Chapter Five
The elegant coach traversed the crowded London streets in a random manner. Isabella sat alone inside, barely noticing the milling crowds and variety of hackneys, carts, and carriages clogging the road.
The overcast skies of the early afternoon had fulfilled their promise of rain and a steady drizzle prevailed. The smell of wet pavement filled Isabella’s nostrils and she sighed. The dull, gray weather matched her mood.
She had remained in Lord Poole’s town house only long enough to rebind her hair and secure her bonnet on her head.
Then she raced out of the house, offering no explanation to the astonished servants.
She escaped to the safety of the earl’s carriage, which was patiently awaiting her arrival, just as the earl had promised.
As soon as she gained her seat inside the carriage, Isabella instructed the coachman to drive away.
Since she gave no specific instructions as to her destination, the coach had been meandering about the city for the past hour.
“Should I drive down Bond Street, miss?” The coachman called down to her. “It’s a bit crowded, but not impassable.”
Isabella leaned near the half-opened window and yelled, “Bond Street would be fine.”
She settled back against the comfortable squabs and forced herself to face reality. She could not very well continue driving around London in the earl’s carriage for the rest of the day. She needed to make some important decisions about her future, and time was running short.
Isabella bit her lip nervously and admitted to herself that she was frightened.
Her prospects for employment were dim, especially without proper references.
It would most likely take her several weeks, perhaps even months, to find a suitable position.
And London was an expensive city to live in given her meager savings.
Isabella knew she would have no choice but to return to her grandfather’s estate in York while searching for a new post. Even though her mother’s family had amply demonstrated their lack of regard for her, she knew they would not deny her temporary shelter.
As much as it rankled her to ask for her family’s help, Isabella knew she could ill afford to allow her pride to override her common sense in this instance.
Her decision reached, Isabella tapped on the roof of the carriage to attract the driver’s attention.
“Take me to the nearest posting inn, please,” she requested. “I need to catch the next available coach traveling north.”
The coach made a sharp left turn and all too soon stopped.
Isabella glanced speculatively out the window and was pleased to note that the establishment they had arrived at looked well-maintained.
She sincerely hoped it would not be too long a wait for the mail coach to depart.
No matter how respectable an establishment appeared, a woman traveling alone was often the target of unwanted attention.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly to the young footman.
who assisted her out of the carriage. Turning around to pull out her satchel, she cast a final longing glance inside the luxurious coach.
It would have been heavenly to ride to York inside this comfortable vehicle.
Isabella spitefully wished it were possible, knowing it would infuriate the earl to have his carriage disappear for several days.
It seemed a fitting revenge to take the coach the earl so rudely placed at her disposal halfway across England, and Isabella was.
sorely tempted to commandeer the carriage, but her lack of funds prevented her from doing so.
She did not have the necessary coin to provide food and lodging for herself, the servants, or even the horses on a journey as far as York.
As she took her final leave, Isabella gave the three male servants a curt nod of farewell and boldly began walking toward the entrance of the inn.
“Please wait, miss,” an anxious voice called out.
Isabella turned around and curiously observed one of the earl’s servants scramble down from the top of the carriage. “Are you certain this is where you want us to leave you? We would be happy to take you outside the city, or anywhere else you wish to go.”
“That is most kind of you Mr. ... ?”
“Jenkins,” the man supplied.
“Mr. Jenkins.” Isabella nodded politely at the introduction. “As tempting as your generous offer is, I must decline. I am traveling well beyond the city limits to York.”
“I see,” Jenkins replied slowly. “These inns can be rather rough for a genteel lady. I must insist you at least allow me to escort you inside.”
Isabella paused a moment, observing the servant openly while she considered his offer.
She judged him to be near fifty years of age, but he was a strong-looking man, obviously in good physical condition.
She thought he was rather elegantly dressed for a coachman, but she decided to accept his offer of protection.
“Since I have no notion of how long I will be forced to wait, I would appreciate your company, Mr. Jenkins. Thank you.”
Once they were inside the inn, Isabella was glad she had accepted the servant’s assistance. The taproom was noisy and crowded, with an almost exclusively male clientele. A quick perusal of the area confirmed there were no unaccompanied women seated in the room.
Miraculously, Jenkins was able to secure a relatively private table in a corner of the crowded room. After a few moments, a harassed-looking barmaid came to their table.
“So what will you be having today?” she asked in a bored voice.
Isabella’s stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and she realized she had not eaten since early morning. “I would like a pot of tea and something substantial to go with it.”
“We don’t have anything fancy, but the cook could fix you a cold plate, with whatever meat, cheese, and bread we have left.”
“That would be fine.” Turning to the man sitting next to her, Isabella inquired graciously, “Would you care for some tea also, Mr. Jenkins? Or perhaps a pint of ale?”
“I prefer ale.”
After a considerable wait, the barmaid brought their refreshments. As Isabella lifted the heavy earthenware teapot and slowly poured herself a cup of tea, she became aware of the intense scrutiny of her companion.
“Do I look so very much like her, Mr. Jenkins?” Isabella inquired casually, while cutting a wedge of cheddar cheese. She delicately sank her strong white teeth into the tasty morsel and waited for a response.
Jenkins’s face revealed his surprise at her direct question, but he did not pretend to misunderstand Isabella’s remark.
“You do bear a distinct resemblance to the countess, miss,” Jenkins replied, “especially the unusual color of your eyes. I can understand how the earl might have mistaken you for Emmeline. It was a credible mistake given the earl’s condition.”
“His condition?” Isabella remained silent for a few thoughtful moments and then nodded her head philosophically.
“I strongly suspected there was something different about the earl. He was absolutely relentless in his insistence about my being Emmeline, and he acted in a most irrational manner. He was also excessively forceful and demanding toward me and my former employers.” Isabella leaned in closer and whispered sympathetically, “The earl is unbalanced, isn’t he, Mr. Jenkins? ”
“Unbalanced?” Jenkins’s face broke into a broad smile when he caught Isabella’s meaning. “The earl is not addle-brained miss, if that is what you are implying. He was merely drunk.”
“Drunk?” Isabella shook her head vigorously. “I am certain you are wrong. I can tell from experience when someone is inebriated. My stepfather had a great fondness for drink. I am quite sure I would have known if the earl was drunk.”
“I am not very proud to confess I spent the better part of last night emptying three bottles of brandy with the earl. Believe me, he was under the hatches when he first spotted you in the park this morning.”
Isabella raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Does the earl often spend his evenings drinking with his servants?”
“I am his friend, miss, as well as his valet,” Jenkins replied with obvious pride in his voice. “And no, the earl does not often spend his time drinking.”
“What was so special about last night?”
Jenkins slowly set his half-empty tankard down on the table before answering. “We packed up the London town house yesterday. The earl was forced to sell it, and I think that bothered him a good deal more than he figured it would.”
“He has pressing gambling debts?” Isabella could not keep the hint of scorn from her voice.
“These debts are not of his own doing,” Jenkins responded defensively. “These obligations were incurred long before the earl assumed his title. Being an honorable man, he is determined to repay them.”
“I beg your pardon,” Isabella countered, hearing the note of indignation in the servant’s voice.
She could tell that her slur on the earl’s character had insulted the valet.
She was intrigued by the servant’s unwavering loyalty.
And by his admission that the earl was his friend.
“It was not my intention to offend you, Mr. Jenkins. However, my ghastly experience with the earl today causes me to naturally assume the worst in his case.”
“What happened?”