Runaway Miss - Mary Nichols Mills & Boon Historical

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if we will ever get a summer. It’s enough to make you wish yourself back in Spain.’

      ‘I will endeavour to see if we can travel inside when and if the other occupants of the seats leave the coach. To be sure, it will give us time to get to know more of those two.’

      Why he was so curious, he did not know. There was something about the tall girl that seized his attention. He had never, to his knowledge, met her before, but he felt as if he knew her, had always known her, and in that knowledge was also mystery, which he found compelling. She was not afraid of him, had met his eyes unashamedly, had conversed intelligently, was self-assured, more than any gentlewoman fallen on hard times ought to be, and yet at the back of those enormous violet eyes was a profound sadness. There was a story there and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

      The coach rattled on through the Hertfordshire countryside, making Emma wish she dare stop and go to Pinehill, but that would be the first place Sir George would look once he had ascertained she was no longer in London. She leaned back and refused to look out of the window at the familiar countryside where her childhood had been so happy, in case the sight should make her weep. How was her mother faring? Would her stepfather be bullying her into revealing where her daughter had gone? Mama was dreadfully afraid of her husband, but she would hold out as long as she could. If she could convince Sir George she was as mystified and concerned as he was, she might not suffer too much at his hands. She could even take to her bed with the worry of it all. Yes, that’s what she would do.

      ‘It’s raining again,’ Rose commented.

      Emma opened her eyes and peered through the window. She could see nothing and rubbed the window to clear it of condensation and then all she could see was water beating against the other side and running down the glass in torrents. ‘Oh, dear, those poor men. I’ll wager they wish they had never given us their seats.’

      The horses’ swift canter slowed to a trot, as the road became awash and the potholes disappeared, so that the wheels frequently ran into them and everyone on the coach was thrown from side to side. A flash of lightning and a roll of thunder so startled the horses they set off at a mad gallop. Emma reached for the strap and hung on grimly and the young bride opposite her flung herself into her husband’s arms and cried out in terror. They could hear the outside passengers shouting, which included some words not fit for ladies’ ears and then a thumping on the roof above their heads as if all twelve of them were trying to shift their positions. And still the horses galloped on, dragging their cargo with them.

      At last the driver regained control and they resumed their steady pace, but the young lady opposite Emma would not be consoled, even though her husband soothed her over and over again. ‘It’s all right, dearest, you are quite safe. And I do believe the rain is easing. We shall soon be in Dunstable. There, there, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.’ He smiled nervously at Emma as he spoke.

      She leaned forward. ‘Pray, do not distress yourself, madam. I admit I was a little nervous myself, but the worst is over. Do dry your eyes and look out of the window. I believe the sun is trying to come out.’

      The young lady lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder and smiled weakly. ‘I am s…sorry to be s…such a watering pot. I have never travelled in a public coach before and never without Mama.’

      Emma leaned forward, smiling. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. Neither have I.’

      ‘Then you are very brave.’

      ‘Not brave, stubborn and too proud to admit to being fearful.’ That, she supposed was true, especially with regard to her present situation, otherwise she would never have set out on this adventure.

      They stopped for a change of horses, but did not leave the coach, though Alex climbed down and put his head in the door. Water was dripping off his hat and his shoulders were soaked. ‘Is anyone hurt?’

      ‘No, we are all in plump currant,’ Emma said. ‘But you are very wet.’

      ‘Oh, I have been a great deal wetter in my time, ma’am. I shall soon dry when we stop for something to eat.’

      ‘When will that be?’

      ‘At Dunstable. We should have been there by now, but it would have been unwise to hurry the horses when you couldn’t see where you were going.’

      Emma smiled. ‘They certainly hurried themselves when it thundered.’

      ‘Yes, and a devil of a job it was to bring them to order. Horses that shy at a rumble of thunder should not be allowed to draw a public coach. I mean to have a word with the proprietor and hope the next set are more reliable.’ With that he disappeared and Emma saw him cross the yard and enter the inn. He came back just as they were ready to set off again.

      The remainder of the stretch to Dunstable, through rolling countryside between the Chiltern Hills and Dunstable Downs, was uneventful and they clattered up the High Street and turned under the archway of the White Horse at half past one in the afternoon. Thankfully they stretched their stiff limbs and made a dash for the inn where they were joined by the bedraggled occupants of the outside seats.

      The end of May it might have been, but the spring had been so cold and wet, the proprietor had lit a fire in the parlour and soon steaming coats and cloaks were draped around it. Emma looked about for Lord Malvers, but he was nowhere to be seen, though his man, his dark hair plastered to his scalp, had made himself comfortable in the corner nearest the fire and was tucking in to a plate full of chicken, potatoes and gravy. The young man and his bride were in earnest conversation with the innkeeper and were soon conducted upstairs. No doubt they had bespoke themselves a private room.

      Emma found a table and they sat down to wait to be served. They had just handed in an order for ham pie and potatoes, the cheapest thing on the menu according to the man who took the order, when the Viscount returned. He had changed his coat and brushed out his hair, though the rain had made it curl even more. He approached Emma. ‘May I join you?’

      She could hardly refuse. ‘Please do. We have already ordered our meal.’

      ‘Ah, I see, that means I am not to be allowed to pay for it.’ Nevertheless he seated himself beside them.

      ‘No, my lord, you are not. We are perfectly capable of paying our own way.’

      ‘How independent you are!’

      ‘You are mocking me.’

      ‘Indeed I am not. I admire your spunk.’ He turned as the waiter brought the girls’ meal and took his order for pork chops, roast chicken, a fruit pie and a quart of ale.

      ‘Spunk, my lord?’

      ‘You do not seem at all distressed by your recent alarming experience.’

      She was taken aback for a moment, thinking he must know who she was and had heard about Lord Bentwater’s proposal, but then realised he was talking about the runaway horses. ‘Oh, that. It did not last above two or three minutes and we did not turn over, did we?’

      ‘No, but it was a near thing.’

      She smiled. ‘A close-run thing.’

      He laughed. ‘Yes, if you will.’

      ‘It must have been far worse for those of you travelling on the outside in the rain and wind.’

      ‘A mite uncomfortable,’ he said laconically.

      The waiter came back with a tray loaded with food and Emma’s eyes widened at the sight of it. Her ham pie had barely filled a corner. She watched as he attacked it with gusto.

      ‘And you need not have endured it if you had not given away your inside seats.’

      ‘I hope you are not going to bore me with your gratitude all the way to Kendal, Miss Draper. A good deed once done should be forgotten.’

      ‘By the doer, yes, but the recipient should be thinking of ways to make all right again.’

      ‘Allowing

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