by Regina Scott
No, Lord! Only Yours!
Suddenly, Richard’s eyes narrowed, and his head and body thrust forward. Before she could ask his concern, he turned to her. “Samantha, Claire, do exactly as I tell you.”
Mercier froze, and Samantha stopped in midsentence to gape at him.
“You’re doing it again,” Claire said to him, trying not to bristle. “Issuing orders.”
“No time to explain,” he said, voice as urgent as the cracking of a whip. “I’m going to stop the coach. Stay in your seats, no matter what happens.”
“But what…” Samantha started.
“Trust me,” Richard said, gathering himself as if he meant to leap from the coach right then.
There was the rub. Did she trust Richard to lead her, to protect her, to love her? The answer was all too easy.
She laid her hand on Samantha’s arm. “We will do what we must to help you, Richard.”
He nodded with a quick smile of thanks, then reached up and rapped on the panel above his head. A moment later, Claire felt the coach slowing. As the rumble lessened, she became aware of another sound, a cry from behind them.
“Stop that coach!”
“It’s Giles,” Richard said, hand on the door. “I won’t have him following us to London. This nonsense stops now.”
“Of course,” Claire said, though she could feel herself tensing as well. “You cannot give in to a bully.”
“But Toby’s no bully!” Samantha protested.
Mercier’s eyes were wide, but Richard held up a hand. “That we will soon see.” As the coach rolled to a stop, he pushed open the door and jumped down.
Samantha swung herself across the coach so she could see out the window on that side. Mercier edged away from her as if fearing what lay beyond. Claire’s heart was pounding so hard she wasn’t sure how she managed to peer out her own window.
“Giles!” Richard shouted. “Stand down!”
Claire could see the boy now, reining in his horse. The chestnut obediently braced itself, and Toby fairly leaped from the saddle.
Richard stood at the side of the coach, feet spread, arms hanging loose and ready. The wind caught his greatcoat and billowed it around him.
“Explain yourself,” he commanded. “Why do you follow us?”
Toby raked a hand back through his orange hair as if to make himself more presentable, but he only managed to stand the strands to attention. “She’s leaving. I had to say goodbye.”
Samantha sucked in a breath. “Oh, Toby!”
“After warning her of the danger?” Richard countered. “Threatening those she loves?”
“Did he tell you that?” Toby stiffened, one hand on the trailing reins. “He’s mad!”
“He?” Richard took a step closer. “Who do you work for?”
“No one! I meant Mr. Everard, the so-called poet. I don’t care what he’s said about me. Sam, that is, Lady Everard, is my friend. I’ve a right to see her off. I may have been busy lately with the farm, but that’s no excuse for sneaking her out of Evendale without my knowledge. Let me speak to her.”
Richard shook his head as if he’d deny the request. Inside the coach, Samantha fumbled with the door handle. Mercier squeaked in protest.
Claire stopped the girl’s hand. “Leave this to me.” She lowered the window and leaned out. Richard glanced her way with a frown that she chose to ignore.
“Mr. Giles,” she called, and the boy immediately looked her direction.
Richard stepped between them. “What are you doing?”
“Trust me,” Claire murmured, smile aimed at Toby. She counted the seconds, willing Richard to extend to her the same courtesy he expected. Her heart soared when he gave a nod and stepped away again. Such a little thing, yet it spoke so much of his belief in her.
She raised her voice even as her hopes blossomed. “Mr. Giles, Lady Everard must go to London to help her family. I’m certain, as her friend, you would not want to hinder her.”
The boy’s face was solemn. “Never, your ladyship.”
Claire made sure her own face was stern. “And you do, of course, want the best for her.”
“Yes, your ladyship.” He raised his chin. “But you’ll pardon me if I happen to think I’m the best.”
Samantha giggled.
Claire hid her own smile. “Certainly, Mr. Giles. Then you had nothing to do with a set of notes that arrived at the manor promising dire consequences if we left the area?”
He scowled as he closed the distance to the coach, each stride determined. “Someone’s threatening Lady Everard? Who’d have the presumption?”
Richard met Claire’s gaze, and she thought they were in silent agreement. Toby seemed to be speaking the truth. But if he hadn’t sent those notes, who had?
“Mr. Giles,” Richard said, turning his gaze to Toby’s, “make yourself useful. Someone doesn’t want us leaving Cumberland. I know Mr. Linton has a fowling piece up on the box. Take it and be our outrider, at least to the first coaching inn.”
His eyes lighted. “It would be my pleasure.” He grinned toward Samantha as she waved at him from behind her window. “And who knows, perhaps I can escort you all the way to London. That’s what friends are for!”
* * *
So they set off once more, Toby riding alongside, fowling piece at the ready. Richard could see him scanning the way ahead, eyes narrowed against the dust kicked up by the coach’s passing. Every once in a while, he shot a grin to Samantha, who smiled back. She had refused to return to her seat beside Claire and hugged the window of the rear-facing seat with Mercier next to her.
“So you believe him,” Richard murmured to Claire, having taken Samantha’s spot beside her.
Claire nodded, one honey-colored curl escaping her bonnet and making him long to stroke its silk. “I saw no anger in him when he rode up, no violent intent. He just wanted to be with her.”
“I know the feeling,” Richard replied. He lifted her hand where it lay on the seat and cupped it in his.
She blushed but didn’t pull away. “Be that as it may, we still have the mystery of the notes.”
“Agreed. Someone wants Samantha out of London. Why?”
“You two are smelling of April and May,” Samantha interrupted. She grinned at Claire and Richard across the coach, while Mercier pretended not to notice. “Anything you care to confess?”
Richard waited. Here was Claire’s opportunity to tell his cousin he had offered for her, perhaps even to announce her acceptance. Surely she knew he would do anything for her.
Claire merely smiled, that polite uplifting of the corners of her mouth that was no true smile at all. “Nothing that need concern you,” she told Samantha.
Samantha slumped in the seat with a twitch of her mouth. “Well, certainly it concerns me if you two intend to wed. You’re my sponsor!”
“And I will continue to be your sponsor, no matter what happens,” Claire said.
That didn’t sound promising. Did she intend to refuse him after all? He was tempted to ask, even with their interested audience. The thought of spending the next three days wondering was enough to drive him mad.
With a crack, something struck the side of the coach. The vehicle lurched, tumbling Claire against him and sending Samantha up against Mercier. Outside, Toby gave a shout, and the fowling piece roared.
Richard’s blood roared likewise. They were under attack! He scooped Claire up and deposited her across the coach with Mercier and Samantha. The maid held her needle at the ready, as if she’d fence with their enemy, and Samantha was wide-eyed.
“Stay close to me,” Claire told her, calm in the face of calamity.
Richard had never been more thankful for her pragmatism. He clung to the seat as the coach rocked and swerved, bumping over ruts, sk
ittering over rocks. Linton must be struggling to get the started animals under control. He’d need help.
Richard reared across the coach and pressed a kiss to Claire’s forehead. “Stay here,” he ordered as he pulled away.
Her eyes nearly as wide as Samantha’s, she nodded.
He crouched beside the door, body swaying with the motion of the carriage. His heart sounded louder than the drumming of the hooves. He was a sea captain. What did he know about stopping a runaway coach?
Yet the buck and roll was not unlike his ship during a storm, and he’d always managed to stay afoot, even when the deck flooded from the waves. For Claire and Samantha, he had to do this. Gathering himself, he shoved open the door and leaned out, twisting to face the carriage. The air rushed past, pushing him. It was no worse than a driving gale. First with one hand, then with the other, he grasped the edge of the roof above him and hauled himself up as if climbing the rigging.
“You can do it, Captain!”
Richard didn’t dare look toward Toby. Flat on the rocking roof, feeling as if he rode a deck into a hurricane, he crept toward Linton. The elderly man was bent backward, tugging at the reins, while the horses tore at their bits and plunged ahead. Richard pulled himself forward until he could drop onto the box beside him.
“Give me the reins,” he called over the wind and rattle of tack.
With a grateful nod, Linton surrendered the leather strips. The reins in his hands, Richard felt the power of the horses surging ahead. It was no different than a sail tugging against the storm. He wrapped the leather around both fists and pulled back.
Too slowly for his racing heart, the horses calmed, and their frantic pace eased. The coach centered itself and ceased pitching.
Beside him, Linton exhaled and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the way it’s done, Captain.”
Richard shot him a grin. Then he glanced over to where Toby Giles was pacing them.
“What happened?” he called.
The boy rode closer and tossed the gun up to Mr. Linton for reloading. “Highwayman. I caught sight of him when his gun flashed. Anyone hit?”
The words hollowed out the inside of his stomach like a cannonball. Claire or Samantha could be bleeding to death below him. He’d failed them.
Jerome was to safeguard the Everard legacy, Vaughn was to solve the mystery of their uncle’s death, and Richard—Richard’s was the easiest task. All he’d had to do was bring one sixteen-year-old girl to London and unite her with a suitable sponsor. Now Samantha’s future and her very life could be in danger because he’d failed to read the charts correctly.
Feeling ill, he pulled on the reins once more, and the horses slowed, then stopped. The coach came to rest at the side of the road. He returned the reins to Linton with hands that shook, then jumped down and hurried to the door, Toby at his heels.
“Everyone all right?” he asked, gazing at the three white faces that stared his way from the window they had lowered.
Samantha nodded to Mercier’s “Oui, monsieur.”
Claire edged forward, one finger reaching out to point to a lead ball embedded in the carriage frame where Samantha had been sitting. “We’re fine, just.”
Richard closed his eyes and sent a prayer of thanks heavenward. When he opened his eyes again, Claire was waiting.
“It was Chevalier, Richard,” she said, pale eyes wide. “I saw him as we passed. Our dance master is trying to kill us.”
Chevalier! Richard would have liked nothing better than to hunt the dastard down. But he couldn’t leave Claire and Samantha with only the elderly Linton and the brash Giles. If Chevalier was so determined to stop them that he’d shoot at a moving carriage, who knew what else he’d try?
Thank You, Lord, for protecting those I love!
“The best thing we can do is press on,” he told his audience. “I’ll ride on the top with Linton, and Giles can remain at post. We’ll inform the authorities as soon as we reach The George in Penrith.”
Claire clasped the edge of the open window as if she wished to hold Richard as close. “You cannot let him win, Richard.”
He laid a hand over hers. “I won’t. I promise. For now, stay near the center of the coach and away from the windows.”
She nodded, face set in determined lines. He wanted to gather her in his arms, protect her from all harm. But he knew he could serve her best by keeping watch for Chevalier. He let go and watched as she shut the window and shifted away from it.
“Lady Everard.” Her voice came softly through the glass. “You sit there, and Mercier there. We have a great deal to plan, and I shall need your complete attention.”
Richard smiled as he put his foot into the edge of the box and pulled himself up beside Linton. Claire might complain that he issued orders entirely too much, but she obviously knew the value of a well-placed command in a time of crisis. Now he just had to make sure they all survived the crisis.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Claire kept Samantha talking for the next few hours as the fields of Cumberland passed outside. She felt every second as if it were a day. How had she missed Chevalier’s treachery? He’d seemed so feckless—a bit vain and too much in love with celebrity, his own and that of others. But she’d never sensed anything evil in him. Had she learned nothing from her marriage after all? Who else’s intentions had she misconstrued? Mercier’s? Giles’s? Richard’s?
Her fingers wrapped around each other in the lap of her black traveling gown, so tightly she felt the leather of her gloves tugging against her skin. Help me, Lord! I can’t afford to make that kind of mistake again! Please, show me Your will.
Something thumped overhead, and Mercier flinched, gaze fixed on the ceiling.
“Yes, I believe you’d look lovely in blue,” Claire said to Samantha, whose gaze had similarly risen. “What exact shade, do you think?”
Samantha’s gaze lowered, and the conversation continued. But now Claire’s attention was also fixed above them. Had something happened? Was Richard hurt? Was she destined to spend her entire life wondering?
No! She had to trust, trust him to look out for himself and them, trust the Lord to see to them all. She took a deep breath, smiled at Samantha, and continued planning for the future.
“We’re slowing,” Samantha said a few minutes later. She edged toward the window as if to determine why.
“Back to the center, miss,” Claire ordered, trying to fight her own desire to look out. “A lady has no need to gawk.”
Samantha made a face as if she sincerely doubted the truth of that statement, but she slid dutifully back against Mercier.
“We are safe, oui?” Mercier asked, head cocked as she tried to see out the window without moving. “This is the city, non?”
They had rolled into Penrith. Even from her place of safety in the center of the coach, Claire could see the stone buildings rising around them, carriages passing. The dusky red stones of The George Inn slipped past the coach as it came to rest in the yard.
She collapsed back against the seat. “Yes, we’re safe. Thank the Lord!”
“Amen, oui?” Mercier said with a sigh.
Claire was thankful when Richard climbed down and opened the door for them. He’d lost his hat, and the wind of their passing had blown his hair all this way and that. She reached up and smoothed it down, wishing she could feel the softness of the fiery strands through her gloves.
“You’re safe?” she asked, withdrawing her hand.
“All clear here,” he answered with a smile. “And you?” He lifted her from the coach, setting her on the cobbled yard beside him. His hands lingered on her waist as if to steady her. Didn’t he know his touch made her decidedly unsteady?
“We’re fine,” she assured him. She wanted to ask him so many questions, but Samantha was already at the door,
and he turned to help her down as well.
They stayed at the inn to report Chevalier’s attack to the local constable, who promised to keep an eye out for the dance master and to send word to other constables up and down the coaching road to do the same. Then Claire, Samantha and Mercier had tea in a private parlor, while Richard excused himself to speak with Toby Giles. When the ladies returned to the coach, however, Claire saw that Richard had been busy. They had been joined by three more outriders, tough-looking gentlemen in dark coats and hats, muskets poking from their saddles. Two took up sentinel behind the coach, while another joined Toby at the front.
The boy at least looked pleased by the extra help, for he saluted Samantha as she passed and gave her a saucy grin.
“Just returning you to London in suitable style,” Richard joked, helping Claire into the carriage and climbing in after her.
“Do you really think it’s necessary?” she murmured as he seated himself beside her.
“A wise captain never takes chances with precious cargo,” he replied with a smile.
She smiled back, but she found it hard to relax the next few days, waiting for another attack. Still, they caught no further sign of the dance master. She could only hope he’d given up or been cowed by the prowess of their outriders.
“But why would Monsieur Chevalier wish us ill?” she asked Richard one afternoon, while Samantha dozed across the carriage. “We treated him uncommonly well. You paid him a fair wage, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps someone paid better,” Richard replied, arching his back away from the velvet to stretch muscles that must have been cramped from the long ride. “He said once that the opportunities in England were not what he’d hoped. Perhaps someone offered him something more.”
“But that only pushes the issue back a step,” Claire protested. “Why would that person wish us ill?”
Richard shook his head. “Uncle made enemies over the years. I suppose one of them might seek revenge through his daughter.” He glanced to where Samantha’s golden head rested on Mercier’s shoulder.
“Some vengeance,” Claire said. “Your uncle is already dead.”