gave a long whistle. ‘It never did your uncle any good.’
Tristan’s jaw tightened. ‘That marriage brought misery to everyone.’
‘What am I to do, sir? I mean, it is not right leaving you alone like this here. The London dockyards are refined compared to this place.’
‘You are to put us down, that inn will do.’ Tristan pointed towards the disreputable-looking coaching inn. ‘Then take the carriage back to London. Wait for my word. We will take the train to Hexham. I have sent word to Mrs Elton at the hall. There will be a cart for us at the station.’
‘As you say…sir.’ Robinson’s voice betrayed his uneasiness.
‘You need not worry. I am well used to looking after myself.’ Tristan reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out several notes and handed them to Robinson. ‘These will see you to London.’
‘And beyond.’ The man gave a soft whistle.
‘I want you to leave directly, Robinson. No hanging about.’ Tristan looked pointedly at Lottie. Lottie stirred slightly in her sleep and murmured something indistinct.
Robinson ran his finger around his collar.
‘It is the part of the plan I am uneasy about, sir. The lady is Quality. You can see it from the cut of her clothes and the way she speaks. She could be in danger.’
‘Nothing is going to happen, Robinson. I promise that.’
‘It is not you that I am worried about. It is that lass. How will she react? Someone ought to watch over her, like.’ Robinson assumed a pious expression that was at odds with his former occupation as a boxer.
‘Hopefully, she will reject temptation and obey my instructions, but if not, her lessons in life and treating people properly begin now. The ride in the carriage convinced me of it.’
‘If that is what you want.’ Robinson resumed his place, grumbling about the swells and their peculiar ideas.
Tristan stepped back into the carriage and smoothed a damp curl from her forehead as the wheels began turning again. ‘Time to wake up, Lottie. We are nearly there. See. It’s the headless cross.’
She wrinkled her nose and pushed at his hand.
‘It is far too early for such things, Cousin Frances.’ Her eyes flew open and widened at the sight of her hand clutching his. Her cheeks took on an even rosier hue. And she rapidly dropped his hand. ‘Oh. It’s you.’
She sat up and began to rearrange her dress and bonnet.
‘Did you have a pleasant slumber?’ Tristan asked.
‘I fear I fell asleep on you. Our limbs became entangled and I may have mussed up your shirtfront. You should have woken me. It was presumptuous of me.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Do say that you forgive me. Please do.’
‘We will be married today, Lottie. Man and wife. No one will say a word if you fall asleep on my shoulder.’
‘I suppose not.’ She bent her head so that all he could see was the crown of her straw bonnet and its elaborate blue ribbon. ‘I keep forgetting. It is all very sudden. It is the best thing. I know it is the best thing.’
‘Good.’ Tristan lifted her chin so he looked her in the face. For an instant he drank in her luminous beauty. Then he hardened his heart. He wanted her beauty to be more than skin deep. He wanted her to want him for more than a title and his worldly goods. He had to carry out his experiment. He had to show her that there was more to life than social calls and pincushions. Life was to be lived, and not reflected in a Claude glass. ‘I want you to stay here while I procure us a room.’
‘Here? In this carriage? On my own?’ The words came out as a squeak. Her eyes widened and she clutched her reticule to her chest. ‘I have never been left in a coaching yard on my own before.’
‘You will be quite safe in the coaching yard…as long as you remain there. No one will harm you. Your dress is of a certain quality.’ Tristan forced himself to walk away from her, not to take her by the arm and lead her to another inn. He had to do it, for the sake of their future.
Lottie watched Tristan walk away from her. She half- raised a hand to beg him to stay or at least to take her with him, but he never glanced back. She gazed about the coaching yard where several drovers discussed cattle in heavy Scots accents. The smell of manure and sweat seeped into the carriage. Lottie put her handkerchief over her nose and hoped the inn would be better than its yard. ‘This is a fine mess you have landed yourself in, Lottie Charlton. What happens to you now? Why did you let him go like that?’
‘You will have to get out, miss.’ The large coachman with the broken nose opened the carriage door. ‘Orders is orders. It ain’t my business to contradict Lord Thorngrafton. He says to me, leave when you get to Gretna Green.’
Lottie blinked. ‘Excuse me? Why? Mr Dyvelston is getting a room. Surely you may wait a few moments. I wish to stay in the carriage, away from the gaze of ordinary bystanders. It wouldn’t be proper for me to wait in the yard on my own.’
‘I am only a coachman. I know nothing about the ways of gentlefolk.’
‘Your master will understand if you wait. You must wait.’ Lottie tried to give her words all the imperiousness of her mother, but she heard the undercurrent of desperation.
‘I need to leave.’ The coachman’s countenance took on a mulish expression. ‘My…master said that I needed to be in London with all speed once I had brought you to Gretna Green. He didn’t say nothing about waiting until that there gentleman procured a room. He told me, go once you get to Gretna Green.’
‘Can’t you wait until Mr Dyvelston returns? Please? For my sake?’ Lottie pressed her handkerchief more firmly to her mouth and willed Tristan to return. Her whole body tensed as she peered out of the carriage door into the crowded yard: drovers, farmhands and the odd woman, but no broad shoulders encased in a fine frock coat. Her insides shook at being cast amongst those people. ‘I beg you to reconsider.’
The big man shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t be proper, like. I have me orders. I like my job, miss. I won’t jeopardise it for no one.’
‘Why not? Mr Dyvelston charged you to look after me. I am sure he did. You cannot intend to leave me here with those ruffians.’ Lottie bit her lip, aware that the words had come out more harshly than she had intended. But he had to understand that she had been cosseted and looked after. She was of gentle birth.
‘No, he didn’t, like.’ The coachman lifted a bag from the back and set it down on the muddy cobblestones. ‘This is all there is, miss. I am sure he will return in a few moments. If you please, miss. I am on my way to London to wait for Lord Thorngrafton’s instructions. It is a week’s journey in good weather and I’d like to get on my way.’
‘But you have been driving through the
