Page 61 of Barely a Woman
Prudence watched Morgan with calculating eyes for several seconds. “I am indeed traveling to London with, shall we say, wares to trade.”
“What wares?”
“Did you not say this was no Bow Street affair?”
Morgan sighed. “It is not.”
“Then I will offer you companionship in exchange for no questions concerning my cargo…”
“I agree.”
“I am not finished.”
She cringed over what additional caveats might lie in store. Prudence cocked her head while examining Morgan’s dress again. “I wish you to travel as Mr. Brady.”
She shook her head. “I am finished with that alias. I have put aside the suit for good.”
“A pity, then. The presence of a mounted and armed Bow Street officer might provide us more safety than as two women traveling alone on a cart. And I was rather looking forward to our journey together.”
Morgan sighed again. “Very well. I will resurrect Mr. Brady one last time. I have funds enough to purchase my own food and am quite accustomed to sleeping in the open.”
Prudence laughed. “Nonsense. As you are providing for the security of our journey, this has become a business venture with us as partners. We will sleep at coaching inns along the way and dine like queens. When we arrive in London and I conclude my business, I will pay you a guinea for your efforts.”
“You need not bother…”
“I insist, Miss Brady, and prefer to get my way. Besides, I expect you will need the funds with your impending dismissal from Bow Street.”
Morgan winced. “You know about that?”
“Merely a guess. But men take exception when a woman makes fools of them. There will be no mercy.”
The finality of the situation struck Morgan for the first time. She would be cast adrift from Bow Street upon her return to London. She clenched her fists with disappointment. However, determination welled inside her to displace the darker tide. She would not wait to be dismissed, to be discarded. She would march into the magistrate’s office, confess her identity, and leave with her dignity intact. It was the least she could do.
“I agree to your caveats, Mrs. Lightboddy. Just give me time to change my clothing and to pack.”
“And no farewells to Steadman?”
She shook her head. “I believe our farewells have already been said.”
“Very well, dear. Bring your flintlock when you come. And please, call me Prudence.”
Half an hour later, Morgan rode alongside Prudence’s cart with her head spinning and heart heavy. Every stride of her horse took her away from the strange, exotic dream that had been her two weeks with the Beau Monde Highwayman. Leaving him behind was beyond excruciating. Forgetting him would prove impossible. That she would never speak to him again left her heart crumbling piece by tiny piece.
***
The glaring sun through his window woke Steadman. He’d overslept.He never overslept.
“Bollocks.”
He blamed the condition on a night of tossing and turning between fitful dreams of Mary, Morgan, and his father. After rubbing his bleary eyes and stretching, he rose to dress. Therewas much to do ahead of his meeting, which was still more than a day away. Upon leaving his room, he looked down the hallway at Morgan’s door. He took a step toward it before catching himself. He had pressed her hard enough the day before. Perhaps a reprieve might bring her around to his way of thinking about the necessary vengeance he must serve. He left the inn without speaking to her.
His first visit was to the sundry shop of Mr. Jarvis. The constable must have seen him coming, for he was furiously attempting to lock the shop door when Steadman reached for the handle and yanked the door open. The man retreated swiftly behind the counter, much to the surprise of the same two shoppers as before. Steadman tipped his hat to them. “Ladies.”
They twittered in his wake as he strode to the counter. Jarvis pressed himself against the wall behind it, his eyes large with fear.
“Constable Jarvis.”
“Uh, yes.”
