Chapter Eight
“A coachman,” Duke tossed at Eve in the same tongue-in-cheek line of inquiry he’d been using since their conversation in the carriage the evening before. He’d discovered she deeply enjoyed the odd game they were playing, and thus, he’d taken to making absurd guesses about her dream-fulfilling future.
“No,” she said with a laugh. “Though, in fairness, I would be brilliant.”
Don’t stare. She was so mesmerizingly beautiful when she smiled that way that he could likely be forgiven for staring a little. Still, he didn’t particularly want to have to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself, so his wisest course of action was to look away.
Across the carriage, Nia was watching him with obvious curiosity. Grandmother, in a stroke of unexpected luck, was sleeping.
“I cannot for the life of me sort out what it is your repeated questions are meant to be asking,” Nia said. “Thus far, Eve has asked Duke, ‘Farmer?’ ‘Barrel maker?’ ‘Undertaker?’ And Duke has asked Eve, ‘Pugilist?’ ‘Thatcher?’ ‘Anonymous author?’ and now ‘Coachman?’ Then Eve declared she would be brilliant. At being a coachman?”
Eve laughed. The sound would always pull Duke’s gaze to her, knowing her eyes would be sparkling and crinkly, her dimple would be evident, and her smile would be dazzling.
“Ooh, I know.” Eve turned to him once more. Did she have any idea how startlingly beautiful she was? She held up her finger, a small scab on the pad declaring it last night’s victim. “Surgeon?”
“No.”
“You never did say what you cut your finger on,” Nia said.
Eve pointed to the tiny space between the cushion and the wall of the carriage. “Something down there, though I cannot say exactly what.”
“I asked the coachman to attempt to identify the culprit,” Duke said. “But I cannot guarantee he has had time to do so yet.”
She looked at Duke once more. “Shall I tuck my other hand down there and find out?”
“Only if you have a handkerchief handy, as I do not mean to sacrifice another one of mine.”
Her laugh burst forth once more. She immediately clapped her hand over her mouth upon realizing Grandmother had stirred at the sound.
In a whisper, Duke said, “If you wake her, I will tell her it was your fault.”
“You would sell me to the enemy?”
“Without hesitation.”
She didn’t laugh, but she did smile. He liked that nearly as much.
Thunder rumbled outside. Duke pulled back the curtain nearest him. Rain fell fierce and fast, just as it had done all day. They had made slow progress. Now, it seemed, they were to make no progress at all—the carriage came to a stop.
Duke’s vantage point offered no view of the road ahead. Whatever might have been on or in the road, he couldn’t see.
“The weather has not been overly cooperative, has it?” Nia was watching the same window he was.
“Far from cooperative,” Duke said. “But I suppose that is to be expected when one is traveling in December.”
Eve took a quick, excited breath. “Writer of almanacs?” she asked him.
Knowing she was once more playing their game, he gave his very solemn usual answer. “No.”
“Drat.” Amusement added a sparkle to her bright and mesmerizing eyes.
“You two truly aren’t going to tell me what these questions are alluding to?” Nia didn’t look upset not to be included.
And Eve, matching his tone almost exactly, answered, “No.”
That set both sisters laughing, which did wake Grandmother. She, however, remained drowsy enough not to launch immediately into complaints.
The carriage door opened. The coachman stood on the other side, using an umbrella to keep rain off himself and out of the inside of the carriage.
“What’s happened?” Duke asked.
“River ahead’s running high. We’re not permitted to cross the bridge, as there’s some concern the water’ll wash over and send us toppling.”
“And there’s no alternative crossing? A more substantial or higher bridge down another road, perhaps?” Duke asked.
“None, Mr. Seymour. They say we’ll have to wait a day or two for the water to drop again and see how the bridge fairs.”
They couldn’t proceed, but neither could they remain where they were, in the middle of a sodden road. They needed a place to stay for a day or two.
“When did we last pass an inn?” Duke asked.
“Likely three miles back.”
That seemed their best option. “Let’s return there. If we are fortunate, there will be available rooms.”
The door was closed, and in mere moments, the carriage was being turned around.
“An unknown roadside inn?” Grandmother sounded horrified. “How do we know we will not be murdered in our undoubtedly uncomfortable beds?”
“Because,” Eve said, “I am not that lucky.”
Duke looked away, biting back a laugh. Letting his amusement show would annoy Grandmother. Giving Nia more things to study in his interactions with Eve might give away more than he was ready to reveal.
The entire three-mile journey back along the road was filled with Grandmother’s complaints about the inconvenience and predictions of doom at the inn she was already convinced would be little better than a hovel filled with murderous criminals. By the time the carriage stopped once more, Duke was more than happy to brave the weather if only to be free of the diatribe.
He took an umbrella with him and climbed out. With purposeful steps that he insisted to himself were not the frantic flight of a coward, he made his way to the door of the inn only to find it locked. He knocked, but no one answered. A second knock went likewise unheeded.
His clothing was growing uncomfortably wet with the rain. He quickly walked around the side of the inn and found a small cottage. He knocked at that door.
This time, his knock was successful.
A man, likely approaching eighty years of age and looking quite a bit worse for those years, stood in the dim doorway.
“No one answered my knock at the inn,” Duke said.
“Inn’s closed. Ain’t no one to run it.”
That was not the answer Duke had hoped for. “The bridge just up the road is not passable at the moment. I have three ladies in my carriage whom I need to get out of this weather. Could we sit inside while we sort out our options?”
“You’ll not have many options. Nearest inn is on the other side of that bridge. Second nearest is hours back on the road. You can stay here as long as you want, but there ain’t no one to cook or carry water. And the place needs airing.”
Grandmother would not be best pleased. But what choice did they have, really?
Duke dipped his head. “Thank you. I will see the ladies inside, and I will let you know what we decide to do.”
The man shrugged. “I’ll unlock the front door.” The man immediately closed his door.
Duke looked back at the carriage, knowing his grandmother would be even more difficult than usual when she realized their situation. And no amount of praising her manners or civility would change that. Perhaps he could simply try swimming across the swollen river and walking the rest of the way to Surrey. Except, once he reached Fairfield, he had every intention of doing far more than inconveniencing his often-difficult family. If all went to plan, he might very well start a Seymour family war.