Lucy issued orders through the coach window. “Evan, I need you to ride ahead and ensure all will be ready for our arrival.”
Evan’s brow creased, but he nodded his assent. Why the displeasure? Evan was normally only too happy to do her bidding.
Sliding over to the other side of the coach, she pulled back the curtain. “John, whatever is the matter with Evan?”
“Beg pardon, my lady?”
“Why was Evan surly when I asked him to ride ahead?”
John peered into the coach, eyeing Carrington, alluding that a relationship had blossomed between her and Evan. It had never occurred to Lucy that Carrington might one day marry. She had assumed that she and Carrington would become spinsters and grow old together. Did Carrington wish for a family? How selfish of Lucy to have never asked.
Lucy considered children blessings. She often had dreams of raising a large brood, but for that to occur, it would require her to be married first. She could not fathom any gentleman of her acquaintance allowing her to continue the various activities that she believed essential. Why then did Blake’s name come to mind?
The coach rolled to a stop before the Lone Dove. Lucy pulled out her pocket watch. Pleased to see she had plenty of time to spare, she smiled at the innkeeper, Mr. Barnwell, as he came out to greet her. Taking his outreached hand, she alighted from the coach.
The man’s cheeks were flush as he gushed, “My lady, it is extremely good to see you. We have a chamber ready for you.”
Lucy gave Mr. Barnwell a broad smile and preceded him into the inn. During daylight hours, the Lone Dove appeared more than respectable; however, as soon as the sun set, the inn began to fill with a number of interesting patrons. On occasion, Lucy had visited during the darkened hours. It was during these trips that she had been introduced to an entirely different set of society. Over the years, she had formed friendships and traded advice with pirates, naval captains, opera singers, Cyprians, hell owners, crime lords, and Bow Street Runners. Today, none of her acquaintances were present, only weary travelers.
After being shown to her room, Carrington assisted Lucy out of her traveling gown and helped her don breeches and a ruffled lawn shirt she hid under a riding habit. What would Blake think of her attire? How would he react if he found out about her association with the Home Office? She hadn’t shared such information with Matthew. Theo was the only soul she had ever confided in. Lady Theodora Neale, her childhood best friend, was like a sister. Theo was always willing and able to provide her with an alibi for her disappearances. Theo’s support had allowed Lucy to accomplish many a mission without raising Matthew’s suspicions.
Distracted by the growling of her stomach, Lucy was overjoyed when a tavern maid scratched at the door and, upon her command, entered with a tray. Carrington eyed the contents of the tray as the maid slipped out of the room.
“Mmm. Carrington, doesn’t it smell delicious?”
Carrington peered at the bowl made from bread, filled with a hearty stew. “I would have ordered a light repast.”
“Evan did his best.”
Carrington snorted. Strange—the two were usually inseparable and in accord. A lovers’ spat. Her earlier suspicions were confirmed, for that was the only logical explanation for Carrington’s volatile behavior.
Lucy sat at the table near the window and let her mind wander as she consumed the meal before her. She was back in the countryside, racing her mare and jumping over hedges. She could feel the wind biting her cheeks and the rhythmic beating of hooves.
She loved the freedom of the country, yet her work and her causes required her to often venture to London. Combined with the fact that Matthew had an obligation to attend the House of Lords, their family tended to reside in Town longer than most. He was committed to the fight for universal suffrage, as their papa had been. While Matthew gave the appearance he had taken on his role as the head of the family with ease, she sensed he was heavily burdened. This was in stark contrast to their mama’s transition to widowhood eight years ago. Their mama had been pregnant at the time of their papa’s death and had chosen to retreat into solitude. Even after the birth of their younger brother, Edward, Mama had remained reclusive, never attending social engagements and preferring the sanctuary of her rooms.
It was silly of Lucy to continue to associate Town life with her papa’s demise. Her papa had been attacked and knifed by a ruffian trying to steal his coin. Memories of the dark days after his death began to resurface. Her whole body began to physically shake, and she stood abruptly, trying to rid herself of these unwanted feelings.
The meal no longer interested her, and she militantly walked toward the door, pausing before she crossed the threshold. “Carrington, be prepared to leave on short notice.”
Continuing to the private parlor, Lucy refocused her thoughts on the meeting about to take place. By the time she reached the room, she had regained her composure and calmly stood by the window to await her correspondent.
A scratch at the door had Lucy issuing the command, “Enter.”
A young man entered, similar in age to herself and with nondescript features. “Miss Jones?”
Lucy replied, “Mr. Smyth, I assume. It is a pleasure you could join me today.”
The man didn’t say a word but proceeded to stare. Was there a problem? Why did he not just pass on the message and leave as all the others had in the past? Mayhap it was his first assignment. She continued to be patient, but an awkward silence fell between them.
Unexpectedly, the man smirked. “Miss Jones, my apologies, but I was told to look for a lady who had many years of experience.”
Lucy was smiling sweetly, but her tone was direct when she addressed him. “I appreciate your honesty. However, I would prefer our business to be conducted swiftly.”
When Mr. Smyth reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, Lucy tensed. He slowly pulled out a bundle of paper.
“Yes, yes. Here you are. A good day to you, Miss Jones.” Despite his farewell, Mr. Smyth remained standing in front of Lucy, staring at her as if she were the most interesting woman he had ever encountered.
Reaching out, Lucy pried the packet from Mr. Smyth’s fingers. Good gracious, did he not trust her in her claim to be Miss Jones? She dismissed him with a nod, and the very young Mr. Smyth made his way to the door.
Before leaving, he turned and said, “My superiors should have advised me to look for the most beautiful woman at the inn. That would have made identifying you a lot easier and would have been a most accurate statement. I hope to make your acquaintance again.”
Stunned, Lucy stared at the now-empty doorway. Had Mr. Smyth really called her beautiful? She had been referred to as sweet, adorable, cute, and even pretty by some, but never beautiful. Lucy made a mental note to ask Carrington if she had done anything different with her face paint or her hair today.
Putting the curious comment aside, Lucy walked over to the fireplace. Carefully, she opened the packet Mr. Smyth had given her. The top page read:
Enclosed correspondence was intercepted from the Continent.
Arrangements for you have been made at Bloomington Inn.
They will be expecting your arrival.
Please advise upon your return to London.
Lucy threw the letter into the fire and watched as the last of it turned to ash. She rolled the missives, lifted her skirts, and securely tucked the papers into her breeches. Smoothing out her attire, she walked calmly out of the inn and toward her contingent, who were patiently awaiting direction.
“John, we are headed for Bloomington Inn.”
“My lady, that is at least another half day’s ride, longer mayhap with the coach.”
Lucy searched the sky. The position of the sun indicated it was a little past midday. They still had several hours of daylight to travel by.
With no time to spare, Lucy commanded, “Let’s be off.”
Both footmen grimaced but followed her orders nonetheless. Bloomington Inn was a fair way from London. Why hadn’t Archbroke made arrangements for her to remain at the Lone Dove? She should cease questioning her superior. After all, she trusted the man with her safety. If he weren’t such a pompous ass, she might actually like him.
Perched on the edge of the forward-facing seat, she reached under her skirts to retrieve the missives. She passed them to Carrington, who promptly stored them safely in Lucy’s satchel. What information would they contain?
Her contingent couldn’t have been on the road for more than an hour, but Lucy had already become intensely restless. She eyed Carrington, who sat reading what looked to be one of the novels Lucy had recently finished. She loved discussing the various characters and scenes with her maid, but she wasn’t one to read in a coach. The jostling and effort to focus made her feel ill. “What chapter are you reading?”
“Nine.”
“Oooh, that is when…”
Carrington’s glare halted Lucy’s speech. “Only events through Chapter Eight, my lady.”
The emphasis on the honorific was not lost on Lucy. Not in the mood to spar with her maid, she pulled back the curtain to look out the window. Deciding they had traveled far enough for her to escape the confines of the coach, Lucy rapped three times.
Immediately, the driver yelled, “Whoa!”
“Already? You could at least warn me!” Carrington snapped the book shut and hurriedly moved to assist Lucy out of her riding habit, exposing her breeches and lawn shirt.
Carrington magically produced a fine riding jacket that had been explicitly made for warmth. The two of them were jostled about the small, confined space. Carrington fell to her knees as the coach came to a complete stop.
Lucy waited patiently for the door to open. Evan appeared, and the corner of his lips turned up as he caught a glimpse of Carrington on all fours.
Not waiting for assistance, Lucy jumped down from the coach and marched over to Evan’s mount. She was about to reach for the reins when broad hands wrapped about her waist and lifted her. Once seated, she glanced down at Evan with a mischievous grin and kicked her heels, spurring the horse to take off. Lucy loved riding astride, but she reined in her mount to a trot, allowing the coach that now housed Carrington and Evan to catch up.
Now that they were beyond the city limits, the air was cleaner. Lucy breathed deeply—not a trace of ash or the acerbic smell of waste. She considered renting a room for the night at an inn. In the end, she reasoned in order to return to London on time, they would have to continue forward through the evening. John and Evan were going to be displeased with her decision. She would have to use some of her savings and pay the pair a little extra this month.
John and Lucy rode side by side, leading the coach. As customary, John had begun to share tales of his eight siblings’ most recent escapades.
Lucy giggled as John continued, “…and Lotty fell face-first into the mud as she dove for the piglet.”
John’s family resided in the village near Halestone Hall. Lucy wondered if he would send the extra funds she planned to give him along with his monthly salary to his parents. How should she reward John? He was a selfless man. She would have to devise a way for him to personally derive a benefit. He certainly deserved it. She continued to ponder the dilemma, and John continued to share stories.
After luncheon, Evan and John switched places. Lucy was not as comfortable on John’s steed since it was at least a hand taller, but she still preferred being out in the open. Evan did not have any family Lucy was aware of. None he told stories about, anyway. To pass the time when they rode together, they had formed the habit of creating bawdy melodies and poetry that would never be uttered in a drawing room.
Lucy was laughing so hard she nearly slid off her mount, but Evan was there to catch her and assist her to regain her seat. As he was removing his arm from around Lucy, she caught Carrington peeking from the coach window. The confusion on her maid’s face caused Lucy to take a closer look at Evan. Perhaps some might call him handsome in a roguish way. He was always lighthearted but extremely diligent in his duties. She glanced back at the coach once more.
“She didn’t see you falling, my lady.” Evan’s eyes scanned their surroundings, on the lookout for bandits or highwaymen.
His comment made no sense to Lucy—unless there was more to their relationship than both being in her employ, as she had suspected earlier.
Confirming her suspicions, Evan added, “I’ve been saving, but I fear she is running out of patience with me.”
Lucy broke out into a genuine smile. The best reward for Evan would be to assist him in attaining a beautiful ring for Carrington. She made a mental note to send word to Mr. Rutherford, the jeweler her family had used for generations. Lucy was momentarily pleased with herself. That was before she remembered she had yet to determine what John’s reward would be.
As they ventured farther north, the temperature dropped significantly. John and Evan’s pleas for her to join Carrington in the coach fell on deaf ears. Lucy remained mounted through most of the night. Finally, about two hours from their destination, an exhausted Lucy accepted her fate and rode in the coach. In the quiet her thoughts were haunted once again by Blake; his image was the last she remembered before her eyes closed.
On the final leg of their journey to Bloomington Inn, Carrington woke Lucy to change into a thick traveling dress made of velvet. The soft material brushed against Lucy’s goose-bumped skin. Lucy rubbed her eyes as the dawn of light peeked through the coach window. “How much longer?”
“Not long.” Carrington’s lips twitched right before she added, “If you catch a cold as a result of your stubbornness, I will not play nursemaid.”
Lucy slumped back and propped her feet next to Carrington. “You know how hale and hearty I am. I doubt my actions will result in a sniffle.”
Giving her mistress a knowing look, Carrington said, “We will just have to wait and see.”