by Anne Barton
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Olivia seethed. “It will take us the better part of two days. I am sure you’d rather spend that time digging around some druid rock pile.”
He leaned back into the squabs. “Not really.”
Olivia debated her next move, but it was hard to think clearly when she could feel the heat coming off of James’s body. The almost harsh angles of his face were balanced by his full lips and his eyes, the color of soft moss. She would not allow his handsomeness to distract her.
“If you insist on accompanying us, then I suppose you must.”
“I must indeed.”
Olivia flashed a smile and batted her eyes in her best debutante imitation. “But I see that you don’t have a bag. I’m sure you’ll want to pack a few items for the trip—a book or journal for passing long hours in the cramped coach, some dry clothes, other necessities…”
James cocked his head. “And you’ll be waiting right here for me when I return?”
“Of course,” she lied.
“I don’t think so.”
Blast. “Very well, then.” She knocked on the roof; the coach lurched forward. Surely James would come to his senses, halt the coach, and end the charade.
But a half hour later, when a five-mile stretch of muddy, pitted road separated them from Haven Bridge, the truth of the matter sunk in.
She and James would spend the next two days shoulder to shoulder in the intimate confines of her coach. The only bright spot she could find in the situation was that his presence—however infuriating—distracted her from the pain that radiated from her ankle.
This was a bad idea.
Spontaneous decisions such as this were not in James’s nature. He believed in preparation, organization, logic. This trip to Oxfordshire flew in the face of all three.
He had nothing but the clothes on his back and the items in his pocket—a few twenty-pound notes and the letter that Olivia’s father had left her as part of his last will and testament. He smoothed a hand over the front of his jacket, confirming that the papers were still there.
He’d decided that he must keep the letter on his person. Leaving it in his room at the inn, even for a short period of time, was too risky. Anyone could enter the room and abscond with the letter, and Olivia might never read her father’s last message to her.
Knowing the letter was safely stowed in his pocket was some comfort… but not much.
James hadn’t had an opportunity to tell his own coachman where he was going or give instructions when to come for him.
He hadn’t had a chance to inform Uncle Humphrey of his plans, and the old man would worry when James didn’t show for his daily visit.
But if he’d dared to step foot outside of her coach to pack a few items or speak with Ian, he would have returned to find nothing but the deep tracks of her coach’s wheels filling up with rain.
And he couldn’t let her go like that.
She sat stiffly beside him, sniffing every so often, as though she could barely contain her distaste for his company.
Though he wasn’t thrilled about the circumstances either, he had to see that she made it safely to her aunt’s. He might have absolved himself of the duty if he’d had the gumption to write a letter to Huntford informing him of his sister’s unsanctioned travels… but he hadn’t.
To do so would have betrayed Olivia.
Sometime that morning, he’d realized he valued his relationship with her at least as much as his relationship with her brother.
She’d become important to James. In ways he didn’t care to examine too deeply.
Clearly she was vexed with him—a state of affairs he found unsettling. He supposed he’d grown comfortably accustomed to being on the receiving end of her adoration. How could he have taken it for granted all those years?
Her maid, on the opposite seat, busied herself with mending. Every few minutes, however, she glanced up at him warily, as though she expected to find that he’d pounced on her mistress while she looked down to knot her thread.
He smiled politely each time the maid looked his way, determined to win her over, even if he couldn’t charm his way back into Olivia’s good graces.
They’d ridden in heavy, awkward silence for almost two hours. James couldn’t bear it any longer. “Is anyone besides me feeling a little peckish?”
Hildy set down her sewing and looked at Olivia. “You haven’t eaten since morning.”
Olivia flicked a glance at him, and he knew she was thinking of the feast they’d shared on the hilltop.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
Nevertheless, the maid pulled the basket from beneath the bench. “The innkeeper’s wife packed us some wonderful sliced chicken sandwiches, apples, and ale. Will you try to eat something?”
“Thank you, no.”
Determined to find something to tempt Olivia, Hildy dug farther into the basket. “Oh, there are pastries in here, too. You must keep up your strength, after all.”
“For what? It’s not as though I’m walking to Aunt Eustace’s.”
The maid lowered her eyes and replaced the cloth over the basket.
“Oh, Hildy,” Olivia pleaded. “Forgive me for being so rude. Certain people”—she glared in James’s direction—“seem to bring out the worst in me.”
“You’ll eat something, then?” the maid asked hopefully.
“Of course.”
The smell of freshly baked bread and chicken filled the coach, and James’s mouth watered. Hildy handed him a sandwich. “Here you are, Mr. Averill.”
“Are you sure there’s enough—for you and the coachman, too?”
“Oh yes,” she replied warmly. “How very kind of you to ask.”
He and Hildy made small talk as they ate, and soon after, her eyes drooped. She packed the rest of the food away for the driver, leaned against the side of the cab, and promptly fell asleep.
Olivia stared out the window at the gray sky and the rain that continued to fall in sheets.
“I know you don’t want me here.” James leaned toward her and spoke softly, so as not to wake her maid. “But it was not my intention to make you miserable—only to ensure your safety.”
She arched a brow. “Is that so, Mr. Averill? Have you no other motivation?”
James blinked, taken aback by her use of his surname. What other motivation did she suspect? Perhaps she guessed how fiercely attracted he was to her, and that even as they sat there, chaperoned by her maid, he was imagining how he’d like to kiss the soft skin of her neck, just behind her ear.
“What other reason would I have?”
“Hmm, let’s see,” she said dryly. “Perhaps you don’t believe that I’m going to Oxfordshire after all.”
Actually, the thought that she wasn’t going to visit her aunt Eustace had not occurred to him—and it probably should have. “Where else would you go?”
“I don’t know,” she said, clearly exasperated by his simple question. “The point is, you don’t trust me.”
“That’s not true. I trust you on the things that count.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I know you’d do anything to protect your sister and brother. And you always stand up for what you believe is right.”
She studied his face as though she thought he might be mocking her. “Who wouldn’t stand up for family?”
Who, indeed? He didn’t have half the backbone Olivia did. Even his closest friends didn’t know about Ralph, his brother.
“You might be surprised,” James said. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t doubt your word. I only knew that if misfortune befell you on your way to Aunt Eustace’s, I’d never forgive myself.”
Some of Olivia’s hard edges seemed to melt, ever so slightly. “That’s very gallant of you. But what could possibly happen between here and—”
Bam!
Chapter Eight
The coach bounced violently, sending Olivia into the air and onto the floor. She landed on her bottom—h
ard enough to jar her teeth—but it was better than landing on her foot. James was at her side, his legs and arms sprawled across the small space.
The maid, who’d slammed into the wall behind her, woke with a cry. “What’s happened?”
“Hold on,” James warned, though the coach already seemed to be slowing. “We must have hit a rut. Is either of you hurt?” He cupped Olivia’s cheeks in his warm hands, as though reassuring himself that she was all right. Her heart, which was already pounding out of her chest, pounded harder in response to his touch.
Olivia nodded. “I’m fine.” She turned to Hildy. “Did you bump your head?”
“Not very hard, my lady.” But the maid looked too pale for Olivia’s liking.
James moved back onto the bench seat and easily pulled Olivia up beside him. “Stay here. I’m going to check on the coachman.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, suddenly very, very glad to have him here.
Before the coach had even come to a complete stop, James slid back the latch and hopped lightly to the sodden ground. He gave her a reassuring wink and shut the door firmly behind him.
Olivia joined Hildy on her bench and gave her a fierce squeeze.
“I’ve never felt such a jolt. I hope Terrence wasn’t hurt,” the maid fretted.
“He managed to bring the horses to a stop. That’s a good sign.” Olivia paused and cocked an ear. “I can hear them talking.”
She couldn’t make out what the men were saying above the patter of rain on the roof, but she did hear Terrence curse with impressive vigor—and found it oddly reassuring.
A few moments later, James opened the door and popped his head in. “Terrence is fine.” Another curse erupted from behind James. “But, as you’ve no doubt surmised, not particularly happy. One of the coach’s wheels dropped into a large pit in the road. It bounced out—thankfully—but the rear axle is cracked. If we keep going, we risk having it snap clean through. We’ll have to leave the coach here and get help.” He used a tone that brooked no argument.
Olivia ignored it. “We cannot leave the coach on the side of this road. Anyone could ride by and make off with it.”
“Not unless they had a couple of extra horses.”
Just a day ago, Olivia would have swooned over James’s good sense. Now his superior attitude grated on her nerves. “I’ll admit that’s unlikely. But the coach is laden with our bags. A thief could make off with all our possessions.”
“Not if we carry them,” he said.
Olivia wished she’d packed a little lighter. “How far is the nearest village?”
“Terrence thinks we’re only two or three miles from Sutterside. Not a bad walk.”
Perhaps not—if one had two properly working ankles. “Could we ride the horses?”
James shook his head regretfully. “We don’t have saddles.”
“We’ll be drenched.”
“At least you have a change of clothes.”
Olivia grunted. “I gave you the chance to pack a bag.”
A sardonic smile split James’s face. “Indeed. And if I’d gone to get it, you’d be the one standing in the rain inspecting the axle instead of me.”
She leaned forward and looked out at the gray sky behind James.
“And here I thought you were the adventurous sort,” he teased. “Do you have an extra cloak you can throw on? We only have an hour or so of daylight left, so the sooner we’re off the better.”
Hildy was already collecting items from inside the coach and tying her bonnet more tightly beneath her chin. Olivia hated to admit the truth about her ankle—especially since she’d lied about it on their way to the inn at Haven Bridge—but she had no choice.
“I don’t think I can walk to Sutterside,” Olivia said casually. “I turned my ankle earlier, during our walk.”
Her maid gasped. “My lady, you should have said something!”
“It’s nothing too frightful, Hildy, just a tad sore. Still, I believe I shall be better off staying here with the carriage and keeping watch over our bags.”
“I see,” James said. “And if a highway robber appears, will you fight him off?”
“If I must.” But she certainly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“With what? A parasol?”
“Perhaps Terrence would be so good as to lend me his pistol.”
James closed his eyes momentarily, as though praying for patience. Then he lumbered into the cab and sat on the seat across from her. “How bad is it?” he asked. “Really.”
Olivia tucked her right foot a little farther beneath the bench. “It will probably be fine by tomorrow, but right now it’s… tender.”
“Tender,” he repeated—rather unnecessarily, in her opinion.
“Yes.”
“Let me see it.”
Prideful, vain creature that she was, she’d been dreading this moment.
Only because if James was to spend the next few years in Egypt, she’d prefer that he not remember her as the girl with the elephant foot. “No.”
He leaned forward, elbows propped casually on his knees. “I just want to look at it. I won’t touch it if it hurts.”
She shook her head emphatically and looked to Hildy. No help came from that quarter, as the maid looked nearly as curious as James.
“Why won’t you show me?” he asked.
“Modesty.”
James burst into laughter. Hildy even chuckled a little. Olivia’s excuse may have been a little far-fetched. Still, she longed to take the slipper off her good foot and hurl it at him.
“Fine,” she said. “Gawk to your heart’s content.” Olivia stuck out her right foot and hauled her hem up to her knee.
James and Hildy went dead silent, and for a moment, Olivia wondered if her foot had gotten even worse. Hard to imagine, but maybe it had turned black or was oozing something. She peeked at her outstretched foot and was relieved to find it the same—grotesquely fat, but the same.
“Good God.” James held her shin with one hand and cradled her foot in the other. “I’m so sorry, Olivia.”
“It’s not as though I’m on my deathbed,” she quipped, but the truth was she could use a good cry.
“This must hurt like the devil.”
It did, as a matter of fact, and talking about it wasn’t helping one bit. “A two-mile walk seems out of the question.”
He gently placed her foot back on the floor and lowered the hem of her dress. The slight weight of her hem against the top of her foot felt almost as bad as the time Lord Kesley trampled it during a quadrille.
“You definitely cannot walk,” James said soberly.
She checked the urge to make a snide remark even though she had told him so.
“If it weren’t raining and muddy, I might be able to carry you—”
“No,” Olivia cried emphatically. After enduring two rejections from him in the past week, her pride simply would not allow it.
“You’re right. The ground is too treacherous. We shall have to wait here while Terrence goes for help.”
Olivia tilted her head, hoping she’d heard him incorrectly. “We?”
“I’m not leaving you alone.” James pointed at her ankle and made a face like he smelled a three-day-old fish. “Especially not with your foot like that.”
“It’s not as though it’s going to fall off while you’re not looking.”
He shrugged like he wouldn’t want to make that bet. “Without two good feet, you’d be even more defenseless than usual.”
“I’m not nearly as helpless as you might think.” She smiled in a thinly veiled threat.
James grinned. “I’m sorry you’ll have to endure my company a bit longer.”
“Hildy could stay with me,” Olivia said hopefully.
“She can if you’d like. But even the pair of you cannot remain here alone. It will be dark by the time Terrence returns. He’s unhooking the horses now. I’ll inform him of our plans so he can be on his way.”
He started
for the door, then stopped, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Would your foot feel better if you propped it up on this bench?” Before she could respond, he said, “Let’s try.” He knelt on the floor and lifted her leg with the same care she was certain he’d have given to an ancient Egyptian princess’s mummified leg—though he would no doubt have been more enthralled with the latter. With a traveling blanket that he found beneath his seat, he swaddled her ankle and let it rest on the bench. The throbbing lessened slightly.
“Thank you,” she said. “That helps a little.”
James nodded and ducked out the door to speak with Terrence. The moment he left, Hildy cleared her throat. “You’ll want me to stay with you, then?”
Olivia would have thought the answer obvious. “I think that would be best. Do you have any objection?”
“No, of course not,” Hildy said. But she gazed longingly out the window.
“But you would rather walk to Sutterside in the rain than wait here with me in the dry coach?”
“Oh, it sounds awful when you put it like that,” Hildy said. “You know I’ve never been good on long rides.”
“You can’t have motion sickness—we’re not even moving.”
“I know, my lady.” The maid blushed scarlet. “It’s not the movement that’s the problem so much as the small space. Now that Mr. Averill is traveling with us, the carriage seems that much smaller. It makes me light-headed.”
“Here. We can open the door.” Olivia awkwardly leaned over her outstretched leg, undid the latch, and pushed the door open. A damp breeze blew into the cab. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Hildy shot a skeptical look at the door. “I suppose.”
But just then, another gust slammed the door shut.
Blast. There was no good reason Hildy should suffer on her account—at least no more than she already had. “On second thought, I think you should accompany Terrence to the village. While he sees to the horses and the repairs, perhaps you could secure rooms for us at the inn.”
“I could order dinner, too,” the maid said eagerly.
“It’s all settled, then,” Olivia agreed. “Take the cloak from my portmanteau to keep you dry.” When Hildy opened her mouth to object, Olivia added, “I can’t have you taking a chill.”
