Page 1 of The Inconvenient Compromise
PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
Thursday…
The carriage was barrelingdown the road at a speed that could not possibly be safe. Nervously, Miss Fiona Trimble clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap, occasionally scrunching the fabric of her skirts in her fist. The sensation of the soft upholstery was a distraction that helped her to feel quite so overwhelmed. Across from her, Charlotte, Lady Bruxton,
They were at least a full day’s ride from Gretna Green, and it was already growing dark. She hated traveling at night. Her eyesight was terrible to star, and with Charlotte insisting that she not wear her spectacles in her presence, she was all but blind. But that was not her only source of discomfort.
Charlotte insisted that they proceed in their attempts to halt the marriage between the Earl of Kenworth and Miss Isabella Stamford. But it was quite clear to her that the earl was not just willing to marry Miss Stamford but eager to do so. When she’d thought there was no actual attachment between them, it had not seemed so terrible to put her aims ahead of another’s. But now, knowing that the pair had formed a bond of sorts, it felt very wrong to try and interfere with their plans.
“I think we should forget all about the Earl, Charlotte. It’s too late, after all. And even if I did manage to get him to marry me instead of Miss Stamford, the scandal would be terrible,” Fiona said.
Charlotte ignored her beyond a roll of her eyes and a sharply huffed out breath. That had been her standard response to every protest that Fiona had uttered during the entirety of their journey.
“There’s an inn up ahead, my lady,” the driver called out. “It’s too dark to go much further. We should stop for the night and get fresh horses on the morrow.”
Oh, how Fiona prayed that Charlotte would agree to stop. She was beyond tired, and even if the inn was terrible, it would at least offer them a place to rest.
“Fine,” Charlotte snapped loudly.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Fiona said. “I will be so grateful to be out of the carriage and to sleep in a real bed.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and then looked away. However, her expression shifted instantly to one of wicked glee. “All is not lost yet, Fiona. They are here,” Charlotte said.
“The earl and Miss Stamford?” Fiona asked, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.
Charlotte grinned wickedly in the dim light of the carriage. “Perhaps. Or perhaps Mr. Turner has already eliminated Miss Stamford, and the grief-stricken earl is returning home alone!”
It took a moment for Fiona to fully grasp what Charlotte had said. When the meaning of those words finally registered, Fiona gasped in horror. “Charlotte, you never said anything about kill—eliminating her! I thought you meant to have Mr. Turner abduct her to stop the wedding. I never agreed to be a party to murder!”
The slap was stunning. The force of it brought tears to Fiona’s eyes, and she could taste blood where she’d bit the inside of her cheek. It was shocking. In all of her life, no one had ever struck her. That this woman, a woman she had once thought was her friend, should be so violent towards her was both a revelation and a mystery. Charlotte’s true colors were showing very clearly, and Fiona’s own willingness to be blinded to Charlotte’s cruelty and malicious nature would ever be a puzzle to her. Whatever the cause, however, she knew she had to find a way out of it. And she very much feared that if she defied Charlotte openly, she might pay the ultimate price for it. The woman was clearly not above murder.
“Hush,” Charlotte snapped. “You’re in it now whether you wanted to be or not. You will keep your mouth shut and do as you are told.”
Fiona cradled her bruised cheek as they disembarked from the carriage and headed into the inn. Charlotte ignored her and instead approached the innkeeper with a smile that was as dazzling as it was false. Every expression was a calculated and contrived mask to get her what she wanted and nothing more.
“The carriage outside, the one with the ducal crest… Was there a couple traveling in it by chance?” Charlotte asked in the sweetest, most dulcet of tones.
“Not a couple, my lady. Only a gentleman. An earl, I believe.”
Charlotte breathed a false sigh of relief. “Oh, thank heavens. The earl is my cousin, you see. We have been traveling for so long, and well, for two women alone, it’s rather terrifying. Might we have a room near his? I’m certain you run a fine establishment, my good sir, but we will feel much safer if my cousin is close by.”
Fiona knew the innkeeper was not convinced. The man was obviously suspicious, but he was also easily swayed by the coin that Charlotte slid across the pocked wooden counter toward him. He instantly slipped it into his pocket and pasted a smile on his face as he replied, “Certainly. He’s at the end of the corridor, up the stairs to the left. I can put you in the room straight across the way.” Then he slid a key across the bar in the same fashion Charlotte had passed him the coin.
“Most excellent, sir. Most excellent indeed. Come, Fiona. We will retire now.”
Fiona bristled. Charlotte spoke to her like she were some sort of spaniel to be commanded about in such a way. But what could she say? Charlotte could very well leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere. She did not have funds of her own to see her way back to London. If she did not, at least for a short time, remain in Charlotte’s good graces, the results could be disastrous.
“I’ll have some bread and cheese sent up, along with a pot of tea,” the innkeeper stated.
Charlotte thanked him as Fiona turned and made for the stairs. Almost instantly, Charlotte overtook her and grasped her arm, all but dragging Fiona with her. The moment they reached their chamber, Charlotte shoved her inside and closed the door behind them with a firm snap.
When she turned to Fiona, her eyes were impossibly bright, almost mad. “Even now, the Earl of Kenworth is in the bedchamber across the way. Whether Miss Stamford is dead or simply taken, he is here now, and you have a chance!”
If Miss Stamford was dead—Fiona could not bear to think of it. Unwittingly or not, she had been a party to that. “This feels wrong, Charlotte. It’s wrong, and I won’t be a part of it!”
Charlotte’s had flew back. But that time, Fiona was ready for her. She caught Charlotte’s wrist, effectively halting the blow she would have struck. Yes, she was shy. Timid, even, according to some. But that didn’t mean she would simply stand idle and submit to abuse.
