop in front of the inn. ‘Speak to your coachman, to make sure he does not leave. He is your servant and will do your bidding, just as I have. And then, tend to your sister. I will speak to your precious Mr Gervaise.’ And before she could say another word to him, he was out of the seat, handing the ribbons to the stable boy and stalking towards the door of the inn.