Page 142 of The Ladies Least Likely
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“All right, mum, off with you!” Davey said in exasperation as Amaranthe circled the vehicle for the fourth time, watching him cinch the baggage onto the platform at the front of the post chaise. “If I let any of your fribbles tumble into the dirt of the road, I’m no true Welshman.”
“I didn’t pack any fribbles,” she said. “They’re too heavy. You marked Joseph’s luggage, I hope? I’m sure he forgot. He and Miss Pettigrew will part with us at Bristol, and I don’t want to send the wrong bags.”
She inspected the wheels and axles of the hired coach, though she had no way of knowing if it was in good condition. Grey had hired the chaise and horses and it turned out Inez knew the post boy, who was another lascarlike her father, a sailor of South Indian descent who had stayed in England when his crew was put out of work and had been making a living at odd jobs since. He spoke limited English, but he would perch atop one of the horses to guide them on the road and then return these animals when they changed teams at the next post. Amaranthe offered him a smile and he smiled back, showing several missing teeth.
“Much of Bristol’s sea traffic comes from the slave trade.” Camilla clutched Amaranthe’s hand. Amaranthe was becoming more accustomed to the casual and frequent touch, though Camilla’s unhesitant trust still took her aback. Amaranthe couldn’t recall as a young child that she had ever held an adult’s hand. Though the youngest and from a caring home, she had been a cautious and reserved child, hesitant to rely on anyone.
She was relying on Grey now to make this journey with her, walking backward into the life she’d left long ago. Not for the first time, she wondered what threats and bitter memories lay in store for her.
“There will be ships from all over in Bristol harbor,” Amaranthe said. “Europe and the Middle East. Africa. The Americas. Perhaps a ship visiting some remote and undiscovered island will bring back a wonder we’ve never dreamed.”
“Mr. John Wesley set up his first Methodist chapel in Bristol,” Camilla said, her expression somber. She had been vocal in her disappointment that Amaranthe and Grey were both leaving, but as attempts to talk them out of their decision had proven unsuccessful, she’d resigned herself to being abandoned for a fortnight or more. As recourse she had contented herself with studying everything about Bristol that the ducal library could yield.
Amaranthe hoped they would not be gone longer than a fortnight. It would take some days to travel to Callington, but she planned only to show her face, say a few encouraging things to Favella, make sure her cousin’s wife had reliable help with the babe, and then depart before Reuben could take any evil ideas into his head.
Depart with her Book of Hours in hand, if all went well.
She’d been waiting for this opportunity for years, dreaming of it. She’d accepted Grey’s escort because, as he’d suggested,showing up with a man of the law was a wonderful tactic of intimidation. But by now Reuben could have discarded the manuscript in any number of ways: sold it, given it away, or worst of all, let a maid use the aged parchment to light fires. Every antiquarian knew the cautionary tale of John Warburton, who had stored dozens of unique manuscripts in his kitchen and discovered later his cook was using the pages to line pie plates.
“You will give our regards to your Uncle Littlejohn and your Aunt Beatrice, of course.” Hugh, the young duke, walked with Grey into the mews that ran behind Hunsdon House and its garden.
“Remember you are to ask him about being trampled by the bull and getting his leg taken off,” Ned exclaimed, hurrying behind them. “I want the full tale, Grey. You don’t know nearly enough of the details.”
“I’ll ask him. Where are Joseph and Miss Pettigrew?”
Grey looked around and his gaze fell on Amaranthe and lingered. She had upon persuasion borrowed one of the duchess’s riding habits, a smart and well-tailored ensemble of dark green wool that was extremely comfortable. Sybil was considerably more curved than Amaranthe, but Eyde had accounted for the difference in shape with a few quick stitches. There were two other traveling gowns packed in her trunk. She only meant to borrow the gowns, not keep them, and she couldn’t see the extravagance of buying traveling attire for herself. The unplanned trip to Cornwall would strain her expenses enough.
She supposed the money for the coach had come, like the staff salaries and the coin for groceries, from the sale of her manuscript to Mr. Karim. She wondered if she would ever learn who bought her copy of theSecretorum.She hoped it went to a good home, to someone who would store and care for the book properly, and perhaps on occasion read it.
“These are all your things?” Grey asked. Amaranthe’s middle warmed at his attention, but also with embarrassment. Did the paltriness of her personal possessions dismay him? He already knew she was not a woman of means.
“This is all I need. I am looking forward to meeting your aunt and uncle,” she said to distract him. “They sound like very interesting people.”
She was also looking forward to spending time with him, though she would never say this aloud. Days together in a traveling coach, nights under the shared roof of a coaching inn. She would come to know a great deal more about Malden Grey.
Not that she intended to marry him. He’d come to his senses in time and realize there were other opportunities about him, women who would make a better barrister’s wife. Women who didn’t make a living skirting the law, for instance.
But for now, she had him more or less to herself. This large, solid, and very intimidating man, at her side. The thought made her insides glow like live coals.
“At last,” Grey said as Joseph emerged from the carriage house. Miss Pettigrew, behind him, clutched her valise and looked about with wide blue eyes.
She was everything Joseph had described, fair and fragile, with a bewildered air that roused Amaranthe’s protective instincts. Her translucent, delicate beauty held the viewer captive, and Amaranthe could easily see how Joseph had been ensnared.
She hoped she might learn more about Miss Pettigrew, also. Joseph would not be swayed from his determination to marry. He had decided Miss Susannah Pettigrew was for him, and no other would do.
Much like Malden Grey, who when instructed to marry had simply looked around and lit on the first female in the vicinity, Amaranthe thought. The curl of resentment pricked, and shepushed it aside. He was doing her a service. She must keep that in mind, even if it rankled to be valued only for her usefulness.
“Miss Illingworth, we wish you the best and easiest of travels. Our regards to your family.” The young duke bowed to her, and Amaranthe curtsied before she could stop herself. Hugh’s formality had a way of intimidating her still.
“Have loads of fun, and don’t turn over on the road!” Ned exclaimed, pumping her hand. Amaranthe grinned at him.
Camilla, in a sudden move, threw her arms around Amaranthe’s waist. “Don’t come backdifferent,” she said, holding back sobs. Amaranthe wrapped her arms around the girl, for once feeling the effort was not forced.
“Ladies first.” Grey placed the step and held out a hand to help Amaranthe climb into the enclosed cab. It had been agreed that the girls would take the interior seats for the first leg of the journey and the men would take the seat behind.
The horses stirred and stamped in their harness, their shod hooves echoing on the cobblestones. Amaranthe took a last look about as the sun broke briefly through the morning fog. She had already said goodbye to the servants indoors, with Mrs. Blackthorn giving brisk advice, Davey looking mournful, Derwa hanging about her waist, and Eyde adding to an ever-growing list of people she remembered about Haye and Callington whom she hoped Amaranthe would look in on and make sure they were getting on.
