Page 113 of Marry in Secret
“I know how to take care of myself.” He leapt lithely onto his horse and galloped down the driveway.
***
Rose watched him turn the corner and disappear from sight. “Saul,” she called to the groom who was walking back to the stables. “I gather Mr. Ambrose took the traveling chaise.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“What other carriages are left? I’m going to follow his lordship.”
He wrinkled his brow, thinking. “There’s the old master’s carriage. Creaky old thing it is, but. Probably fall apart if you hit a bad bump, m’lady. And there’s the dogcart, of course, though that’s missing a wheel at the moment.”
Rose stamped her foot in frustration. “Isn’t there anything else?”
“Only Lord Gerald’s curricle.”
“Lord Gerald’s curricle?” she exclaimed. “Does it have all its wheels?”
“There are only two wheels on a curricle, m’lady.”
“I know that, but are they both working? Is the curricle fit to drive?”
“Yes, m’lady, but you can’t go off in Lord Gerald’s curricle.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because you’re a lady, m’lady. A sporting curricle is not a fit vehicle for a lady.”
Rose clenched her fists and breathed in a deep calming breath. “Hitch your fastest pair to the curricle and bring it around.”
“But m’lady—”
“Just bring it around, Saul.” She hurried upstairs to put on something warm. The mood Thomas was in, he was likely to kill Ambrose. And if he did... Oh, Lord. She prayed she’d be in time to stop him.
***
The pale pearly twilight was just starting to fade when Thomas rode into Bristol. He’d made good time. Like his namesake, Bucephalus showed stamina as well as speed.
Thomas knew the Bristol docks well; he’d sailed from Bristol on his last ill-fated naval voyage. He made his way to the wharves where he thought Ambrose would most likely be headed. His nostrils flared as he scented the sea, mixed with the other smells of the docks; oil, fish, sweat, spices, rotting wood and more.
The last shreds of twilight rewarded him when he spotted a familiar-looking traveling chaise and four tired horses, drawn up close to the wharf entrance.
He dismounted and looked into the carriage. Empty. No sign of Ambrose or any groom. Blast the man, was he just going to leave his exhausted animals to their own devices? Their sweat was still wet; they hadn’t been here long.
Farther along the docks he could see the usual flurry ofactivity that accompanied a ship getting ready to sail. He tied Bucephalus’s reins to the carriage and grabbed the attention of a passing boy, the kind of lad ubiquitous to the seafront, alert to any opportunity. “Here, lad, if you mind my horses—those ones over there—and fetch them some fresh clean water, I’ll pay you well.”
The boy looked him over. “How much?”
“A gold sovereign. Half a crown now, and the rest when I come back.”
The boy’s eyes bulged. “A yellow boy? You’re on.”
Thomas tossed the boy a half crown. “I don’t suppose you saw the man who came in that carriage, did you?”
The boy nodded. “Geezer carryin’ a portmanteau and a little trunk. Went along there.” He jerked his chin.
“How long ago?”
“Coupla minutes.”
