“Making arrangements,” he said shortly. “Speaking of which, I need to step out for a few minutes. I’ll ask the innkeeper to send up some paper and ink. You can write your letters to your various duchesses and viscountesses before dinner and they’ll go on the next coach toward London. With luck, you’ll have an answer from your friends in a few days.”
After receiving the supplies, she wrote to her friend Daisy first, deciding that she would be best placed to tell Heather what to do.
Dear Daisy,
I am writing to you from a small village in the north of England, but by the time you receive this, I will no longer be here, and indeed I am uncertain of my final destination. Tonight, I write mostly to inform you that I have left my own home and do not intend to return. Uncle Cyril attempted to force me to marry one of his friends, and I ran away before the event could occur. You will think me rash (and you will be correct), but I assure you that I saw no other option.
However, as of this writing, I am safe and well. After leaving home, I encountered a gentleman by the name of Niall MacNair. He took it upon himself to see me fed and escorted to an inn, where I now write to you. He has been very kind.
Heather paused in her writing, reading over the last part. Her description of events was woefully restrained.Encountered a gentleman?He shielded her from a gang of ruffians and personally rode her out of town! Andvery kind? Those two words might be technically true, but hardly conveyed any real sense of the man.
And now she was practically sharing a room with him, though he had promised to make other arrangements for later. Heather suspected that the maid figured into those plans, hence his conversation with her a little while ago. Maisie was a full-figured woman, and Heather knew how men behaved whenever they could get away with it. (Well, she knew how her uncle and his friends behaved, and extrapolated that to the general populace.)
Heather frowned. She was out of her depth, she knew. She should not be here with Mr. MacNair. It was only the anonymity of the country inn that allowed them to put a gloss of legitimacy on their encounter. Before Heather could continue her letter, there was a knock at the door. She got up and opened it to find Maisie.
“Oh, I’m the only one here,” Heather said, surprised to see her. “If you’re looking for—”
“No, no, ma’am. The gentleman requested some clothing for you. Here.” Maisie held out a stack of nearly folded fabric. “A gown that should suit, a shift, and stockings. And shoes that may fit.”
“Why, thank you. But I don’t have any money.”
“Your husband paid already,” Maisie explained. “Let me know if you need anything else.” She gave a little curtsy and hurried off.
Heather locked the door and went to change. The blue gown had been taken in and mended several times, but it was sturdy, warm wool. The shift was cream-colored cotton (also mended and patched in a few places). Once dressed in fresh attire, Heather felt immensely better. She could have conquered the world.
Sitting back down, she finished her letter to Daisy on an optimistic note, promising more information the moment she had it. Folding the letter, she used the wax from the nearby candle to seal it.
She walked to the door, thinking to take the letter downstairs with a request for the innkeeper to add it to the pile destined for the post. But the moment she opened the door, she jumped at the huge figure of a man standing right there.
Instinctively, Heather whipped the letter at his face.
“Ow!” Niall turned his head, clapping a hand to his cheek, where the edge of the paper had struck him.
“Oh, sorry!” Heather gasped. “I didn’t know it was you!”
“Who else? Ach, am I bleeding?” He pulled his hand away.
“No, it’s just red. I really am sorry.”
Niall stooped to pick up the fallen letter. “An unexpected weapon.”
“If I’d had a moment, I’d have grabbed the fireplace poker,” she said.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Should I post this for you?”
“Er, yes, thank you.”
Niall retreated. When he came back, the innkeeper was on his heels, bearing a tray laden with food. Maisie followed, carrying a steaming tankard in each hand.
“Here we are, sir and madam. Beef roast just off the fire. Nice hot food to chase the chill of that rainstorm.”
“Ale for you, sir.” Maisie handed Niall a tankard with a wink. She turned to Heather and offered a mug of cider. “Madam.” At Heather’s thanks, she bobbed a curtsy and followed the innkeeper out, not without another meaningful glance at Niall.
“Well, a toast to escape,” he said, holding up his tankard.
Heather raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of her own beverage. It was delicious. “It may only be a momentary escape. I can’t stay hidden forever. He’ll look for me no matter where I go.”
“Maybe not,” Niall said. He sat back and regarded her, his expression speculative.
