Chapter 4 #2
Cyn held up a pair admiringly, a very racy pair of pink silk with fancy red stripes. “Oh, I don’t think one should be cheese-paring about such matters,” he said lovingly, and grinned at Chastity.
She glared at him.
“Goodness,” Cyn said to the shop-girl, “I’ve offended the lad. He must not approve of fancy stockings. Tell me, my dear, what do you think of the matter?”
The girl, thought Chastity in disgust, was incapable of thoughts that were other than lustful. And how any man could so shamelessly flaunt intimate apparel in front of strangers . . .
“Oh, sir!” gushed the shop-girl. “I do think them ever so wonderful.”
Cyn admired the stockings again. “I’ll take this pair. And five yards of wide yellow ribbon, if you please.”
Chastity choked. Cyn looked at her and back to the shop-girl. “I don’t think he cares for the yellow. A young man of Puritan tendencies. Perhaps you’d better make it that striped fawn.”
When they left the store he laughed.
Chastity glared at him. “You, sir, have no decency!”
“True. Do you not approve of striped silk stockings? They make the most of a well-turned ankle.”
“It is not a matter I give any thought to,” Chastity said frostily. She stalked ahead in what she hoped was the right direction.
He caught up, laughter in his voice. “You give no thought to ladies’ ankles? ’Struth, but you’re a strange young man.”
Chastity decided it would be wiser not to pick up that gauntlet. Anyway, she had to let him lead again, for she was lost.
Despite the brisk pace he set, very little escaped Lord Cynric Malloren.
As they approached the Crown he entered another shop, one advertising soap and beauty agents.
This was a different type of establishment altogether, and one with which Chastity was familiar.
Walgrave Towers had been ordering its soap and unguents from Travis he had both, and three days in which to use them.
As he followed her, he admitted that the game might be simpler if he put an end to this masquerade, but that would erect new barriers of propriety between them. The opportunities would be greater and more amusing as things were.
As they prepared to leave, he contemplated making inquiries about an estate five miles out of Shaftesbury, set to the north of the road. He could have the family name in minutes. He desisted.
Part of it was caution. If questions were ever asked, he didn’t want anyone remembering he had been interested in his damsel’s family.
Part of it was quixotic. He wanted Charles to tell him the whole truth herself one day.
Preferably in bed.
Chastity, Cyn, and Hoskins arrived back at the cottage to find Verity in a fret, sure they had been caught, or at least seen, by Henry Vernham. Chastity set to soothing her sister, and Cyn took Hoskins down to the coach and horses.
The four horses were doing well enough on grass and water, though the coachman muttered a bit about it. He was dumbfounded when he saw the damage to his coach.
“Who the ’ell did this?” he asked, running a pained hand over the gouges.
“I’m not sure,” Cyn lied. “If I explain what’s going on, it may help.”
Hoskins listened, unappeased. “If that young ’ellion did this to me coach, I’ll take me whip to ’im.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll leave him to me.”
The man shook his head. “And what’re you goin’ to tell the marquess? You can’t just up and disappear.”
“Yes, I can. I’m not a child, Hoskins. If my orders were obeyed, my brother will think I’m off on an adventure. As I am.”
“An adventure that stinks of trouble. Who is this young woman who needs to get to Maidenhead so urgent, and all underhand?”
“I’m not sure,” Cyn admitted, “but she’s a lady and I feel chivalrous. Now listen carefully, Hoskins. I don’t know whether the pursuit will be serious or not, but I intend to take it seriously. I don’t want any careless words of yours spilling anything.”
“I can keep me peace, Master Cynric, as well you know.”
Cyn knew he was in Hoskins’ bad books when he called him Master Cynric. “I know you can,” he soothed. “Now, for the journey, I’m going to pass as a woman, the mother of Verity’s child. Verity will be the wetnurse. Charles will be the groom.”
Cyn had expected an objection to him playing the woman, but the coachman’s mind was on other matters. “That rascal’s not comin’ near me rig,” said Hoskins truculently.
“Plague take it, man! He won’t do any more damage, I promise you.”
“I don’t want him near me rig, or me cattle,” Hoskins repeated, and again ran his hand over the scars on the glossy coach.
Cyn sighed. He could force his will, but he feared Hoskins would take out his anger on Charles. After all, the man didn’t know she was a girl. “Very well,” he said. “He can travel as my brother. But it’ll leave you hard-pressed.”
“I’ll manage,” grunted Hoskins. “Where’s that paint?”
Cyn left the coachman doing his best to repair the damage. When he entered the cottage and found the three ladies in the kitchen, he said, “I’d keep out of Hoskins’ way, young Charles, if I were you. He’s after your gizzard.”
She colored. “We could hardly traipse around the country with the Rothgar arms emblazoned on the side.”
“Why not? I’m along willingly, and no one connects me to you.”
She had the look of one determined not to admit to a mistake. “How can I stay out of his way if I’m to be the groom?”
“You’re not anymore. You’re my young brother. You’d better hunt up more good-quality clothes.”
She shot to her feet. “Need I remind you, my lord, that you are our prisoner? Will you kindly stop giving us orders?”
Cyn sat. “Very well. I leave it all in your hands.”
She glared at him. “I will travel as the groom.”
“As you will. As the groom, however, you will be under the authority of the coachman, and Hoskins is not known as a tender man at the best of times. He’s always been remarkably proud of the perfect finish on his coach.”
She swallowed but kept to her guns. “You will give him orders not to touch me.”
“Will I?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Very well, but he’s my brother’s coachman, not mine.
He taught us all to handle the ribbons. He cuffed us if he thought we needed it, and he’ll do at least as much for you.
I suppose it doesn’t matter really,” he added carelessly.
“You’ll have had many a beating at school, and I don’t suppose Hoskins will do any worse. ”
Verity quickly said, “Charles dear, please reconsider. It would serve no purpose to upset the poor man more.”
Charles threw herself in her chair. “Oh, very well.” She impaled Cyn with stormy eyes. “But I give the orders on this journey.”
Cyn bit back a sharp retort. Where was the charmer who had glowed over a warm biscuit? Then he reminded himself she was wounded, and probably afraid. He must control this lamentable tendency to tease her.
“As you will,” he said as moderately as he could. “But I have a great deal more experience of the world than you, and Hoskins, I’m afraid, will only take orders from me. I would have thought Verity too should be consulted, as this is her affair, and she is surely some years your senior.”
“Of course I will consult Verity. How would you think otherwise?”
“Young men often disregard sisters,” he teased, then winced. So much, he thought, for good intentions.
“I do not,” she responded, and stood. “I will acquire a few other items of clothing.” At the door she stopped and grudgingly asked, “Can you think of anything else we might need? Weapons, or something like that?”
He gave her credit for swallowing her pride. “I can think of nothing. We have the coach pistol, and my rapier. That should be sufficient. We are not, after all, going to war.” Then he added, “Wait! One thing I don’t have for my disguise is feminine trinkets. Can you acquire any?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She returned in an hour with extra shirts and a pair of top boots. She also had a leather-bound jewel box. It was a handsome piece with a solid lock, clearly intended for expensive ornaments. When opened, it proved to contain only a sparse selection of cheap trinkets.
The obvious explanation was that they were destitute, and had sold anything of value. It did not satisfy him, for it left unexplained the men’s clothing of fine quality, two thoroughbred horses, and a pair of silver-mounted pistols. Cyn’s curiosity itched him like a bed full of fleas.