18. To Jaunt Willy-Nilly

18

TO JAUNT WILLY-NILLY

No one took note of the big man, other than his sizable girth, as the carriage swayed when he coerced his bulk through the narrow door. But one person did take note of Susanna as she climbed in after him.

It didn't take Leo long to deduce what set the lass off like a firebrand to tinder.

They'd been intimate—remarkably so (if not completely) and she'd jolted far beyond his expectations upon realizing he knew her "secret shame" (her words, not his).

And the blame stage had chosen the worst possible moment to barrel through, thanks to some title holder who allowed it use of his land, his private bridge, avoiding the broken one (Mikey had imparted that).

The coach, both dislodging and picking up passengers, and heading straight toward Susanna's destination.

After at least two other stops.

Stops Leo was thankful for, as he saddled Nelson Rambler with more haste than care. He pulled the cinch. Yanked it again. Waited. "Come on now, girl." There! She puffed out the breath she'd inhaled to make his job harder. Now he could finish.

Over the horse's back, Mikey arrested his attention, coming forward with an aromatic package. A single nod toward Reaver, waiting a few paces away loosed words. "I know. He cannot come," Leo said, gleaning the question in that single glance, "not as far as I will be going. Nor as fast."

He had no expectation he'd be able to overtake the stage until after its first stop and change of horses, ten miles hence, mayhap farther.

Mikey nodded, called to the dog who loped over for a neck scratch, his pink tongue lolling out, giving his fierce canine a rare, relaxed and muzzy mein.

"My thanks." Leo tucked the wrapped food in his saddlebag, the rest of his belongings already tied up in his haversack and stuffed beneath. Then he turned to face his superior. "The twelfth?" He mentioned the date he was due in London. "Can I retrieve him them?"

A nod. "…you want…" His boss stopped. Gave a shake of his head, before starting again, talking slow, lips moving clearly. "Come sooner if you want. Fifth." He held up five fingers. "That's when…London."

Leo nodded. Then felt his forehead crease. "I am leaving you in the lurch," he acknowledged quietly. "Abandoning our efforts."

Mikey smiled, showing those horridly black teeth. "…saving your own…abandoning naught." A lift of his chin, indicating the inn, unseen from their current position. "Way I see it, your...turn…time. Did your service… Take care of yourself and Oliver's…" Sister. Some things did not need to be seen to be heard. Mikey knelt, still facing Leo, and pointed to the horse's leg where it met the ground. "I checked her." He accompanied this with a stroke down the length of Rambler's front legs. "Hooves. Watch out for ice… Christmas."

And since they weren't supposed to know each other, no hugs, no further smiles, but Leo handed over some coins, paying for the food and he did greet the ground with his knees to hug his dog, trying not to think of the cold slush soaking through his pants. "I'll miss you, Reaves. Be a good boy."

"Woof!"

Woof. Not heard, felt. Felt in the sloppy slake of tongue to cheek. To jaw. Leo didn't have the heart to push the canine away. Suffered another two—long—licks before he shoved back up.

When he rose to standing, Mikey met him with an abrupt motion, indicating a private conveyance that had just pulled into the yard. "Now get. Time…work."

So Leo got. Raced out of the inn's muddy yard after the coach. Took off like he and his horse had something riding on it.

A wager. A big one.

Because the way Leo saw it, they did.

His future. And his heart.

'Twas only a few jostling, shuddering miles before Susanna concluded that today, escape equaled mistake .

A colossian, hugeous one. Running off as she had, in response to her own embarrassment, abandoning Leo and what he attempted to communicate? Why, she was no better than a town rudesby, rushing past and totally disregarding someone walking with a cane.

Not all afflictions could be seen. Or heard.

She should have behaved better. Not let emotions rule her actions and fuel her rash escape. But mayhap, after burying her feelings for so long, making decisions with her head, cramming her feelings deep so she wouldn't hurt, the freedom of the last hours spent in his company had opened her in ways she'd kept stifled for years?

Aside from the death of sweet Philip, she certainly hadn't felt this much angst toward how she'd treated another…ever.

Given the curious looks she had garnered thus far from the other passengers, she couldn't imagine what a riot she must present. Gloves missing. No cloak. Bonnet and dress? Pure catastrophes. Aye, yesterday's carriage mishap would explain all of that, but she could not imagine greeting her brother and new sister-in-law, much less her young nieces, attired thus. Why, the number and manner of questions would completely thwart the beginnings of what was supposed to be a joyful occasion.

Joyful? Her heart gave a painful squeeze. Nothing seemed joyful, not after her flurried exodus this morning…

Regardless, she would put herself to rights in Derby, before venturing on to Duffield. Decision made, heart still aching abominably, to distract herself from the turmoil of her thoughts, she made note of the others cramped alongside her within the humid environs of the coach.

Squeezed in directly next to her a young couple (who seemed to be having a bit of a wrangle, the female in something of a miff), traveled with a (thankfully) sleeping baby. Something about the tall fellow seemed vaguely familiar. But try as she might, she could not place his voice, and upon a second and third glance past his wife who huffed betwixt them, Susanna did not recognize the clean-shaven man, so it was easy to purge him from her mind.

Two men of heft and note resided on the squab opposite.

One of the gentlemen, the one nearest the door, diagonal from her, his heft concentrated around his middle and beneath his chin, wheezed to such a degree that Susanna feared he might not last to their first horse change. He was quite loquacious, attempting to engage her in conversation (which she demurred) and then, with only a slight scowl—quickly erased—he turned his jovial efforts to the couple stashed in beside her.

Successful to the point that she now knew what prompted their excursions (his and theirs: "Business, what, eh?" and "Returning home after interviewing with my brother-in-law."), where they originated and where they would descend ("Not till Manchester, I'm afraid, what eh?" and "Our second stop, Loughborough. Hopefully baby will sleep through till then.").

The other gentleman, the one considerately angling his knees to give hers a spot of room, didn't quite remind her of Leo, but she could not help but think the comparison, given the second man's age and size. His heft of the muscular variety, despite the plain clothing that did very little to hide his fit condition.

Posh! Would she now be forever doomed to compare every mature, attractive gentleman to Captain Tucker? Their flirt might have been brief, but oh how her heart still yearned. Body still thirsted. Last eve's encounter nowhere near satisfying her hunger for intimacy with the man. Drat him.

Drat her.

Drat those pesky letters she hadn't yet brought herself to release into the rubbish bin.

After Mr. Harold Loquacious Harrell exhausted the young parents, unearthing the reason their babe slept so well now, after the child had remained awake crying all night, was a substantial dose of laudanum (something Susanna's mama would never have condoned in such excess), he focused, again, on Susanna. "So, tell me, miss. What is your name? Who are your people?"

And who did this big buffoon think he was, addressing her with such familiarity?

When she continued to decline the irritatingly persistent efforts to discover her destination, her origination and her reason for traveling ("I haven't quite decided yet." "Did I not board the stage right after you?" and a succinct, "Family," the only responses she deigned to make), he gave a sniff.

With a festivous smile and comment about snarlish females (one she took perverse delight in), the beefy man applied himself to quizzing the man beside him, the one sharing the space with her knees thus Susanna acquired knowledge about Mr. Trumbull, a vicar traveling back home for the holidays after partaking of a brief holiday himself.

The window flap between her and Trumbull was open, despite the brisk temperature, welcoming in the sunlight and slight breeze that helped mitigate the stuffy interior.

He didn't resemble any man of the cloth she had ever met, being significantly younger…and not necessarily polished in appearance. His edges seemed a bit rougher than one might expect from a minister; the thick mop of sable hair could use a good combing. But she instantly liked him, especially after Mr. Loquacious fixed his attention away from her and on the minister—who had given Susanna a pointed, private look of commiseration. Once the understanding was shared betwixt them, she knew that, much like herself, he was not interested in substantial conversing. But he continued to do so, to keep the other man from hounding her further, gaining her appreciation.

Because his unselfish sacrifice gave her solitude. Additional time to think over the last days of travel. The last hours of joy. The last minutes of regret…

Gave her time to consider her next best action.

"Approaching Leicester!" Their coachman's voice cried. "Loughborough after!"

As the carriage slowed, easing into their first stop for new horses, she could not help but look out the raised window, behind her, the way they'd just flown. More than tempted to abandon her reckless flight and return. To listen to whatever Captain Tucker might choose to say—if anything, now that she'd shown herself inconsiderate in the extreme.

At the thought, her pattering heart grew giddy, no longer filled with dread and regret, but now with anticipation. That is exactly what she would do! Exit the carriage, bespeak a parlor or private room at the posting inn, if there were any to be had, which she thought likely, given how the glorious, warmer weather of today had already melted much of the snow. No doubt many travelers had gone about their business as soon as it was light enough. She would await the next coach going the opposite direction, while setting herself a bit more to rights.

Now, with it approaching noon, the sun overhead? The roads might still be soggy, but they were passable, least the one they'd taken the last hour or more, after detouring through some lord's private land to cross the river. Surely that meant another stagecoach would be by soon?

The door opened, the coachman let down the steps with a barked, "Six minutes and we're off—whether you be back on or nay!"

Mere feet beyond the carriage steps, she heard the passengers up top exchanging quips, in the lower-cost section, and glanced upward. Only to hie straight back inside, staggering over big Mr. Harrell on her way to her corner. Instantly, she feigned a doze while her heart behammered with such fierce agony she feared surely everyone must hear. Suspicion it threatened to pound its way right through her chest.

Pound-pound-pound. Pound! POUND! P-O-U-N-D! Thumpthumpthump!

A man from last night was on her stage!

One of them that had circled tight about her. Taunted and endangered.

Had he seen her? She dare not risk leaving now, revealing herself to his gaze. From beneath slitted lids, she peered out the window, waiting for him to jump down and leave, but, contrary man, he did not. What did she do? What did she do?

'Twas daylight. Surely no harm would come to her now? And last night, you were surrounded by people, hordes of them, yet only one could be troubled to come to your aid.

Oh, Leo… Dear Captain Tucker.

She was still pondering her options, worrying over every mile, every minute since she'd left The Filthy Pig (which she'd learned from him), when their horses were refreshed—replaced—and they were off with a yell and snap of the whip. Drat. Now, any ease she might have claimed earlier vanished knowing who hovered in wait, only scant inches above her head...