“Good. Come on, Leah. We have things to do. Say goodbye, James,” said Claire. His sister slipped her arm into Leah’s and they began to walk away, no doubt headed for the comfortable sitting room upstairs to discuss final wedding preparations.
James stood and watched them. Leah might be putting on a brave face for her impending nuptials, but the way she barely fit her clothes spoke volumes for her state of mind. Even her manner of walking was stilted.
But it was her final heartbreaking words which threatened to bring James to his knees. Leah no longer cared to hear what he had to say. She had resigned herself to her fate.
He was not her hero.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The icy midnight air greeted Leah as she opened the door leading into the rear garden of her family home. She wrapped her shawl around her before giving one last furtive glance back toward the main entrance. She was alone. With her travel bag in one hand and a small lantern in the other, she stole out into the darkness.
Her family had kept a close eye on her the past few days; she was rarely left alone. While she had made every effort not to show any sign of her reluctance to marry Guy Dannon, she knew her father would not be taking chances. There would be no sudden crying off on her part.
Not for the first time did she send a prayer of thanks to heaven for having confided in Claire Radley. Leah had continued to recite the schedule for all mail coaches leaving for the west country over the past few days, hoping she had memorized it correctly.
In the bag, there was a small coin purse with enough money in it for her to be able to buy a ticket through to Truro. The extent of the coins she and Claire had managed to cobble together would permit her to purchase one meal a day en route. The journey west would be a trying one, but she was prepared to endure anything rather than marry Guy.
Leah barely fit any of her clothes now, the stress of the past weeks having seen her struggle to keep food down. Guy’s only comment about her rapid weight loss was to coldly remind her that she had better have enough energy for their wedding night. The thought made Leah feel ill.
As soon as she reached her grandfather, she would make herself at home in the kitchen and not leave until his cook had fattened her back up to a normal size. Shemustreach Sir Geoffrey’s home in Cornwall.
Now on the eve of her wedding, hiding in the dark of the garden, she faced down her fears. What if her family suspected she was attempting to run? What if her mother decided she needed to stay close to her daughter on the morning of the wedding? And what if her father . . . no. She had to put those thoughts to the back of her mind. She had to trust herself and her determination not to accept the fate they had chosen for her. She could do this. The price of failure was unthinkable.
Hidden by the black shadows of the house, she made her way over to the small potting shed. It was situated just inside the garden gate which led from the rear laneway into the mews and stables. The Shepherd family gardener and his assistant were the only people who ever set foot inside the brick and stone building.
There was a gentle creak of hinges as she pushed the door open. In the still night air, the noise was enough to set her nerves on edge. She prayed the stable boy, who slept upstairs in the nearby loft, was a sound sleeper. Her being caught in the garden at this hour with a travel bag in hand would take more than a little explaining.
She set the lantern on the floor and lay the shawl over the top of the glass. It gave only the barest of light for her work, but she dared not risk making it any brighter.
The travel bag fitted neatly beneath the potting bench. She pushed it farther under the bench, tucking it out of sight. The bag contained a few old items of clothing she had stolen out of the house including a pair of sturdy boots, and some small personal possessions which she could not bear to part with. She couldn’t risk attempting to take any of her new clothes with her. Her mother would no doubt notice their absence.
The three plain day-gowns she had retrieved from under the mattress of her bed were warm and functional, perfect for the chill sea winds of Cornwall. At the top of the bag lay that last, vital piece of clothing: Mary Radley’s long black woolen cloak with a fitted hood. If she did indeed make it all the way to her grandfather’s house, Claire’s help would have played an important part in her success.
Timing was one thing she had to control in her plans to escape, but deception was just as crucial. The cloak would help her to hide from her family until she was safely on board the coach and headed out of London.
Her heart raced. She stood and looked at the potting bench; the bag was well out of sight. She took in a slow, calming breath. Tomorrow, she would need steady nerves and a clear mind.
“You can do this Leah,” she whispered.
The sound of boots shuffling on the stone step outside the kitchen had her dropping quickly to her knees. She pulled open the glass door of the lantern and blew out the candle. The potting shed was immediately thrown into darkness.
She poked her head out the door and saw that the family cook had taken a spot on the top step at the back door. Leah knew that if the woman was true to habit, she would be holding a roughly rolled fag in her hand, having lit it over the kitchen stove. As the cook lifted her hand to her face, Leah’s suspicions were confirmed. Apart from the hint of the moon from behind some thick clouds, the golden glow of the burning tobacco was the only source of light in the gloomy garden.
Damn.
Leah sat back and drew her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her shawl once more about her and waited. Much as she was freezing in her thin nightgown and woolen shawl, she dared not make a move. She had been patient up to this point, everything diligently prepared. Now was not the time to lose her nerve.
Come tomorrow, if her luck held, all the plans that she and Claire had so carefully put together would come to fruition. All that she had suffered at the hands of her father and Guy Dannon over the past few weeks would have been worth it.
She refused to even consider what would become of her if she failed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
James threw the last of his shirts into his travel trunk before closing it up. He had packed the warmest of his shirts, jackets, and trousers. Derbyshire had been cold enough when he left, but with winter now closing in, he knew it would be freezing.
He packed up his paintbrushes and put them carefully into their travel box. After treating himself to a visit to Ackermann’s on the Strand the previous day, he was in possession of fresh oil paints. The paints were wrapped in their pig’s bladders and stored in an airtight tin at the bottom of his travel trunk. As soon as he got to Burton-on-Trent, he would seek out rooms which were large enough to accommodate the easels and canvasses of his plannedDerbyshire Twins.
Whenever he needed to check on the colors and shading of the landscapes, he would make the trip back out to the Marchington Woodlands before returning to his room to paint. The awkward situation with regard to Timothy Walters and Caroline had made him decide on not staying a second time with the two Tims in their tiny cottage.
