A situation more suited to her skills was that of a lady’s companion, but the few women she knew who might have need of one had no interest in employing her.
They prefer to look down their noses at me.Regardless, she doubted she could ever earn enough to support her family.
The gold-toned parchment in her valise bearing the Briarwood seal was their only hope. She had to find Ravenmore and demand where he had met her brother. When she had proof that Basil still lived, she would convince Aunt Rosemary to refuse the duke’s suit of Angelica and give her time to find their brother and restore their fortune. Then things would go back to the way they had been.
Angelica deserves better, she thought, remembering how Lord Briarwood had rescued her from Canterbury’s scorn in Lady Jarvis’s ballroom. The two men could not have been more different. The duke’s reputation was sterling, his manner acidic. Meanwhile, ladies clutched their daughters close whenever Viscount Briarwood passed, and yet she had never met anyone who had treated her with such gentleness.
“I feel as if I am being dragged along the road,” Angelica said, rubbing her back. “What will the other guests think if we arrive in such a poor state?”
The carriage was sparse, without warm bricks to heat them or even padding on the bare wooden seats. Saffron had given over one of her few gowns to Rosemary, who had tucked it around her legs. Every time the carriage hit a rut in the road, all three women knocked into each other.
“It is the best we could afford,” Saffron said, breathing on her chilled fingers. It didn’t seem possible, with the oppressive heat in London, that it could be so cold only a day’s drive into the country. She flicked the shade on the window shut. “We should be glad we found any transport.”
They had left town late, held up by the difficulty of finding a conveyance. It seemed every family on their street had left on the same day to escape the heat and stench of London.
She had managed a few fitful hours of sleep, woken by every creak and howl of the wind, certain that brigands or highwaymen surrounded them.
Not that they had anything of real value. They had sold most of their jewelry to pay their debts.
The carriage rattled to a stop.
“Are we there?” Angelica asked.
Saffron pulled back the shade from the window. “I don’t think so.” They were at the edge of a river. The dark, surging waters lashed against the shore and sent up a cloud of spray that spattered the side of the carriage.
“We’ve arrived at the gates of hell,” Angelica said, looking over her shoulder.
“I did not hear that,” Rosemary said. “My niece does not speak like a common sailor.”
“I’ll ask our driver,” Saffron said. She steadied her nerves, then opened the door and stepped out. The rain soaked her gownin seconds. Wind buffeted her hair, and before she could reach up, her bonnet whipped from her head and flew off into the trees.
She sheltered against the side of the carriage and looked up at the hulking man atop it.
“Why did we stop?” she yelled.
The coachman slid down off his perch and peered at her from beneath his hood, grinning a gap-toothed smile. He pointed toward the water. “We wait to cross.”
She held a hand to her head to keep her wet hair from lashing against her face. There was a small craft approaching them, little more than a bundle of logs lashed together. “That is hardly a ferry.”
The coachman shrugged. “The boat doesn’t run in the squall.”
I guess we have no choice.
They had not passed an inn for hours, and she did not wish to spend the night in the cramped quarters of the carriage.
She backed up and opened the door. Rosemary and Angelica stared at her with wide eyes, like two owls in a burrow. As Saffron stepped inside, the rain splattered into the interior, but when she turned to close them in, the storm tugged the door out of her grip.
Angelica’s hands joined hers on the handle, and together, they pulled until the door slammed shut, sending them falling to the floor.
Saffron flicked the water from her hands. “We’re at the river crossing. Not much longer now.”
Rosemary huffed. “If our host has any sense, he will have hot towels waiting for us when we arrive. I can’t understand why anyone would live in the frigid country.”
Saffron peeked out the small window as the ferry docked against the shore. The coachman navigated the carriage onto thecontraption. It was not a ferry, more like a barge that floated from one side of the river to the other. There was a small, enclosed area in the center where passengers could shelter from the rain, but Rosemary and Angelica were determined to stay inside the carriage. The coachman muttered his annoyance at their choice, as he had to stay with them in the sheeting rain, lest the horses spook.
The surging waters lapped against the sides of the ferry, causing it to pitch and sway. She huddled into a ball on the floor. There were so many things that could go wrong. The barge could sink. They could be tossed overboard. Lightning could strike them and set the carriage aflame.
It will be fine, she thought, forcing herself to believe it.
