Abandoned to the Prodigal, page 3
Really, it was.
When they changed horses at Waltham Cross, Dan climbed down to stretch his legs and let Gun do the same. Most of the travelers stayed where they were, although “Miss Smith”—if that was her real name, he’d eat his hat—stepped outside to join them. Gun welcomed her in his usual boisterous manner. Dan only just managed to prevent him from jumping on her, but fortunately, she took it all in good part.
“Don’t wander off,” Dan warned her. “They’re only changing the horses, and we’ll be gone again in five minutes. The coach won’t wait for you.”
Hastily, she climbed back in and Dan, once they started harnessing the new team, climbed back up to the roof, shooing the dog in front of him. His fellow roof-passenger, who had slept most of the first stage, now woke up and yawned. He proved to be a cheerful young man called Gordon, a schoolteacher by profession, and the possessor of a pack of cards. Since Dan had no money, they played for imaginary guineas. Dan was ten up by the next change.
“You are clearly a lucky man,” Gordon said disconsolately.
“Only when the stakes aren’t real,” he replied, letting Gun jump down.
“Good Lord,” Gordon said with awe. “Who is that goddess fending off your beast?”
“Miss Smith,” Dan said with a surprising surge of protectiveness.
He managed to send a porter running to fetch her lemonade, which she drained almost at once before bestowing on him a dazzling smile of gratitude.
“Are you comfortable enough in there?” he asked her.
“Considerably more than you must be,” she replied. “Though I suppose you get the better view.”
“Your traveling companions pleasant enough?” he asked casually, catching the gaze of the oily merchant striding back from the inn.
“Most interesting people,” Juliet said unexpectedly. “Mrs. Harper is going to find her missing daughter, who was last seen in Kidfield of all places. Mr. and Mrs. Brown are taking their daughter to become a nursery maid at a big house near Newcastle. And Mr. George, there, is making a fortune in paraffin oil. Isn’t that astonishing?”
“No,” Dan managed breathlessly before he saw her own eyes dancing. Clearly, she had a similar opinion of the merchant. He grinned and snapped his fingers to Gun.
“A damnably lucky man,” Gordon observed when he resumed his place on the roof. “Any chance of an introduction, old fellow?”
*
By the end of the afternoon, for Juliet, the novelty of stagecoach travel had definitely worn off. Uncomfortably cramped, rattled, hungry, and bored, she had too much time to think as her fellow passengers lapsed into silence. Mr. George, the merchant, was reading a newspaper—it looked more like a scandal sheet to Juliet—and sniggering. Mrs. Brown and her daughter were talking in whispers, while Mr. Brown snored gently. Mrs. Harper, of the missing daughter, scowled over her knitting, her thoughts clearly even less pleasant than Juliet’s.
By the time they stopped at Stamford for a meal, it was after eight o’clock in the evening. Juliet, squashed against the door by Mrs. Harper’s knitting arm, almost fell into the fresh, evening air, her limbs stiff, her stomach rumbling.
Mr. Stewart, dangling precariously off the roof on his front, was shouting something to a porter who ran off, hopefully, to do his bidding. Her friend grinned, rolled, and more or less slid to the ground before her.
“Supper is ordered, but we only have half an hour,” he said, offering her his arm.
Just as she took it, a sudden, deafening bark rent the air, and Gun shot past her in joyful pursuit of something. There was indeed justice to the dog’s name. Someone yelled, and a crash of falling tin was heard, followed by a tinkle of glass and a roar of wrath.
“Oh, the devil,” Daniel said in resigned tones. “Excuse me, one moment…”
He ran off after Gun, and Juliet, amused, accompanied Mrs. Harper into the inn. It was already busy, the noise deafening and somewhat disorienting. But as she sat down, Mr. Stewart strode in with Gun at his heels once more. The innkeeper remonstrated with him over the presence of the dog. Juliet didn’t hear what was said, but the dog slunk past her under the table, and his master soon sat down, too.
“All well?” Juliet asked him across the table.
“I had to grovel, but the only breakage was an empty bottle.”
A bowl of soup appeared in front of her, and, taking her cue from Daniel, she drank it as quickly as she could. A further course arrived before they had finished—a meat pie of some kind with vegetables. Daniel promptly tipped his into the tin bowl he took from his satchel and passed it across the table to her. Under the shocked gaze of Mrs. Harper, Juliet added her pie to the bowl, though there was no room for any more vegetables. She passed it back to Daniel, who closed the lid and carried on eating his soup.
“Don’t give him your food, dear,” Mrs. Harper murmured. “He should be ashamed—”
“Oh, no, ma’am, we’ll share it,” Juliet assured her. “Mr. Stewart shared his breakfast with me this morning when I had nothing.”
“My dear, men like him don’t give anything for nothing,” Mrs. Harper hissed, glaring at Daniel. “They merely take advantage of innocent and trusting young women.”
Squashing her spurt of indignation—after all, Mrs. Harper had serious reasons for her jaundiced view of men, her daughter having been enticed away from home by a soldier—she merely nodded peaceably. “But I do believe him to be very kind and good-natured.”
“Feckless,” Mrs. Harper pronounced. “At best.”
Since he had more or less admitted that particular charge, Juliette did not dispute it. She merely finished her soup and accompanied Mrs. Harper to refresh herself. By the time they returned, there were honey cakes on the table, most of the passengers were still plowing through their pie and vegetables, and the coachman was calling for everyone to be back on board.
Hastily, Juliet crammed a forkful of vegetables into her mouth, then seized a cake, and wrapped it in her clean handkerchief before stuffing it into her reticule. Gun kept nudging her with his nose.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she told the dog and rushed outside.
Under the fading light, everyone piled back into or onto the coach, and they got underway once more. After little more than a bowl of soup, Juliet wondered if she should just eat the honey cake now because it looked as if she would not get her pie before the next stop when it would be cold.
However, they were not much farther along the road when a sudden knock against the coach window startled her. Jerking her head around, she gasped. Mrs. Brown squealed, for an upside-down face had appeared outside the window.
Daniel.
With a gasp, she flung down the window. Before she could speak, the tin bowl, complete with lid, was thrust through the window, and she seized it automatically.
“Mr.—” she began, in fear for his safety, but with a last grin, his face vanished upward, and laughter shook her.
The other passengers stared at her open-mouthed, which made her shoulders shake harder. Hastily, she opened the lid and found a slice of pie, and at least half the vegetables that been in the bowl to start with.
“You see?” she crowed to Mrs. Harper. “He wasn’t stealing my dinner.”
Of course, she had to eat the pie with her fingers, and use the last of the crust as a spoon for the vegetables, and the process was a little messy. Nevertheless, she felt much better when she had eaten and sat back, replete, clutching the bowl on her lap and wiping her fingers on a second handkerchief.
She returned the bowl to Daniel during the next stop. He looked different in the flaring lantern light, his lean face shadowed, his dark eyes somehow mysterious, reminding her that he was a stranger.
“Thank you,” she said, “but you should not have risked life and limb to give it to me!”
“Oh, I was perfectly safe,” he assured her. “Gordon here was holding onto my legs. This is Gordon,” he added, indicating another roof passenger, who smiled and raised his hat to her. “Gordon, Miss Smith. Gordon owes me fifty thousand pounds.”
Juliet’s jaw dropped. Mr. Gordon looked like an amiable young schoolmaster, not the sort of man who had ever possessed fifty thousand pounds.
“Imaginary pounds,” Mr. Gordon said apologetically. “He’s been beating me since Waltham. Every hand.”
Juliet, who still felt unreasonably guilty that her father had once won another man’s fortune at gaming, smiled with relief.
“Here you are, gents,” Mr. George said as he headed back toward the coach from the inn. He held out the newspaper he had been reading earlier. “I’ve read it. Imagine it’s more about your friends than mine.”
Mr. Gordon took it with a polite thank you.
“Wouldn’t waste your time with that,” Daniel said with distaste.
Mr. Gordon, who had stepped nearer the coach lanterns to glance through the paper, snorted. “What, not even Orgy at C. Place? Even when she’s… Oh, begging your pardon, ma’am,” he added hastily, remembering Juliet’s presence.
The blood drained from Juliet’s face. She had almost forgotten the reason for this adventure. While the oily, Mr. George had been reading these lies about her, and now Daniel would, too.
Not that either would know Miss Smith was Lady J.L., but the very idea made her queasy.
Daniel was frowning at her, as though sensing her sudden discomfort.
“I believe we are about to depart,” she muttered. “Good night, gentlemen.”
Chapter Three
Lord Barden was enjoying a lazy day following the excitement of the party at the Princess of Wales’s residence in Connaught Place. He had let loose the first volley of his Great Vengeance Plan, and he meant to complete the next stage by the end of tomorrow, and then have leisure to move on to Lady Juliet.
However, as the afternoon wore on, he couldn’t quite resist paying a quick call on the Alfords, just to be sure everything was in place. After all, Lady Juliet Lilbourne was a popular young lady, and people would think twice before offending her powerful father—which was one reason he had chosen to be revenged in this particular way.
So, he strolled around to South Audley Street and discovered Lady Alford was indeed at home, with her eldest son and several ladies of the ton. Thankfully, there was no sign of Juliet, an absence he took care to draw attention to after graciously accepting a cup of tea.
“Lady Juliet is no longer with you?” he asked his hostess, who immediately looked flustered and cast pleading eyes at her son.
“Lady Juliet was called to Her Highness yesterday afternoon,” said Lord Alford’s heir, the Honorable Mr. Jeremy Catesby.
“Yesterday afternoon?” Barden marveled. “But Her Highness had already left London by then! Did her poor ladyship have to chase after her to Worthing?”
“My mother has not heard from her,” Catesby said repressively.
Oh, yes, they had seen the new story and dismissed her as cavalierly as he had hoped.
Barden nodded understandingly. “One hopes she has gone with Her Highness. Because I have to tell you, I had occasion to step round to Connaught Place yesterday—on business for the prince, you understand—and I am shocked to say I found the most vulgar party in progress. Even you or I, sir, would blush to be associated with such an event.”
As he spoke, he was aware of being surrounded by avid listeners. Some pretended to be uninterested, but he could practically see their ears flapping. Yes, the word was out, the on-dit spreading satisfactorily like wildfire.
Four young ladies were ruined, among them Lady Juliet Lilbourne. And Barden really could not wait to reveal to her haughty father, the Earl of Cosland, the cost of her recovery.
Smiling amiably, he changed the subject, finished his tea, and departed. Somehow, he managed not to crow until he was alone in his own rooms.
*
For Juliet, the rest of the journey to Kidfield passed in misery. The sight of the newspaper had brought all her woes back to the forefront of her mind, and now she had neither other people’s troubles nor the scenery to distract her. The Browns and Mr. George donned nightcaps and blankets and went to sleep. Mrs. Harper dragged a traveling cloak around her and closed her eyes.
Juliet thought of the outside passengers shivering in the chill of the night and tried to be glad she was cramped in here while the horses thundered through the night. In truth, she would rather have been on the roof playing cards for pretend money. However, she fell into a doze, only waking as the horses were changed, and after a while, she barely even noticed that. After all, she hadn’t slept last night, either. It was only tiredness that made her despair. Tomorrow would be better.
She woke to someone shouting and discovered Mrs. Harper’s head on her shoulder.
“Kidfield!” the coachman yelled again, and she saw the horses sweep into yet another inn yard, this time in the grey light of dawn.
“Mrs. Harper.” Juliet nudged her companion awake. “We have arrived at Kidfield.”
Mrs. Harper brushed apologetically at Juliet’s shoulder. By then, the coach door was opened, and Juliet staggered out into the familiar yard. She had never seen the Black Cat at this time of the morning. Apart from the stagecoach, it was unnaturally quiet. Even the work changing the horses was carried out in silence.
Luggage was unstrapped for Juliet, Mrs. Harper, and Mr. George. Daniel appeared to have only what he stood up in, plus the satchel on his shoulder. Other luggage was put in its place, and the remaining passengers climbed into the coach to go on to York.
Juliet raised a hand to the Browns and to Mr. Gordon on the roof, who was leaning down to shake hands with Daniel.
“What will you do?” she asked Mrs. Harper.
“Take a room here and sleep for an hour or two. And then I shall begin looking for her.”
“I shall make a point of asking for her, too,” Juliet promised. “And contact you here should I hear anything.”
Mrs. Harper’s bleary eyes came back into focus on her. “How will you get home from here? Is it far?”
“I’ll hire a chaise,” Juliet said. “Good luck, ma’am, and thank you for your company.”
To her surprise, Mrs. Harper hugged her, a brief, hard embrace, before glaring at Daniel and stalking off toward the house.
Daniel stepped back beside her as the fresh horses began to pull the laden coach away.
“Will you send word to your family that you’re here?” he asked.
“No, I can hire a chaise to take me home. What about you? Is it far to your grandfather’s?”
He shrugged. “About five miles to Myerly, I think.”
She blinked. “Myerly? Is Lord Myerly your grandfather?”
“You know him?” Daniel asked, amused.
“Of course not. Nobody under the age of thirty has ever seen him.”
“I expect you call him Baron Miserly,” Daniel remarked.
“I’m afraid we did,” she confessed. She hesitated, then, “My chaise will pass Myerly. I can drop you there if you like.”
His lips quirked. “If we like to have the whole country gossiping that you shared a closed carriage with Myerly’s prodigal grandson.”
“Oh, my goose is already cooked there.” She met his gaze and tilted her chin. “My name isn’t Smith.”
“I didn’t suppose it was.”
“I’m Juliet Lilbourne.”
His eyes were faintly puzzled. “Lilbourne? Then you’re related to the Earl of Cosland?”
“His daughter.”
“Then, I definitely shouldn’t be sharing a carriage with you!”
“His eldest daughter,” Juliet said defiantly, but clearly, that still meant nothing to him. “I was a lady-in-waiting to the Princess of Wales.”
For an instant, he still looked baffled. And then she saw exactly the moment he made the connection. As soon as his eyes changed, she turned away.
“I’m going into the house to see about the chaise.” She walked swiftly, trying not to care what he thought of her now, and entered the familiar inn.
A yawning maid was stumbling down the stairs. Mr. George emerged from the coffee room.
“Ah, Miss Smith,” he said, smiling hugely as he approached her. “Might I offer you a seat in my carriage, which will be here directly?”
“Thank you, no. I shall make my own arrangements.” For some reason, it made her uncomfortable that the maid disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving them alone.
“Why bother when you may share mine?” he asked persuasively, halting just a little too close to her.
She stepped back. “I shall not put you out,” she said firmly. “My own carriage will be here shortly.”
“Will be here. You will make your own arrangements,” he quoted with a hint mockery. Suddenly, he seemed very sure of himself, as though his smarmy desire to please had inexplicably turned into knowledge that he did please. “My carriage will be here in five minutes.”
“And I wish you well in it,” she retorted. “I shall wait for my own.”
“Oh, you needn’t be shy with me!” His smile broadened, and he actually took her hand. “We are old friends now—having spent the night together.”
Juliet snatched her hand free, blushing to the roots of her hair. The blistering retort that rose to her lips froze on the memory of that wretched article, of Jeremy’s contempt. Was this all that was left to her?
As though sensing a victory, George moved closer once more. A table jabbed into her back. She was trapped.
“Sir, step back!” she commanded, though she could see in his eyes, he had no intention of obeying. A shadow fell over the front door.
Daniel Stewart.
Juliet’s first feeling was relief. And then shame.
George turned his head and saw Daniel, but he didn’t move. Instead, he smirked.
Daniel strolled in, the dog at his heels. “I believe the lady made a request.” She hadn’t known he could sound like that, so cold and contemptuous. She shriveled inside.
