Page 4 of The Gentleman Was Right
It went without saying that Violet never would have stayed a single night if she’d thought Lord Greydon might appear unexpectedly. How typical of a man to turn up without notice.
Their ruse.
Their safety.
Destroyed by an impromptu visit.
She gazed at the cloudy sky and considered their options. There weren’t many. After all, how would they explain their presence in his house?
They couldn’t. It was inexplicable. They’d have to flee. But how? And when?
“We should leave immediately,” Isabelle said, even though Violet had not spoken aloud. “It’s the middle of the day. If we leave now, we might get away before he learns of our existence.”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Violet sighed. “We can’t leave now. All our things are in the cottage. We’d have nothing left. I don’t even have our remaining funds with me.” It was a foolish oversight that she’d left the little money they had left hidden in her bedchamber at the cottage when it would have been so much smarter to tuck it into her bodice.
“We can’t let him catch us.” Isabelle bit her lip, her voice taking on an edge of worry.
Violet always felt awful when her sister worried, and she hated that her lack of foresight was the cause now. “I know. We won’t…I just need to think.” She pressed her fingers into her forehead as if an answer would suddenly appear if she willed it to. “We can’t panic. Maybe…what if…it isn’t him?”
Isabelle scoffed. “Who else could it be?” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think it might be Basil?”
“No,” Violet immediately assured her sister. “You said it was a fancy carriage with perfectly matched horses.”
“Right.” Isabelle nodded. “Basil doesn’t have a carriage of his own. But if not him, then who could it be other than Lord Greydon?”
“A friend? An acquaintance?” Violet knew she was grasping for possibilities that were unlikely, but if the man in the carriage were anyone else, they might be able to salvage the unsalvageable and leave without anyone discovering the truth of their identities. “We need more information before we decide what to do.”
Isabelle narrowed her eyes and then nodded. “Information…yes. That’s a fine idea.”
“We’ll walk to the village. Gossip about whoever was in the carriage is surely rampant. We’ll feign innocence—say we’ve been out walking all morning—and let the villagers tell us what they know. If it is Lord Greydon, we will”—she clenched her hands tightly at her side—“find a way to disappear. If not, we will take what we know and use it to our advantage so we can collect our things before we flee. We should not sacrifice our belongings and our funds unless we have no other choice.”
The prospect of leaving the tiny seaside village was devastating. The cottage was lovely and comfortable, and the townspeople had been welcoming and kind. Having a safe place to hide was a gift she and Isabelle had been careful to treasure, but now, if they had no other choice, they would leave. They would find a new hiding place, or they would return to London where she could attempt to reclaim her future.
She shuddered at the thought.
“Yes. We will gather more information before we decide anything,” Violet repeated.
Isabelle nodded her agreement, adjusted her bonnet, and gestured in the direction of the village. “Shall we?” The sisters walked side by side along the water until they reached the path that would lead to the road.
Violet and Isabelle’s physical similarities started and stopped with the red curly hair they’d inherited from their mother. Violet was tall and almost painfully thin. Her appetite became diminished when she worried and the ten months since her father’s death had been fraught with worry, so her dress hung loosely from her shoulders. Isabelle was shorter and plumper. She tended to eat more when she was stressed, and her dresses had become almost too snug since they’d settled in the cottage and she’d discovered Mrs. Eggington’s baking prowess.
When they reached the narrow path, Violet took the lead while Isabelle trailed behind. They reached the lane, and Isabelle wordlessly stepped to Violet’s side once again. Together they continued into the village. Lost in trying to determine what they’d do when they left, Violet walked silently, her steps heavy and measured.
“Fancy gent headed toward the cottage. Was it your cousin?” Maud shouted, appearing in the doorway of her tiny house. She shushed the dog at her feet and darted around the boys who were roughhousing in the yard as she briskly approached the short fence that surrounded her property.
One of the biggest gossips in the village, Maud had half a dozen children and a husband who hardly talked. She made up for his silence by chattering constantly.
“Fancy gent?” Violet drew her brows together as if confused. She and Isabelle continued to move toward Maud at a leisurely pace. It never served to seem too eager when seeking gossip.
“You haven’t seen him yet?” Maud asked.
“We’ve been out walking all morning,” Isabelle responded. “Are you sure he was headed toward the cottage?”
“Ack. I’m sure. The boys followed the carriage to the turn and caught a glimpse of him through the window. Problem is they don’t know one fancy gent from another. It must be Lord Greydon though, who else might it be?”
“I couldn’t say,” Violet said, still trying to sound confused. “We haven’t received word that anyone was coming for a visit.”
Maud made a face. “It’s his house, isn’t it? Why would he need to send word?”
