Page 4 of Destined to be a Duchess
She set aside the thought for now, returning to the window. The view beyond the carriage was a far cry from Lambeth town. Fields of wheat stretched out for miles, rolling uninterrupted towards the horizon. The sky was a sheet of heavy blue. The carriage had passed through Newmarket twenty minutes ago, continuing down the toll road towards Thetford—according to Miss Barclay.
Marianne knew nothing about Norfolk, least of all whether all the roads in the area were as narrow, uneven, and empty as the ones they had travelled so far.
Just as she thought it, the carriage drove over a rut in the road. The entire carriage careened, making an ungodly sound as Marianne’s trunks jostled in the storage dock beneath them. Her hands darted out, seeking purchase wherever they could, while her stomach flipped. Miss Barclay’s book went flying from herlap, falling into the footwell. The carriage continued bumpily for a few metres until the vehicle stopped.
“This is just our luck,” Miss Barclay groused. She picked up her book and put it beside her, then swung open the carriage door, letting in a burst of fresh air. “What happened?” she cried to the driver.
Letting her arms fall to her side, Marianne craned her neck to look at the footman through the window. He had descended his perch and was circling the carriage. Marianne knew nothing about carriages—she had walked almost everywhere in London—but she guessed something had to be broken.
When Miss Barclay exited the carriage, Marianne decided to follow. Her boots hit the road hard, and she felt her shoulders slump in relief to be on solid ground again. It was the first time she had ever been in the countryside. The air was warm and humid against her skin, and she wished she could take off her bonnet and shoes and relish a moment in the sunlight, though she doubted Miss Barclay would have approved.
Placing her hands on her hips, she left Mr Plym at the mercy of Miss Barclay, joining the footman on the other side of the vehicle. He had dropped into a crouch, inspecting the spokes of one of the back wheels.
“Blasted thing,” he groaned, sticking his hand through the wheel to fiddle with something beneath the carriage. “I can’t even reach the … Oh, bugger.”
“I’m assuming this doesn’t usually happen.” Marianne peered over his shoulder, ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work. “My hands are smaller than yours. Perhaps if I try—"
Before she could finish her question, Miss Barclay shouted at her from across the carriage. “Miss Buller, get out of the road and come back here this instant!”
With an apologetic smile at the footman, Marianne returned to Miss Barclay. The woman had gone red in the face, pinching the bridge of her nose as she continued to assault the driver. Marianne settled beneath the shade of one of the tall hedges lining the road, pretending not to listen.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. Either you or James will have to walk the road up to Thetford and find someone to help.” Miss Barclay pointed towards the horizon. “There must be a whole horde of farmers in the area willing to assist us. You just need to find one, Plym. Now. Go now.”
Mr Plym said nothing, stomping past them to announce the news to the footman. Miss Barclay turned to Marianne, sighing.
“He believes something came loose beneath the left back wheel, but he doesn’t have the proper equipment to inspect the damage, let alone fix it.” She threw her hands in the air in defeat. “We have six hours until sundown. Her Grace will be worried sick if we do not return before then.”
Marianne placed a hand on Miss Barclay’s shoulder, and the woman looked up at her in shock.
“Everything will be fine,” she assured her, not really believing it herself but just wanting to help Miss Barclay feel better. “If they fail to find help, it will only be a matter of time before a kind soul drives by and stops to lend us a hand.”
“And if our saviour reveals himself to be a highwayman?” Miss Barclay asked, rolling her eyes. “How do you propose we handle that? These roads aren’t safe, Miss Buller.”
Marianne glanced towards the horses. They looked no worse for wear despite the accident. “We could take the horses and ride ourselves to safety,” she joked.
“Oh, what a marvellous plan,” Miss Barclay replied sardonically. “Except I don’t know the first thing about riding, and I doubt you do either.”
“It can’t be that difficult.” When Miss Barclay finally smiled, so did Marianne. “We simply get on the horse and go. With any luck, we’ll ride so poorly that the highwayman takes pity on us—or laughs so hard that he falls off his own horse in his pursuit.”
Miss Barclay tutted, obviously trying to stifle a laugh. She stepped around Marianne to get a better look at the road. Marianne followed her, squinting down the lane towards Thetford. If nothing else, it was a wonderful day. Birdsong filled the air all around them. The chorus from nearby chaffinches was so loud that Marianne almost missed the sound of horses coming from the opposite direction.
The footman noticed first. He sprang into a stand, knocking his shoulder against the bottom of the carriage on his way up and cursing in a way that made Miss Barclay’s face turn red again.
“Carriage coming!”
By that point, the driver had returned to his team. He puffed out his cheeks and adjusted his hat, joining the footman at the back of the carriage to wave down the approaching vehicle.
The horses leading the charge weren’t nearly as impressive as Mr Plym’s team. The carriage looked well-made, though it was unmarked, and it wasn’t making any grating or creaking noises like their own carriage had been. It slowed to a stop behind Mr Plym’s vehicle, parking a few inches shy of the ditch. The newdriver stood up, shielding his eyes from the sun. He was a young man who, thankfully, didn’t look much like a highwayman.
“We’ll let the men handle this,” Miss Barclay whispered beside Marianne. She hadn’t even noticed her double back. Her hand slipped through Marianne’s elbow, holding her close. “It looks like you were right.”
The young driver hopped down from his carriage to approach Mr Plym and James. He scratched his chin as James gestured towards the guilty wheel, explaining what had happened.
Marianne watched quietly from a distance. She and Miss Buller were standing too far away to make out much from their conversation.
At least the accident had made her forget all about how unequipped she was to meet the duchess, and that was to say nothing of meeting herson. If Marianne knew anything about aristocrats—and frankly, she did not—the men were pompous, cruel, and lazy. It stood to reason that the duke would be, too.
Something flitted in the corner of her eye. The door to the newly arrived carriage had swung open. A man was leaning out of the vehicle to see what was happening. It was difficult to make out much of him in the strong sunlight.
