“Ahh.” The stranger gave a few slight nods of his head as if coming to terms with this information. “I hadn’t heard tell that he was considered old. I thought he was about to turn thirty.”
Amelia wrinkled her nose. Old enough! I’m only twenty. “Compared to me that is quite old … and besides, he’s maimed.”
He gave a brief dip of his chin. “Ah, well, there I think you’re correct.”
She spread upturned hands in front of her. “You see? I’m right! The wedding is planned for Christmas Day. There is no alternative—I must escape.”
For long moments he said nothing, just stared at her, his mouth folded into a line of concern, before asking, “Where will you go?”
“To my great-aunt in Bath.”
“And you have the fare? For an inside seat?”
“I do. Aunt Lavinia insisted I have sufficient money on my person to travel to her, should anything terrible happen to my parents.”
His eyes bored into hers. “Such as?”
She whispered, “Creditors, you know. Escape to the continent may be a necessity.”
His eyes narrowed, and he nodded again. “So you are determined to flee your parents’ trap?”
“I am.”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “Is there any way in which I can serve you further today?”
She shook her head. “You have been very helpful and I’m most grateful.” It was a pity she couldn’t stay in the district longer. Surely, this handsome gentleman would have called on them at Wellworth Park. A stab of disappointment darkened her mood.
A few moments later, the rumble of wheels and the strike of hooves on the road foretold a coach arriving. Passengers around her looked expectant. The stranger took up his hat and walking stick.
“Thank you so much for your assistance, sir,” Amelia said and reached for her bandbox.
He smiled and dipped the brim of his hat to her. “I wish you a safe journey.”
Amelia hurried from the parlour ready to pay her fare to the driver. Behind her, the stranger called to the landlord for paper and a quill. Too late, she realised that she should have asked his name.
But it wasn’t the passenger coach that swept into the yard of the inn.
It was her parents’ ancient vehicle.
Her father leapt from its door before the coach stopped moving.
“No!” She gave a muffled scream and took two steps backwards before he caught her by the elbow. His fingers bit into her soft flesh. A tang of bitter disappointment soured her mouth. They were going to force her back to Wellworth Park. She cast a desperate look over her shoulder, hoping her hero would see her plight and come to her rescue again.
But he wasn’t there.
“Get into the carriage, Amelia. You have an appointment with Major Wellworth, which you will fulfil!” An angry slash of colour flushed her father’s cheeks. “Don’t fight me. We have an audience.” He nodded towards to the doorway of the inn which she had just left. The waiting passengers watched them with unmasked curiosity.
Always so obsessed with appearances! Blood pounded in her ears. What could she do now to avoid her parents’ plan?
He thrust her into the vehicle. “I should make you eat bread and dripping in punishment, but instead you’ll join us in the drawing room and meet Wellworth at dinner,” her father growled.
In the carriage, her mother added, “When we get back, I will accompany you to your chamber and oversee your dressing, and my own maid will style your hair so you appear at your best.” Her eyes were angry slits.
You’ll never make me marry him. Amelia perched on the edge of a seat next to the door, her bandbox still clutched in her hand. Her chest constricted. The journey back to Wellworth Park and virtual house arrest would be vastly quicker than her escape.
Into view came two things that gave her hope.
The Bath-bound coach pulled up in a welter of hooves, horn and shouts, blocking their vehicle in the inn’s entranceway. Her father yelled to his driver to go around, but there was no room to manoeuvre past. The stage must leave first.
Passengers streamed out from the inn and arranged themselves on top and within the coach. The horses were changed and with a last shout for all-comers, the driver took up his reins.
Then she saw him.
By the coach stood her rescuer. He held its door wide open and looked up at her, one eyebrow raised in silent encouragement.
Amelia didn’t need any more urging. Bandbox in hand, she crashed open the door beside her, and leapt to the ground. A dozen bounds and she was hauling herself through the doorway of the now-moving coach. She collapsed into the narrow space between the window and the bulk of the middle-aged woman from the coffee lounge. Her saviour followed her in, slamming the door behind him.
Amelia clutched her bandbox to her chest. Her heart pounded as excitement thrilled through her veins. She was doing it! She was leaving them behind!
But could she really escape her parents?
Chapter 3
Amelia’s heart hammered. She expected her father to grab the door handle and pull her from the coach. Nothing happened except that the three other inside passengers greeted them in varying degrees of surprise and annoyance. “Mighty tardy, sir!” “Almost missed the coach. Can’t expect us to wait!” “You left it a bit late, my dears.”
There was no time to answer before Amelia was jerked back against the leather squab as the coachman set the horses faster on their journey. She twisted in her seat to look back at her parents’ carriage, while her rescuer nodded to all around and begged their leave for the hold-up.
There stood her father, riven to the spot beside the door she had exited. He wasn’t ordering his driver to follow them. Her mother half leaned out the carriage door, also immobile. As she watched, her father slowly climbed back inside. “What are they doing?” she asked her rescuer, who had taken the seat opposite and was propping his walking stick beside the door and stowing a valise on the floor.
He lowered the window and slanted his upper body out to see. “Turning the horses in the opposite direction.” He closed the window and smiled at her.
“They’re not coming after me?” She hugged the bandbox on her lap.
“It appears not. You’ve given them the slip.” He stared at her. “Your parents?”
“Yes! But why would they not follow me?”
He raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “Have you no idea?”
“No, I do not. Unless they realised that I’m on my way to Aunt Lavinia.”
“Well, this is the Bath-bound coach.”
“Yes, but it still doesn’t make sense for them not to give chase.” The search for a logical answer ricocheted through her mind.
He gave her a reassuring smile.
She gave up the question for now and sagged back against the seat. “I must thank you for your assistance again, Mr ...” She must know his name now.
“Ah, Wells … Adam Wells. And you are?”
“Miss Amelia Fortescue.”
“A pleasure.” He raised his hat in acknowledgement.
“Why did you help me?”
“I was touched by your tale of being forced into a marriage not of your choosing. That should not happen. To blight two or more peoples’ lives with such a mismatch should not be permitted.” He gave a disapproving frown.
“I’m so glad you agree with me, and were willing to help me escape that fate. I did not realise you were bound for Bath as well.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“How long will it take?” she asked.
“It’s about four hours’ travel from here.”
“You have business in Bath? You said nothing about catching the coach when we spoke earlier.”
“An unforeseen task arose, requiring a brief trip to Bath.” He seemed disinclined to make any further comment, so they lapsed into silence.
The stage had run from London, and its occupants must have been tired from the day’s travelling because soo
n heavy breathing and snoring filled the coach. Mr Wells glanced up at her from the book he had pulled from his coat pocket to read. A smile, in acknowledgement of her horror at the rumblings of their companions, flicked across his face before he resumed his reading.
“Do you travel by stage coach often, Mr Wells?” she enquired.
He closed his book and looked at her. “Very infrequently, Miss Fortescue. Generally, I travel in my own vehicle.”
“You have a carriage, sir?”
“A very comfortable one.”
“Then I’m surprised you are not traveling in it now?”
“As the saying goes, ‘Needs must when the devil drives the horses’.”
What an odd answer. “Am I to gather that you have been forced into this means of transport by circumstance?”
He smiled. “That is exactly what has happened. I don’t expect it to occur again in the foreseeable future.”
“Then how will you return to your home, if not by stage coach?”
“In my carriage, which will be waiting for me in Bath when I’m ready to depart.” Before she could ask another question, he said, “And how long do you expect to reside with your Aunt Lavinia?”
“As long as it takes for my parents to give up their ridiculous idea that I marry Major Wellworth.”
“Perhaps for some time then,” he muttered.
“I’m sure my great-aunt will be delighted to see me.”
He gave a reassuring smile. “As am I.” He peered out into the gathering darkness and felt in his great coat pocket. “Keep an eye out. The night is dark and highwaymen are known to frequent this road.” He tilted his head back and tipped his hat over his eyes, ready to nap.
Amelia shuddered. That was a consideration she hadn’t thought of. She could not afford to lose the little money she carried. She pulled the reticule from her wrist and tipped its meagre contents onto her lap behind the bandbox. Two gold sovereigns. Surely that was enough for unexpected expenses. As long as she didn’t lose it to footpads or some such.
She glanced at her companions. They all slept. The woman to her right, jaw dropped, mouth gaping, quietly snored. Amelia bent down and slipped the coins into the inside of her boots. They slithered downwards, cold and hard, sending goosebumps up her legs.
A smile played over her companion’s lips, but he didn’t stir.
Her reticule back in place, with only her handkerchief and comb inside, she rolled her shawl into a pillow and leant back against the corner of the carriage. Her eyes, heavy with tiredness, slid closed.
Amelia jerked awake some indiscernible time later. The driver yelled at his horses to move their worthless carcasses as he plied the whip above them. Shouts of encouragement came from the outside passengers. The carriage rocked and swayed. Around her, her fellow passengers were awakening and asking what was going on.
Mr Wells pulled two pistols from his deep pockets. Dear God, what was happening? He saw her watching him and motioned with a finger to his lips for her to be quiet. He placed one weapon on the seat beside him, next to the carriage wall, and let down the central window.
A rush of ice-cold air entered, bringing yells of approbation from their companions. He thrust his head out the window for a quick look and drew it back in. “Quiet!” he commanded. “The driver’s trying to outrun highwaymen.”
There were more gasps, and a mad scramble by the travellers to hide valuables more deeply on their persons.
A shot rang out, followed by a yell of, “Stand and deliver!”
The carriage began to slow, but before it could stop, Amelia’s rescuer placed his long-barrelled pistol on the window ledge, squinted down its length, and squeezed the trigger. It discharged into the night. Outside, a yell morphed into a cry of pain.
Mr Wells banged on the ceiling of the carriage, “Whip them up, driver!”
The carriage lurched forward as a blaze of light lanced through the night. A ball hit a wheel with a metallic ping. Others hit the woodwork. There was no sound from the above passengers now. No doubt they cringed low for cover.
Someone inside struck a match. “Cut that light,” Wells growled. “Do you want us all killed? The blackguards are firing at us, and a light inside will give them something to aim for!”
Amelia stretched across the woman beside her and slapped the flame from the man’s hand.
“How dare you?” the man exploded.
“Listen to Mr Wells!”
“Can you see any more of them, sir?” she asked her companion.
“Yes, they’re still coming.”
Hearing this, the lady beside Amelia screeched, “We’ll all be killed!”
“Be quiet. Please!” Amelia patted the woman’s arm and said in her most soothing manner, “Mr Wells needs to hear what’s happening outside.”
Wells had loaded another ball into his pistol, while keeping watch out the window. Suddenly, he levelled the piece and let fly another missile at the robbers, then followed it up with a shot from his second pistol.
Amelia clutched her hands to her ears, but focused on his every move. A few moments later, she asked, “Are they still with us?”
He shook his head. “I think we’ve seen them off. A lucky escape.”
“Not lucky at all! If you hadn’t hit one of them, we would have been bailed up!”
For the next half hour, Amelia watched her companion peer out the window into the darkness, trying to discern any further threats on the road. At last, the lights of a town drew nearer, and in a few more minutes they wheeled into the yard of a coaching inn called The George. Mr Wells pocketed his pistols. The passengers rushed from the other door, and from above, into the inn.
Mr Wells withdrew his leather valise from beneath his feet and his walking stick from across the doorway, opened the door, and stiffly exited the coach. He turned and handed Amelia out of the vehicle.
Amelia thanked him, but waited while he walked over to the driver, who was squatting beside a rear wheel holding a lamp high to shed light on its timbers. They talked quietly for a few minutes before Mr Wells turned from the driver. The lamplight revealed his grim expression.
Mr Wells joined her and offered his arm. He leaned heavily on his cane as he walked her inside the inn. Her body ached all over from the lurching of the carriage and the prolonged sitting in one position. She yearned for a cup of tea, warm water for a wash, and a good night’s sleep. “Is everything alright with the coach?”
“Bad news. A spoke is splintered from a gunshot. It will have to be repaired before we can continue.”
“Then we will have to stay at the inn tonight?” She cringed at the thought of asking for a room. She had heard that innkeepers didn’t look kindly on women travelling alone and treated them as though they were common street walkers. Surely no-one would mistake her for anything but a respectable lady? She turned to her self-appointed companion. “Have you stayed here before? Is it a comfortable inn?”
“As comfortable as can be expected. The innkeeper and his wife run a clean establishment, but there’s always some noise from the comings and goings of the stages.”
She nodded. He hadn’t really allayed her fears. She leaned closer and whispered, “Is the innkeeper going to allow me to stay although I’m travelling alone?”
“Would you like me to organise a room for you?”
She started back and, not wishing to appear lily-livered, answered, “No, I can do that myself, thank you.”
He gave a slow nod. “Let me know if you need my assistance any further.” He tipped his hat to her and entered the coffee room, leaving her at the front desk.
As she feared, the inn-keeper took a dim view of an unchaperoned woman requesting accommodation, no matter that she wore expensive clothes and had the tariff. He would not give her a bed when there were so many respectable customers who had arrived at the same time. “If there is a room left over, you may have it. Otherwise, you may sleep in the taproom,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed with humiliation and s
he stepped back from the counter to think what to do next.
At that moment, Mr Wells fronted the innkeeper and said, “Your best room for the night, if you will, Mr Brown.”
The inn-keeper smiled in recognition and handed him a key without any hesitation. “Mary will show you to your room, sir.”
Amelia’s rescuer turned to her and handed her the key. “Miss Fortescue, follow Mary to your room.”
Mr Wells had overheard her conversation! “But you can’t give up your chamber to me!”
“I can, and I have. I’m sure there is somewhere else for me in this inn, isn’t there, Mr Brown?”
“If … if I had known she was of your party, sir, I would have given her the room myself. Most irregular that she should be asking for a room herself.”
“An easy mistake to make. Young women are becoming so independent these days.” He flashed the man a knowing smile. “Now, do you have another room for me?”
The innkeeper sniffed as though he didn’t agree with the ways in which the world was changing. “Only a small room overlooking the yard, sir. There’ll be some noise with the coaches coming through.”
“No matter. I’m a sound sleeper. Give me the key and see that Miss Fortescue has hot water and a meal brought to her chamber. I’ll pay the whole.”
The man looked at him in open speculation.
“She’s a relative of mine, called suddenly to her great-aunt in Bath. You can imagine the uproar that caused. As her father was absent, she’s stuck with me to escort her.” He ended further questioning with a curt dip of his chin.
The innkeeper smiled as though it all suddenly made complete sense.
***
Next morning, Amelia greeted Mr Wells with unfamiliar shyness and an apology. She was embarrassed by her debt to him for rescuing her from the condescension of the landlord, and paying for her room and meal. In all probability, he had had an uncomfortable night, while she had slept cocooned between a feather mattress and down cover.
Wells waved off her words as completely unnecessary, stating that he had slept as soundly as though he were in his own bed at home. Amelia doubted that, and couldn’t help but be grateful for his gentlemanliness in dismissing her worries.
Runaway Christmas Bride Page 2