At the end of the drive, she had to decide which way to turn. She debated briefly, afraid her choice would be just the wrong one, and eventually chose to go back the way they’d come. At least that led to the London road, at some point. She couldn’t recall the whole of the route.
The day was waning. Charlotte slipped along the side of the country lane, ready to hide if she heard anyone approaching. Seeing her walking in her now filthy evening dress and slippers, her hair crushed by days in a chaise, people might easily believe she was mad. She didn’t want to risk any encounter so close to Lady Isabella’s home. But for a long while, she saw no one; the countryside was curiously empty.
The sun approached the horizon. Shadows slanted across the rutted lane. What would she do once it was full dark, Charlotte wondered? The June night wouldn’t be too cold. She could spend the night in a field, she supposed—but it was a daunting prospect.
She heard the rattle of cart wheels approaching, then the clop of hooves. For a moment, she froze. This could be rescue, or servants of Lady Isabella’s returning to the house. She must have more than one old woman taking care of the place. If they’d been given the story of her madness… She couldn’t think. Her head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton wool. If she asked for help, surely… She remembered the sullen faces and hostile eyes of countrymen they’d passed on the road. Sir Alexander had said Derbyshire was on the edge of violence. She couldn’t risk it.
Charlotte plunged off the hard-packed ruts and into the fringe of weedy growth beside the lane. There was a clump of small trees not too far away. She ran. If she could just reach… her foot caught in the hem of her gown, and she went down with a thump that sounded like a thunderclap in her ears. Heart pounding, she curled small among the weeds and held her breath. The hoofbeats came closer; the rattle of the cart seemed almost on top of her. And then it passed and went on along the lane, back the way she had come.
Charlotte lay there, waiting for her pulse to slow, her hands to stop trembling. Then she stumbled up and began walking once again.
***
“Can’t we go any faster?” Lucy asked. The old cart Ethan had borrowed from Sir Alexander’s stables seemed to crawl along the lane. It was nearly dark, another day passing, and they hadn’t done a thing but wear themselves out traveling.
“I’d be going faster if I’d ridden,” he complained.
“And how would you take Miss Charlotte away if you was on horseback?” Lucy countered. “Throw her across your saddle like some lunatic in an old tale?” He had no reply to that, because she was right.
“You should have stayed at the house,” Ethan grumbled instead. “I don’t like the feel of the countryside. Tempers are up. Something’s in the wind.”
“I wasn’t going to be left there amongst a lot of strangers.” And if Ethan couldn’t see why, he was no better than a numbskull, Lucy thought. It had been bad enough walking up to that grand estate smudged and rumpled from the long journey, having traveled for days alone with him. How was she going to explain that kind of scandalous goings-on, if she was left there, when the housemaids and all started eyeing her and whispering? She couldn’t tell them about Miss Charlotte; she’d never betray her mistress by gossiping about her. So what was she to say? And all the while knowing that Ethan’s family was part of the staff, and people who’d known him all his life. She might get on the wrong side of his father—or worse, his mother. And then how could she live right next to them if they were married? Couldn’t he see that she mustn’t be plopped down there like a parcel with no explanation? It was clear as clear, but not to him seemingly.
Gates loomed in the growing darkness. “This is it,” said Ethan. He turned the cart and headed down the drive.
Lucy clenched her hands in her lap. She imagined a grand butler ordering them from the door, or a high-nosed housekeeper having them thrown out of the house by a group of hulking footmen. Ethan was big, but he was just one man. And she didn’t want him