Chapter 5
Every muscle in Mantheria’s body was protesting by the time that they reached the village a second time.
Her own carriage was expensive and perfectly sprung so that the jostling and bumps were minor.
She felt every rock the old wagon went over and each bump in the road.
Most of the time, when a gentleman or footman assisted her from a carriage, she didn’t actually require the help.
This time, she did. Mantheria didn’t know if it was her bones jingling or the rest of the coins that she had taken out of the secret compartment in the carriage when she’d climbed back in to help Sunny out.
Grasping her coin purse tightly, she entered the posting inn and was met by a slender woman with graying brown hair underneath a mobcap and wearing an apron.
Her eyes widened when she saw Mantheria—her clothes must be in a state!
Mantheria allowed the female innkeeper to guide her to a chair near the fire.
She hadn’t realized how cold she was. Or how tired.
She could barely keep her eyes open. Through the thin slits of her eyelids, Mantheria saw the two large men half carry, half guide Sunny up the stairs.
Then they returned for Robert, whose injury was worse.
But she supposed that they helped Sunny first because he was a duke.
Mantheria was relieved when Robert was also brought through the taproom.
She allowed herself to close her eyes for only a moment and was surprised when she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. “Lady Sunderland, you must awaken. The physician, Mr. Cannon, wishes to speak to you.”
Blinking her eyes open, Mantheria saw the same matron of the house and an older man standing next to her.
His hair was snowy white and reached his shoulders.
His clothes were old-fashioned, but in the excellent condition of a gentleman.
He swept a leg before bowing. “Lady Sunderland, I have seen your husband and your servant. Both will make a full recovery, I am certain.”
Her husband.
They thought that Sunny was her husband, and Mantheria was too tired to correct them. “Were you able to set the bones?”
“For both men, my lady,” the doctor said. “Lord Sunderland’s shoulder was disconnected, and I was able to snap it into place. The swelling has already gone down considerably, and I administered a few drops of laudanum. His arm might be sore for a few days, but no other lasting effects.”
“And Robert?”
Mr. Cannon bowed his head again. “I was able to set the leg and splint it. But the young man should probably stay at the inn or my home for several weeks while it heals. Our town boasts an excellent nurse whom I would recommend that you engage immediately.”
“Of course. Send any bills to the Duke of Sunderland.”
Mantheria would pay Sunny back, but she had to be more careful with her own purse if she was going to catch up with Andrew and bring him back to London safely.
“A duke! Why, I thought he was merely a baron,” the woman said, her mouth wide. “I should be calling you Your Grace. My name is Mrs. Amber.”
Yawning, Mantheria forced her tired body upright. “You may call me anything, ma’am. If you will take me to my room?”
Mrs. Amber put an arm around Mantheria’s shoulders and guided her up the stairs.
They walked through a nice private parlor decorated in green floral wallpaper to a small but clean room with a fire already burning in the hearth.
The blankets and sheets appeared to be fresh, and Mantheria decided not to worry about mites or bedbugs.
Usually, her servants brought their own sheets.
“Do you need help getting out of your dress, Your Grace?”
She did. Mantheria’s arms were very sore from climbing in and out of the carriage window twice and driving the gig. She doubted that she could raise them above her head. “Thank you so much, ma’am. I should indeed like to request your assistance.”
The matron helped Mantheria out of her dusty pelisse and travel dress and into her clean nightgown. “I’ll have one of the maids tidy up your clothes, Your Grace. They are too fine to leave in such a state.”
Leave.
Mantheria’s tired mind remembered the reason for the trip. “I need to depart on the first stagecoach in the morning. My son—our son—is already on a stagecoach headed to Bath, and we were hoping to catch up with him before . . .”
Mrs. Amber nodded her head, making her mobcap flop back and forth. “Before he gets into trouble. Lads can be right foolish sometimes when they decide to embark on an adventure. But if you want to catch up with your son, you should take the mail coach. It is faster and makes fewer stops.”
“That would be perfect. What time does it leave in the morning?”
“Five o’clock. And mail coaches don’t wait for anyone. Not even duchesses, Your Grace.”
Mantheria would do anything to make sure Andrew was safe. “Very well. Might I trouble you or a servant to wake me up at four o’clock in the morning and help me dress? Then I can settle my account and purchase a ticket for the mail coach.”
“What about your husband?”
She thought first of Alexander. Then Sunny.
“He’s very well able to take care of himself.”
* * *
Mantheria’s eyelashes felt as if they had been glued shut by one of her little sisters when a chambermaid came to wake her up at the ungodly hour of four o’clock in the morning.
Rubbing her eyes, she tried to get them to focus.
It didn’t matter that every inch of her was sore.
The only thing that mattered was Andrew’s safety.
He was the great joy of her life. The consolation of all her heartaches and regrets. She would have gladly traded her life for his any day. Or any early morning.
Mantheria was delightfully surprised how well the maids had been able to “spruce up” her dress and pelisse.
They were clean enough for her to wear them another day, and since she only had one other dress in her bandbox, it would be wise not to wear it yet.
The chambermaid tied the ribbon of Mantheria’s black hat, which looked as if it had been sat upon from the carriage crash.
She handed the chambermaid a coin and thanked her for her services.
The helpful young lady had also brought her up a tray for breakfast and put it on the table of the green private parlor.
Mantheria’s stomach rumbled, and she remembered that she hadn’t eaten since the morning before, and she felt ravenous.
She sat down at the table and greedily ate everything on her plate and drank nearly an entire pot of tea.
She would need her strength to find her son.
Getting up, she went to the door that led to the hall but stopped before she turned the handle.
Sunny.
She had to check on him before she left.
The green private parlor boasted three doors: one to the hall, one to the room that Mantheria had slept in the night before, and she was pretty certain that she would find Sunny through the final door.
Walking as quietly as possible, she opened the door to Sunny’s room and saw him fast asleep in the bed.
His handsome bare chest rose and fell rhythmically.
His breathing was steady. Sunny was all right—and at least half naked.
Not that she was going to check underneath the blankets for his other half.
Mantheria felt her temperature rise, and her own breathing quickened.
She had thought herself immune to the feelings of animalistic attraction.
Alexander had thought her cold and unresponsive in bed.
The marriage act had seemed so very strange, and she had followed Miss Cluess’s advice to hold still and do her duty.
Nothing more. Nothing less. Her mother’s advice had been quite different, but Mantheria had ignored it, assuming that such behavior was for commoners, and she was a lady.
How she regretted not listening to her mother!
Perhaps she might have been better prepared for her role as a wife.
Less frigid. Alexander might not have returned to his former mistress if she had been a better bedfellow.
But by then, it had hurt to be touched. Mantheria was expecting Andrew, and her breasts were sore and her stomach unsteady.
Whenever Alexander had come near her, or even touched her, she’d thrown up.
So, she avoided him. It was already strange enough to be only seventeen and away from her family and home.
But then her body had not even felt like it belonged to her either.
Shaking her head as if to clear these painful memories, Mantheria willed her pulse to slow down and her temperature to cool. She would never marry again, and no other husband would find her wanting in any way.
Creeping back across the room, she closed the door behind her and went downstairs to settle her accounts with Mrs. Amber. At precisely five o’clock in the morning, Mantheria and her sole bandbox were on the mail coach headed to Bath.