Chapter Three
THE INTERIOR SPACE of the carriage did not allow for Veronica to actually stagger, but in her mind, she staggered backward with a hand over her mouth in shock and fear and self-recrimination as she sat down on the seat across from him with a thump.
“We are alone on the side of the road with a broken carriage?”
Geoffery nodded. “Yes.”
She put a hand to her chest and swallowed the panic. “I’ve never experienced such a thing.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Have you ever traveled in a storage box?”
“No.”
He lifted his shoulders quickly and let them drop before leaning his back against the seat. “How lucky am I to be a part of so many new adventures for you.”
His patronizing words sparked heat in her chest. “I do not need your sarcastic commentary, Mr. Meyers!”
“I do not need the extreme complication you have added to my already complicated situation, Miss Veronica.” He looked away quickly and shifted to sit up straight again, prompting Veronica to think he’d said more than he meant to.
Was the “already complicated situation” not regarding the splintered wheel?
Did she dare push for clarification?
She nearly laughed at her hesitation; she’d just spent an hour in the carriage box after sneaking out of the home her family had rented for the Season. Lack of courage was not her limitation.
She spoke in an even, trustworthy voice. “What have I further complicated for you, Mr. Meyers?”
He continued to look toward the window for a few seconds and then looked back at her with an expression she thought she recognized—he wanted to confide in her.
She held his eyes, surprised at how much she wanted his confidence.
Perhaps because if he trusted her with something, she would feel more equity between them.
There was also something validating in the realization that she might not be the only person struggling with her circumstances just now.
The sound of carriage wheels caused both of them to straighten. Someone was coming.
“You can’t be discovered,” Geoffery said at the same time Veronica said, “I can’t be seen.”
They held each other’s eyes a moment.
“Could it be the carriage driver returning with help?” she asked hopefully.
“This carriage is coming from the east; he went west.”
Understanding that they were being approached by an unknown and unexpected carriage passed between them.
Veronica knew what she had to do, and though part of her whimpered at the reality, she would not become a simpering debutante now.
She stood resolutely, turned to remove the seat cushion, and handed it to Geoffery as she lifted her skirts and stepped back into the box.
“I should not allow you to go back in there,” Geoffery said in the regretful tone of a gentleman who is unable to be one quite in the way he would like to be. She appreciated the smallest measure of care she heard in his voice; it was a nice change from the patronizing tone he’d used thus far.
“I believe that is the kindest thing you have said to me,” she said with a quick, sarcastic smile.
She knelt first, then faced forward, rearranged her legs so that her feet were flat on the floor with her knees up, and then slid her back into the box, settling into the same position she’d been in before—the only position possible, really.
“Perhaps the kindest thing you have ever said to me,” she added, looking up at him from her awkward position. “Please replace the cushion.”
He made a grunting sound as the approaching carriage came to a stop behind them. “You must be . . . attentive despite hiding. Do you understand?”
She nodded, because how else could she respond to such a cryptic comment? Be attentive to what?
“Hail the carriage,” said a gruff man’s voice from outside.
“Go!” she whispered.
He swore. She forgave it. He replaced the cushion.