She drew her feet onto the seat and dropped her forehead onto her knees, hugging them at the same time.
This is the right choice, she reassured herself. I’m going to be a duchess, and Papa’s death will not have been in vain.
She closed her eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.
“Wake up, Lady Tabetha.” Culpepper’s voice jerked her out of disjointed dreams. “I’ve instructed my driver to stop at the blacksmith’s first thing.”
Having gone several hours without a word from him, his sudden attentiveness had Tabetha sitting up straight.
“But…” Tabetha blinked in confusion, gesturing at her gown. “I need to wash up and change first, if you don’t mind.” Was that what she wanted, or was her request an excuse to put it off? “And I need to eat something.” Yes. They should definitely get something to eat first. And a good night’s sleep would not be remiss.
“The ceremony won’t take long. You can eat afterward. No need to change. You look perfectly lovely as you are.”
Unease seeped through Tabetha as she stared across the cramped and musty enclosure. The interior of this carriage was beginning to feel like a prison—a prison of her own making.
One that she’d willingly climbed into. A tight squeezing prevented her from taking in a normal breath.
Before she could utter another protest or her consent, the carriage drew to a halt with a jerk. Tabetha raised one hand to her abdomen, which was suddenly queasy, as though the insides of her person had continued traveling down the road.
The door flew open but the cool air that rushed in provided only a moment of relief. Because the duke’s now-familiar perfume was immediately replaced with the distinct smell of burning coal and molten iron.
“You’re welcome to look around for a privy. Meet me inside when you’re ready.” With a tight smile and a gentle pat on her knee, Culpepper ducked his head, climbed out of the carriage, and disappeared inside to presumably make arrangements with one of the anvil priests.
Archie chose that moment to leap onto the floor and then up to the bench beside her.
“Of course, now you decide that you like me,” she muttered, her voice sounding thready and dry—not because she was thirsty but because the unease she’d experienced a moment before had manifested into outright horror.
She had made a terrible, terrible mistake.
She couldn’t go through with this.
Chapter 4
My Hero
Whereas Stone and Creighton ought to have easily overtaken the duke’s entourage, a series of unforeseeable catastrophes ensured they stayed at least a day behind. If, that was, the duke had even taken this road.
Barely outside of London, one of Westerley’s matched pair threw a shoe, and it had taken Stone and his manservant nearly half an hour to locate the damn thing. After determining the hoof itself wasn’t injured, they’d had to walk for two miles before locating an establishment where the shoe could be reattached.
Circumstances only went downhill after that when a day later, Chaswick’s “baby” struck a hole, landing at just the perfect angle to snap a wheel in two. Both Stone and Creighton managed to leap off before riding into an adjacent gully, but the evasive maneuver had left his outrider with a twisted ankle.
Unable to affect anything more than a temporary repair, to either the vehicle or mangled joint, they lost even more time hobbling along until coming across the village of Ramstail Quarry. Once there, Stone had reluctantly decided to forsake both Westerley’s baby and Creighton at the Pig and Hen taproom and inn, where hopefully, by the time he returned, the former would be repaired and the latter would be healed. He couldn’t very well force the man to ride the rest of the way to Scotland with his ankle twice its normal size, now could he?
Discouraged but undeterred, Stone rented a saddled horse and renewed his chase on his own. For all he knew, Culpepper had, in fact, taken Tabetha to Bowcliff Heights. Or perhaps he hadn’t taken her at all, and she was sitting at home laughing that he’d embarked on this fool’s errand in search of her.
But if he was right, and they were headed for Scotland… He’d be lucky to arrive in time to save the chit.
He persistently rebuked himself for not suspecting that Culpepper would try something like this. A nobleman with empty pockets was a desperate man, indeed.
Riding alone for two days by now, he’d slept a scant number