Page 43 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
Bill clomped into the room. “Got your men out of the wet, and the horses are stabled. Nell, have you fetched—”
His wife appeared with an armful of garments. “Already seen to, my love. Sir, madam, I’ll take you upstairs to change, and then we’ll clean your clothes. Hopefully, they’ll be dry in the morning.”
“We cannot thank you enough,” Beatrice said earnestly.
Nell’s face turned even more pink. “’Tweren’t nothing, my lady. After you change, we’ll feed you and your servants, and then we have a nice snug room for you whenever you’re ready for bed.”
A quarter of an hour later, she and Duncan sat at a table in the kitchen. Her borrowed clothes were a touch snug across the bosom, and the loaned slippers were tight on her feet, but they were warm and dry. Nell provided bowls of stew, fresh bread, and mugs of steaming tea—as well as two tankards of home-brewed ale.
Once Beatrice had shored herself up with her drink, she said, “With the loss of the carriage, I think our circumstances have changed. I’ve decided to press on to Nottinghamshire. There’s a village about a mile from here, and Nell said that the mail coach stops there late in the morning. There’s enough money left for me to secure a seat on it.”
“Just one seat?” He lifted a brow.
“Two, if necessary, but since I’ll be on a public coach, an escort won’t be required. Many unaccompanied women travel that way. I assumed you’d want to go back to London.”
He shook his head. “I’m sticking with you.”
She didn’t want to be pleased by hearing him say this, and it was easy to believe that the only thing that motivated him to stay with her on this now rather mad journey was his sense of duty. But after the scene at the ruin, she hoped that it was more than mere obligation that kept him by her side.
“Why are you so determined to reach Nottinghamshire?” he asked softly.
She turned the notion over and over in her mind.“I’ve had the goal of attending Lord Gibb’s bacchanal for many years,” she said pensively. “There’s the physical pleasure but . . . it was more than that. It seemed like a place of limitless freedom, the kind of freedom I never had. I’ve reached a point where Ilikewho I am.”
“Your own woman,” he murmured.
She felt her lips curve, and though he did not smile back at her, his eyes were warm. “I promised myself that, if I ever had the opportunity to go to Lord Gibb’s, I would do so and overcome any obstacle that once stood between me and that freedom. It’s...thrillingto know I can do this.”
For a moment, he was mute, but when he spoke, his quiet voice held the strength of a vow. “I’ll get you there.”
“I’m grateful,” she said sincerely.
“What of Wiggins and Green?”
“We’ll all go to the village, and they’ll remain behind. I shall give them funds to engage some local men so they might retrieve my belongings. Hold—what happened to your pack?”
“It was inside the carriage. There wasn’t time to retrieve it.”
She winced. “Did you have many valuables in it?”
“Some fresh linen, a book, other bits and bobs. And my pistol.”
“Once our luggage is retrieved, I’ll have Wiggins and Green bring everything to Lord Gibb’s, and itwill all eventually make the return journey with me to London. My coachman and postillion will be amply compensated for all their labors. You’ll be reunited with your weapon, and everything will turn out wonderfully.”
One of his brows climbed. He clearly did not possess the same faith she did that things would fall into place and that they would suffer no additional setbacks.
Yet he kept his opinions to himself, and they were able to finish their meal peacefully. With a full belly and her body now finally thawed, weariness dragged at her limbs. She could barely keep her eyes open.
“Mr. Frye, Mrs. Frye,” Bill said, approaching the table. “When you’re disposed, we’ve a room ready for you.”
Duncan clearly saw how her head kept drooping forward and then snapping up. “Excellent. We’ll go up now.”
Bill showed them to a room equipped with plain but sturdy furniture, including a spacious bed. Wearily, she shuffled to it and slumped down, sitting like a marionette with its strings cut.
Duncan and Bill spoke in low voices, though she couldn’t make out the words. Then the farmer left, and Duncan shut the door.
“Bill rises at dawn,” he said, “so I requested that he wake us so we can be sure to catch the mail coach. Didn’t ask about a room with another bed, since they’re already being so generous.”
“’S fine,” she slurred. She kicked off her slippers and tugged at her clothing. Duncan turned, presumably to give her privacy, but she didn’t give a damn about modesty when she was so bloody tired.
