Chapter Sixteen #2
“He will figure it out in a day or two when he summons Dr. Pritchard for a report,” Florence said. “I don’t see how the doctor can lie to him. If Frampton does question the doctor or anyone on the Weymouth staff, then Andrew must proceed with the backup plan.”
Andrew nodded. “Got it. I’ll pretend I am Trajan, grab that young maid, Felicity, and have her disguised as you, Florence. Then we’ll take the Weymouth carriage and ride to Bath. You’ve said this is where Lady Simmons is right now.”
Trajan nodded.
Nathan grinned. “You have a wonderfully devious mind, Florence. This makes perfect sense. Frampton will believe it, and this will get him running after you in the wrong direction.”
Andrew gave her a mock salute. “Good idea. Bath it is. Got it.”
“Your cousin is the brilliant one who thought it up,” she said with a shake of her head. “I hope it won’t be necessary. I’d much prefer all of you to remain safe here at Gull Hall.”
“You just get yourself safely to London and don’t worry about us,” Sebastian said.
Florence released a shaky breath. “And watch over Aunt Hermia for me. She’s all I have.”
All three cousins nodded. “We’ve got her,” Nathan assured her.
Sebastian helped her onto her horse, a big bay by the name of Centurion that looked hardy enough to gallop a hundred miles. Trajan’s steed, a black stallion named Rubicon, appeared to be just as hardy.
Poole was less than thirty miles away. These horses were strong enough to make it there with hardly a lather.
She was the one who would slow them down with her inexperience riding. “What are we to do with the horses once we reach Poole?”
“They’ll be left at the Redfern stable,” Trajan told his cousins, who seemed to know the place well.
“I’ll ride over with several grooms, but not before the week is out,” Nathan assured him.
“Don’t want to give Frampton any hints about your whereabouts.
Old Redfern can be trusted to care for those beasts until we arrive to pick them up.
You’ll be in London by then. Safe travels. Come back married.”
Trajan laughed. “Will do.”
The mist stopped shortly after they got underway, and they spent most of the day riding in sunshine. Dry roads and a light breeze off the water accompanied them for much of the ride.
Florence appreciated the good weather, because she struggled to keep up with Trajan, who appeared to struggle himself from time to time. But he was too stubborn to rest, and only agreed to stop when the horses needed to be fed and watered.
They reached Poole shortly before nightfall, having ridden for hours on end.
Florence’s legs buckled when she finally dismounted upon reaching the Redfern stable, but she could match Trajan for stubbornness and refused to admit she had reached the limit of her endurance.
Redfern was the jovial owner and the one who ran out to greet them.
He was quite a character, portly, with a bright-red face and sporting a stark-white beard.
He spoke in a thick Cornish accent that Florence had to concentrate to understand.
But she easily caught the gist of what he and Trajan were saying to each other.
Trajan handed over a fistful of coins and instructed Redfern to give their horses his finest care. “One of my cousins will come to pick them up in a week’s time. Meanwhile, it is no one’s business they are boarded here. Understood?”
“Aye, Your Grace. My lips are sealed.” Redfern then called for his lads to take the reins and lead both horses to their stalls.
Florence had to admit the man ran an efficient and well-kept stable.
Their next task was to find lodgings, but Trajan did not appear worried about this either. “The Kenford Inn will suit,” he said, before calling for one of Redfern’s boys to follow him with their bags. “It’s just around the corner.”
Night was falling, but she was not worried. She could see they were in the finer side of town. The shops were elegant and the taverns they passed seemed to host a better class of gentleman drunk.
The Kenford Inn was indeed a beautiful lodging house that seemed to be a hub of activity.
“The mail coach to London stops here,” Trajan explained.
“Truly? It seems too fine an inn to be on the mail route.”
“There are several coaches that make their way along the seacoast route to London. This is one of the better ones. Fare is higher, so we will sweat and choke on dust with a better class of passengers,” he jested.
“I’ll hire a private coach to bring us back to Weymouth once we finish our business in London. ”
Florence did not care if they rode donkeys back to Weymouth. She just wanted Frampton brought down, his hopes of high office dashed.
Surely the man who had written those letters to Lady Simmons would want his revenge. Perhaps she could convince that powerful lord to take action against Frampton.
Unfortunately, she did not know who he was, and had solemnly promised the Princess of Wales that she would not peek at those letters.
Drat. Being honest had its drawbacks.
The innkeeper seemed to know Trajan. “Your Grace! It is an honor.”
But he cast furtive glances at Florence, no doubt wondering who she was. Since she felt weary to the bone and probably looked quite haggard, he could not possibly think she was some immoral seductress Trajan was taking to his bed for an evening.
“This is my wife,” Trajan explained, surprising her as much as he surprised the innkeeper. “Newly wed, and perhaps we took on a little too much travel all at once. Didn’t we, my love? Our baggage cart is days behind us. We’ll require your best chamber, of course. And meals brought up for us.”
“At once, Your Grace. I’ll have my lads bring up whatever bags you’ve brought with you.”
“We’ve only these small travel pouches. Make note for tomorrow that we’ll have an early breakfast in our chamber, and we will require seats on the next mail coach to London.”
“The mail coach?” The innkeeper appeared surprised by the last request. “Ah, but it leaves quite early in the morning.”
“Then wake us in time to catch it. Are there seats still available?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It is often full, but you are in luck. You’ll have only two riders with you to Bournemouth, and they have reserved the outside seats. I’m sure the coach will fill up at Bournemouth, though.”
This meant she and Trajan would ride alone inside the coach for most of tomorrow. This was an acceptable compromise and would get them further from Weymouth in the fastest possible way.
They followed the innkeeper, an earnest-looking man by the name of Doncaster, upstairs. Florence was surprised by the luxury of their accommodations, although her heart was pounding because she and Trajan were to share the one room.
And the one bed.
“Your Grace,” the innkeeper said, and it took Florence a moment to realize he was addressing her, “shall I send a maid up to assist you?”
“That is very kind of you, but my gowns are quite practical for travel. I’ll take care of myself. And I am certain His Grace will not mind helping me with anything I cannot manage on my own.” She smiled up at Trajan.
He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “Ever your servant.” Then he dropped several coins in the innkeeper’s palm for good measure.
“This is cozy,” Florence said, letting out a breath once Doncaster had shut the door behind him. “You might have warned me about the sleeping arrangements. Not to mention the marital declaration.”
“I should have,” he admitted, “but we were riding hard and did not have time for a conversation about this. I intend to sleep on the floor, so you needn’t worry.”
She laughed lightly. “You will not. I’ll take the floor, or we could share that ample bed. Sharing is the most sensible solution, don’t you think? I long to fall asleep in your arms, Trajan. Is it wicked of me?”
“Not at all. We are as good as husband and wife.”
“But not married yet.” She shook her head. “We needn’t discuss it. I am with you on this, since I am safest keeping close to you. I’ll need to wash the dust off my hands and face, and change into my nightclothes.”
He cast her a tender smile. “I can head downstairs for twenty minutes and have a drink while—”
“It isn’t necessary. You can turn away or simply close your eyes whenever I need my privacy.
” She studied him a moment longer, noting the weariness in his eyes and wondering whether he still had a touch of fever.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the bed?
You must be exhausted, although you are stubbornly trying to hide this from me. Will you let me take care of you?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t I the one who ought to be taking care of you?”
“I’ve spent a lifetime doing things for myself.” She nudged him onto the bed, and he offered little resistance. “Shall I help you take off your boots? You mustn’t do it yourself or you’ll strain the stitches. I can help you off with your clothes, too.”
“Florence, are you seducing me?” he teased. “What’s a shy fellow to think? Removing my clothes. Tossing me onto the bed.”
She grinned. “You have found me out. I long to get at your body.”
“And I ache to get at yours. Do you mind? But you have only to say the word and I will keep hands off you until we are married.”
“Don’t you dare. Is it not odd that I feel so comfortable around you? I am such a private person, and yet I am not shy about sharing everything with you.”
“Because you trust me.”
“I do,” she said, studying his face. “I trust you and adore you.”
He stretched out on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. “I like where this is going.”
“I thought you might. Trajan, you are very much in my heart.”
“Mutual, Florence. It feels nice, doesn’t it?” She saw the heat in his eyes and the tenderness in his smile as he watched her.
“Yes, I never thought such happiness was possible for me.”
“Nor did I for myself.”