IT WAS A MISTAKE. Vanessa knew it even as she agreed to ride north with the handsome man whose coach had been attacked. Her guards would be annoyed because she’d refused to allow them to ride alongside her. But the man and his ward were interesting and had supplied the first little bit of excitement to what had been an uneventful journey so far.
Besides, by yelling her reply to the man’s invitation, she’d let her guards know that it was her decision to follow the coach and its occupants. It might be a silly way of communicating, but she was sure it had worked.
She had been surprised when the two huge Highlanders, brothers who looked like a pair of mean bears, arrived the day before she was to leave for England. She rarely argued with her father, but this time she did. He’d hired them to accompany her to her mother’s house in Cheshire. She was certain she could protect herself and didn’t need them. But William was adamant, saying, “I’ll never sleep a wink again for worry if I don’t know you have protection in case you need it.”
She’d finally agreed, but with her own stipulation that the Highlanders keep their distance from her during the day and guard her discreetly at night.
As the coach started off down the road and she urged Snow to follow it, she glanced at the trees on the right, looking for a flash of bright-colored plaid. Nothing, not a single movement as far as she could see. Then she remembered the two guards were no longer wearing their usual tartan garb. It wasn’t her idea that they not wear their kilts into England, not a’tall. She’d admired the fine muscular bodies of many a young Highlander while she’d lived in Scotland. It was William who didn’t want the guards drawing extra attention to themselves. She probably would have enjoyed their company, but she wanted to make this journey on her own. It would be her last taste of freedom and independence for a while. The guards certainly were abiding by her wishes, and she would have only the occupants of the coach as traveling companions until she turned off the north road to ride west to Cheshire.
She wondered about the duo in the coach. The boy’s hair was unusually long and not only curly but such a bright gold, women might be envious of it. Nor was it tied back as hers was. His clothes were ridiculously gaudy. It would be preposterous to think the gems he wore were real, obviously they weren’t. The man was dressed like a gentleman or a lord, wearing a dark gray greatcoat over a blue jacket, but oddly no cravat. She’d caught a glimpse of a scarf or a length of linen around his neck that had flapped in the breeze and could be made into a cravat. She might be wearing male garb of good quality herself, but she drew the line at wearing a cravat, even though most gentlemen wouldn’t be seen without one.
The man’s hair was dark auburn. She’d noticed reddish streaks in it when he stood in the sun. It was longer than hers, which she had a devilish time tying back at its current length, but he hadn’t clubbed his, leaving it to float about his wide shoulders. He had a strong chin, a narrow nose, dark emerald eyes. She found his face fascinating and had let her eyes linger on it more than once, blushing when she’d caught herself staring at him too long. She could blame her sheltered existence in the Highlands, and yet she and her father had both traveled, going often to Fraserburgh. But the simple fact was, she’d never come across a man so attractive that she wondered if he might be the rare one who would sign a contract so she could bed him, well, marry him . . . She laughed aloud, what fanciful nonsense was that?
She’d been alone too long, that’s what. She missed having someone to talk to. She should have just ridden in the coach with them. Acting on that thought, she rode closer to the open window to start a conversation but heard one in progress. . . .
“The names we’ve been assigned in this note aren’t that bad,” the man was saying. “Lord Montague Hook for me, not one I would have picked, but calling me Monty will get a quick response. And you are Lord Charley Bates, so a Charley, after all, which you seem to be answering to just fine— Oh, I get it, hook and bait, George was trying to be amusing, apparently. While it isn’t necessary to tell our hosts a single thing about ourselves—”
“Why not?”
“Because our sojourn is to be a secret. They are aware of that and are accepting us as guests as a favor to the Regent, and everyone loves to do favors for George, whether they’ve met our next king or not.” A deep laugh. “Even me—well, I didn’t love it, but I didn’t mind it. However, because of your grand wardrobe—”
Vanessa was surprised that they knew the Prince Regent and wondered why they weren’t using their real names. What had she stumbled upon—two men involved in a secret mission for the Crown? Her boring journey had just turned exciting!
“—we might need to drop at least one falsehood to explain your extravagant clothing,” the man continued. “Compensation for your parents’ absence? They lived in Vienna enamored of the social whirl, while you were stuck in the country with servants? Missed birthdays, etcetera, lots of guilt on their part, so they lavished you with coin, and being furious with them, you squandered it all on a ridiculous wardrobe. How’s that sound? Too close to the truth?”
“Suit yourself,” the boy said in a petulant tone. “I don’t like telling lies.”
“Sure you do. I did m’self at your age, so did my brothers, so did my sisters.”
“You are lucky to have siblings.”
“You have none a’tall?”
“Three died young, only I survived.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I was lucky to have so many. As the youngest, I bloody well was rarely heard, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
“Runt of the litter? Surely you can grasp that concept, the little one gets ignored or pushed around, never wins? By the by, I suppose I should have asked, are you pleased to have a playmate for this journey?”
“Kings don’t get to play,” Charley said in a tone that sounded indignant yet also like a complaint.
The man taking the name of Monty replied harshly, “We might be alone for the moment, but that nonsense about being a king ends here, and don’t make me say it again. You need to get yourself in line, boy. For the duration, consider yourself an actor in training, one who has no delusions of grandeur. And no more bloody snits, either!”
Silence followed, but she imagined the two in the coach were glaring hotly at each other. And she wondered who was telling the truth, the boy who claimed to be a king, or the man who claimed the boy was delusional. She sided with delusional, because it was insane for a king to travel with only a single guard, no matter what country he was from.
Vanessa pulled up to let the coach get ahead of her again. She couldn’t try to talk to them now when they would think she’d been eavesdropping, and rightly so. And although she was smarting a little at having been called a “playmate” for the conceited boy, which she most certainly wouldn’t be, she was amazed at her luck at running into acquaintances of the Regent who were obviously on some clandestine mission. She might just have an adventure to recount to her sisters when she got home.
Maybe going to London hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. If she hadn’t gotten so nervous about reuniting with her mother and turned away from Cheshire in favor of a visit to her father’s house in London, she wouldn’t have encountered the odd duo. But London had disappointed her. She wondered why anyone would go there for a Season. It was so smoggy her eyes had burned, and the streets had grown more and more congested with each block she passed. Every vehicle imaginable seemed to be leaving the city at that time of day. By the time she and her guards had managed to ride out of the daunting city, it had been dark and too late to look for an inn, so they’d slept outdoors—the first time they’d done that since crossing the border.
Maybe now, with the amusing distraction of her new traveling companions, she wouldn’t feel so nervous about going home. She would veer northwest to Cheshire when the time came. Better to get the unpleasant reunion over with soonest. Her anger would surface; her mother’s rage would also rise because Vanessa had chosen Papa instead of her and had run away to be with him. That was the truth, and she’d own up to it. She knew the other truth, too, and Kathleen Blackburn wouldn’t be able to deny that she was to blame for breaking up their family.