by Brenda Hiatt
Feeling foolish for the turn her thoughts had taken, Dina nodded. "My valise is already packed. Perhaps we can have the inn prepare us a luncheon of sorts that can be eaten along the way?"
This idea was praised as most clever by the others, though to Dina it seemed merely prudent, if they wished to make good time. Violet accompanied her upstairs to fetch her satchel while Mr. Turpin went to settle accounts with the innkeeper.
On the landing, Violet startled Dina by stopping to give her a hug. "I cannot believe that I suddenly have a sister," she exclaimed. "We shall have such lovely times, once we're home. I'll introduce you around, Grant will take you to all of the local assemblies —it will be famous!"
But Dina was not quite ready to think that far ahead. "Yes, no doubt," she murmured.
"Oh! And when I go to London for the Season, you can be my chaperone, instead of prickly Aunt Philomena. I hadn't even thought of that advantage before." She linked her arm through Dina's and continued on up the stairs.
"Chaperone?" Dina echoed weakly. "But I . . . I have never had a Season in London myself."
Violet turned to stare at her in dismay. "Never had a Season! I know your brother has not behaved well toward you, but to allow you to reach four-and-twenty without a proper debut? That's . . . why, it's almost barbaric."
At that, Dina couldn't help but laugh. "Not quite that. I was presented at Court when I was eighteen, while my parents were still alive. But Father hated London, so we only stayed a week."
"Well, that's something, I suppose." Violet seemed partially mollified. "But never to have been to any of the parties, or balls— they're much grander than any of your neighborhood dances, I assure you."
Dina remembered the last local dance she'd attended, more than a year ago. Held at the Vicar's house, it had consisted of seven ladies, most of them past forty, and five gentlemen, all but one of them married. "No doubt you are right," she said.
While Violet put the finishing touches on her packing, Dina penned a brief letter to her brother, informing him of her changed status. Though she worded it as diplomatically as possible, not wanting to alienate him before she could retrieve her things, she was just as glad she would not be there when he received it.
When she and Violet came downstairs a few minutes later, Mr. Turpin was waiting by the front door.
"I have our luncheon." He held up a cloth-covered basket. "Now we won't have to stop until we change horses this afternoon. I have also written two letters, and have arranged for them to be sent by special messenger —one to my parents and one to your trustees."
"And I have written one for my brother," she said, handing him the sealed paper. He disappeared for a moment to intercept the messenger to Staffordshire, then returned to them.
"Where is your trunk?" he asked Dina as a servant carried Violet's downstairs.
She held up her valise. "This is all I brought, as I escaped my home on foot."
"A woman who can pack lightly is a treasure indeed." His blue eyes twinkled, almost as though he was enjoying himself.
Dina looked up at him curiously. "How can you be so . . . so cheerful? I actively sought my change in circumstances, but yours was rather thrust upon you."
He shrugged, still smiling. "Life is full of unexpected changes, I've found. All one can do is to make the best of them."
As the hired coach rumbled along on its journey south, Dina thought about that glib response. It made sense, she supposed —but did he mean it? And just what would "making the best of it" entail?
She glanced surreptitiously at the man next to her; Violet had insisted on taking the backward-facing seat so that the "newlyweds," as she called them, could sit side by side. Large as he was, there didn't appear to be an ounce of excess fat on him. Her new husband was fit, powerful . . . and very, very male.
They had passed the first hour or two by eating the luncheon they'd brought along from the inn, and with general conversation about the food, the weather and the condition of the roads. Now, however, silence reigned in the coach, giving Dina a not necessarily welcome opportunity to think about the future.
"It occurs to me that we should use this time to become better acquainted." Mr. Turpin's deep voice startled her after the long silence. "What are your interests, Miss, er, Mrs— Devil it, what am I to call you?"
"Call her Dina, as I do, Grant." Violet smiled across from one to the other.
He looked down at Dina questioningly, and she felt herself blushing. After an embarrassed moment, she nodded. "Dina will be fine. It is what family and close friends have always called me."
"You do have close friends, then?" His voice was gentle, sympathetic, causing an unbidden lump in her throat.
"I . . . I did, when I was younger. They have all married and moved away now, however, after having their Seasons in London." She realized anew how lonely her life had been of late. Was that why she'd been so easily duped by Diggory and her brother?
"Then, Dina, I ask again —what are your interests? What do you do for enjoyment?"
She looked up at him blankly. "Enjoyment? Why . . . I read, I suppose. Sometimes I help the vicar's wife to prepare baskets for the poor in our parish."
The last activities she'd truly enjoyed had been her lessons in fencing and boxing, and her practice at shooting, but those had been years ago. Her calisthenics and weights brought her satisfaction, but she could not precisely say she enjoyed them. In any event, she felt such unorthodox pursuits might not be prudent to mention so early in her acquaintance with the Turpins.
"A lonely existence," he said, echoing her earlier thought. "But I'm sure Vi will have you in the thick of the social whirl in no time. No doubt you'll become positively nostalgic for your quiet, isolated life."
Smiling, he held her gaze, as though trying to divine her feelings. Dina doubted he was able to see much, as she wasn't sure herself how she felt about such a prospect.
"Do you attend so many entertainments at home, then?" She directed the question to Violet, relieved at the excuse to draw her gaze away from Mr. Turpin's too-perceptive one.
"Not so many as Grant implies," her new sister-in-law replied with a glance at her brother. "Mother and I dine with neighboring families two or three times a week, or have them to dine with us. Then there are the weekly assemblies in the village, and the occasional card party or rout, of course. I should say I am engaged no more than four or five nights a week, however, except when everyone is in the country during the summer."
Dina blinked at such an excess of activity. "I . . . see." Then a detail struck her. "You and your mother, you said. What of your father?"
"He rarely goes out," Mr. Turpin said before Violet could answer. "Our father prefers to socialize with his books."
"Yes, he is a great scholar," Violet agreed. "It drives poor Mother to distraction, sometimes, but she dotes on him nonetheless. She is unwilling to leave him to take me to London —which has left me to Aunt Philomena's tender mercies. But this year will be different, of course, with you there, Dina."
But Dina still didn't care to look that far ahead. "What town are we likely to reach today?" she asked, mainly to change the subject. "I confess I paid little attention to the names of the stops on my way north."
"We will attempt to make it to Kendal," he replied, "though this mud is making for such slow going we may only reach Penrith by nightfall. I'd have thought the roads would be frozen by now, this far north. It would have made for a quicker journey."
"At least it's not snowing," Violet said. "Besides, I am in no hurry. Mother will read me a terrific scold when we return, and I'd as soon delay that as long as possible."
"Oh? But I'd thought to pass the time on this journey by scolding you myself —for hours on end."
He frowned ferociously, but Dina thought she detected a twinkle in his blue eyes. Still, it surprised her when Violet laughed, for she had no experience with the sort of relationship this brother and sister enjoyed.
"I am far more afraid of Mother
than I am of you, Grant, but you may attempt your worst, if you feel you must."
He shook his head with a sigh. "If I thought it would do any good, I would. But no words of mine are likely to instill sense in that romantical head of yours. You must realize by now how foolishly you behaved, Violet."
"Yes. Mr. Plunkett would have been no bargain, and I'm glad I did not marry him. I can't be sorry that I eloped, however, for if I hadn't, we should never have met Dina. Surely you can't regret that, can you, Grant?"
Dina tensed, wishing that Violet had not reminded him of their awkward situation just when the atmosphere in the carriage had been so relaxed. She stole a glance up at him, to find him regarding her speculatively.
"Not yet," he said. "What of you, Dina? Any regrets, now that you've had time to reflect on what we've done?"
She had several, in fact, but her situation was surely better now than it had been yesterday. Remembering her hopelessness then, she shook her head. "Not yet," she said, just as he had done.
"But the day is young, eh?" His cajoling tone made her realize how grudging her own must have been.
"If I discover regrets, I will have only myself to blame." She tried to convey an apology of sorts with her eyes.
He shifted slightly and his thigh brushed hers, though she was almost certain that was not intentional. Still, it sent an alarming thrill of awareness through her. Yes, she might very well come to regret what she'd done today.
Or not . . .
"Oh, pooh." Violet broke into her nervous thoughts. "What is this talk of blame and regrets? It is your wedding day! You should both be full of happy hopes and dreams for the future. What a pity that I am here to spoil what should be a romantic tête-à-tête between you."
Dina waited for Mr. Turpin to take his sister to task, to explain to her the difference between a marriage of necessity and a love match, but he only shook his head.
"Still the incurable romantic, after your own near-disastrous experience? You are incorrigible, Vi."
"Completely," she agreed, grinning across at him. "Life is more fun this way, I assure you."
Dina wished she could share the girl's optimism, but at least the embarrassing moment was past —for now. With Violet along, there were sure to be many others before they reached Plumrose Park.
"It is already beginning to get darker," she commented, staring out the window —more to avoid Mr. Turpin's gaze than because of any fascination with the view.
"Yes, the days are short in December, this far north." She felt his movement as he turned to look out his own window. "It will be full night before we even reach Penrith, at this rate."
"Or perhaps we shall be stuck in the mud and have to make our way on foot," said Violet. "Or be accosted by a handsome highwayman, who will be smitten by my beauty and carry me away to his secluded cottage."
Dina had to laugh. "Really, you should write romantic novels, Violet, with such an imagination."
The younger woman tossed her dark curls. "Perhaps I will. Then, when I become fabulously rich, Grant will no longer be able to tease me for my romantic fancies."
Mr. Turpin— somehow, Dina couldn't yet think of him as Grant— leaned down to rummage in his bag. "I wish I had paper and pen in here, so that you could start now. That would at least silence your impertinence for an hour or two."
Their lighthearted banter caused Dina another pang of something like envy. Silas had rarely paid any attention to Dina at all, except to bully her when they were younger. How different her life might have been had she enjoyed this sort of relationship with her brother. She could not imagine Mr. Turpin ever plotting any sort of harm to Violet for his own gain.
Not that Silas had exactly planned to harm her, of course. No doubt he'd convinced himself that he would use her money to take care of her, as well as to support his gaming habit. Still the very fact that he would put his own comfort ahead of Dina's welfare made him a different sort of man from Mr. Turpin.
She hoped.
The carriage gave a sudden jolt, causing Violet to exclaim and brace herself against the side of the vehicle, while Dina was thrown against the immovable force that was Mr. Turpin. Caught unawares, she found herself half across his lap, her head against his broad chest.
"Oh! My . . . my apologies," Dina stammered, struggling to extricate herself from such a horrifyingly undignified position.
Mr. Turpin grasped her by the shoulders and set her back on the seat beside him as though she were a child —or a doll. "No harm done," he said gruffly, though she noticed he didn't meet her eye. He seemed almost as embarrassed as she was.
A moment later the carriage lurched again, but this time Dina was better prepared, so that her hip merely grazed his— and only for an instant. Even that brief contact was both intimate and unsettling, however. Or, perhaps, unsettling because it seemed intimate. Not that—
"Goodness!" Violet exclaimed as the carriage gave an even more violent jolt, nearly unseating them all, before rocking to a halt. "What has happened?"
"I'll step out and see." Suiting action to words, Mr. Turpin opened the carriage door and climbed down, only to utter a loud curse, quickly muffled. "Apologies, ladies, but the road is nearly a foot deep in mud— well above my ankles. What ho, driver? Are we stuck?"
He closed the carriage door against the chill wind, preventing the women from hearing the man's reply, but it appeared that was the case. They heard some shouting, after which the coach lurched forward again, but only for a few seconds before shuddering to another stop.
A moment later, their escort stuck his head back into the coach. "The coachman says there is an inn of sorts less than half a mile ahead. I believe we would reach it more quickly on foot than by sitting here, and the walk would keep us all warmer, as well. Have either of you any footwear suitable for such an enterprise?"
"I left home on foot, so I was obliged to wear these," Dina said, displaying her sturdy half-boots.
"Good girl." His tone was approving. "Violet?"
His sister grimaced. "Not really, though I can always bring along spare shoes and stockings to change into once we reach the inn."
"That will have to do, I suppose. Here, let me lift you over the worst of the mud." Grasping his sister about the waist, he swung her over to the grassy verge, which was soaking wet but not particularly muddy. He turned back to Dina. "Your turn."
She swallowed. "There's no need for such heroics on my behalf, as my shoes are up to the task."
"Nonsense. No need to get them muddier than necessary. It's over your ankles here by the coach, I assure you."
Without waiting for her reply, he reached in and seized her as he had Violet, easily lifting her over the mud and depositing her on her feet next to his sister. Dina felt a thrill laced with alarm at the man's sheer strength.
Retrieving a few necessities for each of them, he informed the driver that he would send someone from the inn to help with the coach, then turned to the women. "Well, ladies, shall we?"
The wet grass was slippery, and several times both Dina and Violet had to clutch at Mr. Turpin to keep from falling. He appeared to have no such difficulty, tramping stolidly along, keeping his pace to one the two females could match.
In about twenty minutes' time, they reached a village consisting of a dozen or so cottages around a market square and a slightly larger house that declared itself The Spotted Dog.
"Our inn, I presume," Thor commented, regarding the building dubiously.
His sister and his new bride had acquitted themselves remarkably well so far, but he suspected that there were more challenges ahead. This place could not possibly boast more than one or two guest rooms —if any. No doubt it primarily served as a pub and gathering spot for the village's inhabitants.
Pushing open the front door, they found themselves in a taproom, occupied by some four or five sturdy farmers engaged in conversation and mugs of ale. He was beginning to regret his decision to come here when a portly, jovial-looking man came through a door at th
e rear of the room and hurried toward them.
"Welcome to The Spotted Dog," he exclaimed in a thick Cumberland accent. "Here for a spot of dinner, are you? We've a nice dining parlor right through here, if the ladies would prefer not to eat here in the common room."
Thor moved toward the indicated door, for he didn't at all care for the idea of the ladies waiting in the taproom until the carriage could be shifted.
"Thank you," he said, "but I fear we need more than a meal. Our coach is stuck in the mud half a mile north of here. Is there anyone you can send to help get it out?"
"Oh, aye, I'll send Bob and Blinker right away. You and the ladies wait in the parlor and I'll have my Sue bring you summat."
Thor had thought to go back to the coach himself to offer what help he could, but he could scarcely leave the ladies here on their own, so he nodded and ushered them into what turned out to be a small but perfectly clean and cozy parlor.
"I suppose it could be worse," he said as soon as the innkeeper was out of earshot.
"Worse?" Violet echoed. "I think it's simply charming! What an adorable little village this is, don't you think, Dina?"
Before Dina could answer, however, a buxom young woman bustled into the room bearing a tray with bread, cheese and three mugs of ale. "I'm Sue," she announced with a friendly smile. "Me dad wanted me to ask if you'll be needing a room for the night?"
"Do you have any available?" Thor tried not to sound skeptical.
"Just the one, but one of the ladies is welcome to share my room, as well." She beamed, as though this unorthodox arrangement were perfectly normal —and perhaps it was, in such a remote corner of England.
"If our coach can be freed, we'll doubtless continue our journey after we eat," he said. "If not, the ladies may have the room. I can sleep in any corner you can provide." He'd put up with far worse during the war, after all.
"You'll do no such thing," Violet exclaimed then, surprising him. "Why, this is your and Dina's wedding night! Of course the two of you must have the room. I don't mind sharing with Sue here in the least."