When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,100
message,” Duncan said. “She put them in a desk drawer, but those locks are laughably easy to pick. Why is Wakefield still at large?”
The lights of an innyard came into view, illuminating Stephen still in the saddle, in conversation with a hostler.
“You’re trying to make some point of logic,” Jane said. “I left my logic back at Brightwell, along with my ambitions for a good night’s rest.”
“Colonel Parker is a loyal soldier. He stumbled across sensitive information in the wrong place, if Matilda’s conjectures are to be believed. That information, at the least, put Thomas Wakefield’s loyalties in doubt. Parker has had months to incriminate Wakefield without any mention of Matilda’s role, and has apparently refrained from doing so.”
The coach came to a halt and the usual shouting for a fresh team, hot bricks, and a quick pint for the lads ensued.
“Are you suggesting Parker has an agenda other than staunch loyalty to the Crown?” Jane asked.
“Perhaps Parker’s sole priority is protecting Matilda’s good name, but if so, he’s joined the growing legions who’ve either abetted treason or become accessories after the fact.”
The innyard was lit with torches, which reflected on the muddy snow. Stephen passed his flask to the hostler, then bent low in the saddle when the hostler spoke to him.
“Have you another theory?” Jane asked.
Duncan had dozens, some leading to misery, some to tragedy. “Another theory is that Parker has notified his superiors regarding the whole mess, and they have directed him to curry favor with Wakefield and pretend to be the concerned suitor. When Parker can promise his generals that not only should Wakefield be arrested, but also Wakefield’s daughter and his staff, then the trap will be sprung.”
“Is Matilda to be the bait that inspires Wakefield’s confession?”
“Possibly.”
Stephen was tasked with making inquiries at each inn along the way. So far, the grand coach with an odd wheel had kept up a good clip in the direction of London. Thank the heavenly powers that Jinks had spotted that odd wheel on Parker’s conveyance, for that detail had made tracking the vehicle much simpler.
Stephen directed his horse across the muddy yard and came to a halt beside the coach window. “Parker is here,” he said, quietly. “I let on that I was trying to reach London ahead of my friend, a colonel traveling with his wife, likely using a crested coach with the panels turned and one replacement wheel. The colonel and his wife have retired to separate rooms, though his colonelship is demanding brandy, a writing desk, and the inn’s best paper.”
Duncan surveyed the innyard, the edifice facing it, and the stables flanking the far side of the yard. Light shone from one window about twenty feet up on the side of the inn across from the stables.
“Matilda will be in that room,” he said, nodding. “That’s the busy side of the innyard, also a virtual tower for anybody intent on escape. A sheer drop, no handy tree to climb down, no balcony to secure the sheets to. With one man watching from the stables and another posted outside her door, she’ll be a virtual prisoner.”
“That’s two men,” Stephen said, gaze on the only upper window giving any light. “We have four times that number. We can simply demand to speak with her—”
Duncan shook his head. “We have something better than a duke’s loyal minions.”
“We have a man in love?” Jane asked.
“That too. Jane, you will please invade yonder inn demanding that you and your offspring be treated in the fashion to which any duchess is accustomed. Stephen, you will be the petulant knight lordling. John Coachman, like the stalwart rook, will be a tower of indignation over the inadequacies of every team that’s led out from the stables.”
“While you do what?” Stephen asked. “Pray for us like a bishop?”
“To blazes with the bishops. I will advance a pawn who is almost as loyal to my queen as I am.”
* * *
The inn’s staff had apparently been told that Matilda was not to be disturbed. She paced the confines of her room, unable to sleep, unable to organize her thoughts. Traffic in the innyard had slowed, but the mail coaches and other conveyances continued to straggle through despite the darkness.
Wild schemes flitted around in her imagination: Wait for a coach to pass beneath the window and leap onto its roof…except, no coaches came that close to the building, and if she missed her target, she’d end up seriously injured. If she did manage to land squarely