When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,88
for the Crown or from the Crown?
She stopped several yards short of where the path through the trees opened out onto the inn’s side yard.
“If you’re questioned regarding this package, you don’t know anything about it,” she said, passing the missive to Jinks.
“Which I don’t.” Jinks shifted from foot to foot on the muddy path. “Would you mind if I stepped around back for a moment after I’ve picked up the mail?”
Twenty yards away, a groom was leading a coach-and-four up from the stables. No crests showed on the doors, though the conveyance was fine. One wheel lacked the red trim of the other three, suggesting a recent repair.
Matilda backed up a few steps so a thick oak stood between her and the innyard. To be out in fresh air on a sunny morning was wonderful, but she refused to take unnecessary chances.
“Step around to the jakes if you must, Jinks, but don’t be long.”
He grinned and dashed off, as Matilda pulled her hood up and rested her back against the rough bark of the tree. She’d met Duncan in these woods just a few short weeks ago. What a difference, between that woman—frightened, alone, nearly starving—and the woman who’d awoken with a new dream, no longer alone. She was still wary—she might always be wary—but no longer panicked.
She peeked around the tree to see the coach halt and a footman set down the steps. The coachman wore livery, though Matilda couldn’t make out more than a fancy embroidered hem beneath his greatcoat.
Jinks skipped down the inn’s steps and dodged around the corner of the building. He’d not tarried inside, bless the boy.
A hand clamped around Matilda’s shoulder. “Now who have we here?”
She whirled, but the snow robbed her boots of purchase, and she could not break her captor’s grasp.
“I do believe we and the lady are acquainted, Herm.” A small, weasely man in much-mended garb held a knife, while his larger companion gave Matilda a shake.
“Be still, you. Jeffrey and me have a score to settle, and we don’t much care how we settle it.”
More than their appearance, their voices struck a chord in Matilda’s memory. These were Duncan’s poachers, the men who’d set snares for helpless rabbits on land they didn’t own.
“What can you possibly want with me?” she spat. “These woods are the last place you two should be plying your criminal trade.”
“We’re not plying anything,” the smaller man said. “We’re gallantly aiding a lady fallen on trying times. Colonel Parker said so. He’s ever so worried about you.”
Colonel Parker. Matilda had the space of two heartbeats to consider options and outcomes. She could demand to be taken to Duncan, and promise these louts payment for delivering her. That choice would irrevocably entangle Duncan and his family in her troubles.
She could go meekly into Parker’s arms. She might well end up dead, she might also end up married to Parker, but Duncan—blameless, decent Duncan—would be safe.
“You come from Colonel Lord Parker?” she asked.
“That’s his coach over yonder,” Herman replied. “Poor sod’s been lookin’ for you everywhere.”
A cold wind blew through the bare trees, and Matilda said a prayer for fortitude. Duncan, I’m sorry.
“Then take me to the colonel at once. This instant, and unhand me or it will go the worse for you when the colonel finds out how I’ve been treated.”
She’d learned to use that tone on her castle servants, a lazy bunch who’d taken advantage of her husband’s chronic distraction. Herman turned loose of her, and his companion’s knife disappeared beneath a winter coat.
“Come along, then,” the shorter man said, “and be quick about it.”
Matilda marched smartly from the woods, praying that Jinks either stayed out of sight or knew enough not to interfere.
“Miss?” The coachman from the big vehicle called down to her. He was a trim man not much older than Matilda, with the weathered features common to his profession.
“Good day,” Matilda said, drawing herself up. “These men tell me this coach belongs to Colonel Lord Atticus Parker. Can you confirm that assertion?”
The coachman wrapped the reins and climbed down. “Miss Wakefield, is that you? We’ve been so worried. So very, very worried. The colonel has been beside himself, and he will be overjoyed to find you hale and whole.”
“This is the colonel’s coach, then? He’s here? I’m looking for Colonel Lord Atticus Parker and no other.” Please let the dread in her voice sound like reluctant hope. A movement at the corner of the innyard caught her eye, but she dared not