told her and kissed her cheek.
So far her uncle’s fears for her journey had proved unfounded, but it had passed the hours more pleasantly having someone to talk to—though Sally had been sleeping for the past hour or so. Marianne might have followed her example, except that she enjoyed looking out of the window. Her thoughts were already with her great-aunt. It was some years since she had seen Aunt Bertha and she was wondering if she might find her much changed.
Suddenly, the coach halted amidst a jangling of brasses and some juddering that shook Sally awake, making her rub her eyes and look at Marianne in bewilderment.
‘What has happened, miss?’
‘We have stopped for some reason,’ Marianne said. She looked out of the window. ‘I think there has been an accident to a coach ahead of us…yes, it appears that several men are helping to push it to the side of the road.’ She opened her door and got down, looking at Lord Wainwright’s groom as he came up to her.
‘I had to stop, Miss Horne. I’ll give them a hand and then we’ll soon be on our way again.’
‘Yes, of course, George,’ Marianne said. She followed the groom along the narrow country road towards the damaged coach, because she had seen two ladies standing at the edge of the road. They looked upset, as they might well do, the younger almost in tears. ‘I am so sorry for your misfortune,’ Marianne said. ‘It could be some time before your wheel is repaired—may we take you up with us as far as the next inn?’
The older lady looked at her for a moment and then nodded. ‘How kind of you,’ she said. ‘We should be glad of that, should we not, Henriette? My grooms may fetch help and follow us with the coach as soon as they are able.’
‘Oh…yes, Mama,’ the girl said, but she was not looking at her mother. Her eyes were on one of the gentlemen helping with the carriage. Marianne glanced in the direction of the girl’s gaze, seeing a man with fashionably cropped black hair. He had taken off his coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looked to be very strong and was directing the operations, but as he did not glance their way, Marianne could not see his face. The two ladies followed her to the coach and climbed inside.
‘I should introduce myself,’ the older of the two said. ‘I am Lady Forester and this is my daughter Henriette. We are on our way to stay with friends in Devon.’
‘I am Marianne Horne, and I am visiting my great-aunt. She has been unwell and needs some company.’
‘Ah, yes, illness always makes one so low,’ Lady Forester said.
‘Yes…’ Marianne glanced out of the window as she heard a shout. ‘They have moved your carriage, Lady Forester. We should be on our way at any moment now.’
As she spoke, the man who had been directing operations turned in their direction and looked towards their coach. Marianne could see his face now. He was attractive with a strong, determined face and eyes that looked a very dark blue. He was such a striking man that she was not surprised that Henriette had been more interested in watching him than listening to her mama. For a moment his eyes seemed to dwell on Marianne’s face and she was aware of a peculiar flutter in her stomach. He was so…very masculine, so very different to every other man she had met in her sheltered life. Her cheeks felt a little warm and she looked down. When she dared to look again, he had turned away and was about to mount his horse.
‘It was kind of that gentleman to help us, was it not, Mama?’ Henriette said.
‘Yes,’ her mama agreed. ‘But no more than any decent man would do, I dare say.’ She spoke dismissively, as if the gentleman were of no consequence to her mind, though her daughter’s face reflected rather different feelings towards their gallant rescuer.
As their carriage drew level with him, the man glanced towards it once more. For a moment Marianne gazed into eyes that were so blue and bright that she felt suddenly breathless. Something about him made her heart race for no reason at all that she could think of. He looked directly at her, his eyes bold and challenging. He did not drop his gaze, continuing to stare at her until they had passed him. It was unsettling to be looked at in that way, and she decided that he was not a gentleman, for surely a gentleman would never have looked at any lady in that way, particularly one he did not know. Meeting Henriette’s gaze across the carriage, she saw the slightly wistful expression and smiled, understanding that the girl had been smitten. She was very young, not much above Lucy’s age, and the incident must have seemed like something out of a fairy tale perhaps…a handsome prince riding to their rescue.
‘Tell me, Miss Forester,’ she said. ‘Do you read much?’
‘Oh yes,’ the girl replied, her face lighting up. ‘I love the romantic poets, do I not, Mama?’
Her mother agreed that she did and the conversation turned towards various poets they all admired. In this way the time passed pleasantly enough until Marianne was able to set them down at the next inn.
‘Well, that was an adventure,’ Sally said, once they were on their way again. ‘It is a pity they were not going to Cornwall, miss. The young lady would have been a nice friend for you.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Marianne said. ‘She was charming, her mother, too—but I dare say we shall not meet again.’
She eased against the cushions, feeling thankful that her uncle had provided her with such a comfortable mode of transport. They would probably be on the road for at least another two days. For a moment she sighed, wishing that she might have travelled on horseback like the man who had seemed in command when the damaged coach was moved from the road. He would get wherever he was going much faster. For a moment she envied his freedom, thinking how pleasant it would be to be riding on a day like this, and then she shook her head and smiled. How shocking of her to be thinking that she would like to be riding with a man she did not know and never would.
Drew yawned as he leaned his head against the high back of his chair. It was now well past midnight and nothing had happened. Earlier that evening, he had carried his chair to the window, giving himself a clear view of the cove below. He had been lucky to find a suitable property, but it belonged to the Edgeworthy estate and had once been home to a cousin of the elderly lady who owned it now. His agent had negotiated the lease for him, telling him that the lady’s man of business had been very willing to rent it to Drew for a few months. He had found the local man eager to be of service when they arrived the previous day.
He had given Drew the key, saying, ‘You will find it a solid house, though nothing has been done to it for years, Mr Beck. The last occupier fell to his death from the cliff path and Lady Edgeworthy thought it best to shut the place down. However, she will be happy to rent it to you for as long as you wish.’
‘That is most kind of her,’ Drew said. ‘As I told you, I am here for my health…’ He gave a little cough behind his hand. ‘Sea air and exercise will benefit me greatly, and I like to watch the gulls as they circle over the cliffs.’
‘Well, if you feel it will suit you. I’ve had the house cleaned, of course—shall I hire a woman to cook and clean for you every day?’
‘Thank you for having the house cleaned,’ Drew said, ‘but I have brought my manservant—he will care for me as he always does.’
Drew was smiling to himself as that servant entered the room, carrying a decanter of brandy and a glass on a small tray, which he set down on a table nearby.
‘Will
