Chapter Two
FOR A MOMENT, Veronica thought Geoffery would slam the door and walk away in a huff, but instead, he swore under his breath and stepped into the carriage, crowding the space.
He pulled the door shut, and his hunched posture helped to offset the menace of his glare.
They faced off for only a few moments in the darkened interior of the carriage before he turned to sit upon his seat, leaving her standing in the small gap between the facing benches.
“What is this?” he said with a hiss. Usually, an additional groom or two would accompany a carriage of this size, but apparently, not this time, as only the driver had been included.
It had made her feel more secure to know that there were only two people from whom to hide. Except, now she’d been caught.
“Uh, well, I . . .” She took a deep breath and thought of the fortitude of those penny novel heroines. “I am taking my future into my own hands, Mr. Meyers.”
“By hiding in my storage box?”
She lifted her chin another half an inch. “By leaving London. I have been wanting to return home for months, and no one will hear me.”
A flash of confusion crossed his face. “Why do you want to leave London?”
“I hate it there.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
This stumped her. She was supposed to love London—everyone else did—but he did not seem to share that perspective. “I am to stay in a place I despise?”
“Well, yes,” he said with a nod. “Do you think that life is only about doing what you want, where you want to do it?” He laughed at his own rhetorical question.
“You are in London for a purpose, Miss Veronica. That has nothing to do with whether or not you like the city, and everything to do with your current purpose in life.”
She was still standing, her head just skimming the carriage ceiling. “For the purpose of being sold like a pig in the marketplace, you mean? No, thank you.”
“And you truly believe that sneaking into my carriage and implicating me in your silly game will spare you the indignities? Is there, perhaps, a man in Andover you are eager to return to?”
Veronica’s cheeks heated, but she did not let him cow her.
“Because, of course, the only reason I would put off one man would be for the attention of another.” She scoffed and shook her head.
“I want a say in my future, Mr. Meyers, and London seemed to drown out my protests completely. I am returning home so that I might show how important it is for me to be heard regarding the life I am to make as a grown woman.”
“What has any of that to do with me?” he asked.
“Well, you weren’t meant to know I was here at all, of course,” she said. “It has nothing to do with you.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You were going to ride the whole way to Andover in that box without my knowledge?”
“Yes.”
“With nothing to eat?”
She lifted her chin a fraction higher. “It is a small sacrifice in contrast to my entire future.”
“And when I arrived home? What was your plan there?”
“I would sneak out of the carriage just as I snuck in and walk home, at which point I would write to my parents to tell them that I would not be returning to the city or participating in their marital scheming.” Saying it aloud did not carry the same impressive reasoning the plan had held when it was only in her own mind, however, and she thought again of that panel of judges.
Or, perhaps, saying it aloud to Geoffery, in particular, was why it suddenly felt flimsy.
He’d call this a “silly game,” and for the first time, she wondered if he was right.
“You didn’t think that your parents might connect my return to Andover with your surprise arrival there?” He groaned and closed his eyes as he tipped his head back. “Good grief.”
“You would have known nothing, of course. I had—have—no plan to inform anyone of the measures I took to make my point.”
He fixed her with his heavy stare again. “And now that I do know?”
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “I had not expected that to happen. I only stepped out of the box to stretch for a few moments; I thought you would take longer in the inn.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly—had he always had such nice eyes?
She’d never thought to notice, but then again, she’d rarely had the chance to be in such close proximity.
Robert was nine years Veronica’s senior and out of the nursery by the time she was born.
Geoffery, as Robert’s contemporary, was equally distant from her place in life.
“We are not at an inn,” Geoffery said.
“What do you mean we are not at an inn?”
Suddenly, Veronica realized that there was very little noise coming from outside. No smell of horses or cooking meat that was usually so prevalent at the way stations one encountered along the roads. No voices yelling back and forth.
“We left London not more than an hour ago,” Geoffery said, which was not an answer, really.
She looked toward the windows, but they were covered with dirt and dust and sprinkled with rain. Had it truly only been an hour? That meant there were still six hours to go! She hoped her disappointment did not show. “Then, where are we?”
“On the side of the road,” Geoffery said. “The wheel is splintered, and the carriage driver has walked ahead to find help. I nearly went with him but decided to stay with the carriage instead so as not to abandon my trunks.”
Veronica felt the blood drain from her face. “We’re . . . stranded?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I guess you did not consider the fact that things might not go exactly as you expected.” He looked toward the window and took a breath, his eyebrows pinching together with concern. “Well, neither did I.”