“Never mind,” Matthew said, knowing it was futile to argue with Miss Mayton as he’d soon enough be arguing with the entire table who would leap to her defense over any and all matters. He downed his port. “By all means, proceed with this masterpiece.”
Miss Mayton did proceed, and so proceeded one of the longest hours of his life. While the five sisters ranged round the table were held rapt by the tale, he could make nothing of it. In truth, he was surprised the earl allowed such drivel into the house, as it did not help to correct his daughters’ outlandish notions about romance.
Beatrice, in particular, seemed deeply affected by the one-eyed duke. Did she not comprehend that she would never look upon a real man of flesh and blood in such a manner?
She was looking very charming just now, a curl escaped from her pins and falling on her forehead.
Miss Mayton ended the excruciating evening by reading:
Gentle Marianna laid her ear against the door. The duke raged within!
“How can gentle Marianna the governess truly love a one-eyed wretch like me!” His Grace cried.
Gentle Marianna the governess finally understood that the duke was desperately in love with her. Her mind raced with the question—could she love a one-eyed man?
There was only one way to find out, she must have a look under that patch.
Surrounded by feminine sighs, Matthew rose. “I am going to bed.”
*
Beatrice hurried downthe stairs with Rosalind and Viola on her heels. By some miracle, they’d been up and dressed before dawn. Last evening, Van Doren had pointed out that they’d just made it to the inn as the sun was setting. It would be dangerous to lead such a caravan down dark and lonely roads.
He’d also mentioned that the hired coachmen were all threatening to quit and go home.
Beatrice had to privately admit all of that was true. It had been such great fun the day before, stopping where they liked and taking their time. They all wished to go on in the same manner, but none of them cared to take their chances with nighttime travel.
Or revisit the irate stares of the hired coachmen as the sun set lower and lower in the sky.
Therefore, the caravan must set off at dawn.
They had a hurried breakfast and were all got into their respective carriages with only a short delay as Juliet ran back inside to retrieve her book of poems from the dining room.
Even Van Doren seemed in relatively good spirits, though Beatrice was certain he walked with a slight limp.
That was what happened, she supposed, when a gentleman insisted on being on his horse all day. If he were crawling by the time they got to London he would have nobody to blame but himself.
Just before they set off, there had been an interesting-looking gentleman coming out of the inn, accompanied by his valet. He tipped his hat to Beatrice, but Van Doren steered his horse between them before she could decide how she would respond.
Beatrice certainly hoped he did not plan on any of those sorts of games in Town. If he got between her and her one true love, she’d knock him off his horse to get him out of the way.
The day that unfolded was thrilling, as every mile they traversed brought Beatrice closer to Portland Place.
It was also amusing, as when they stopped to change horses near noon, they all ordered ham and ate it as slowly as possible. Van Doren was left gripping his fork and Beatrice thought he was considering stabbing somebody with it. Later in the day, they did it again, but he just stayed in the yard and paced.
The Angel at Basingstoke was reached as the sun made its last appearance on the horizon. They might have arrived some hours before, but on top of the slow ham-eating, Viola had insisted on a salad, which she ate one leaf at a time to further enrage Van Doren.
Then, of course, Juliet was often struck by a vista.
As this was their second night at an inn, they proceeded to arrange themselves like veteran travelers and it was only a matter of an hour before they came down for dinner.
They had imagined that they would be led into a private dining room very similar to what The Lamb’s had been. Instead, they found the innkeeper in distress, attempting to explain some matter to the earl.
“You see, my lord, it was a mistake. Somehow, the room was reserved twice, to two different parties.”
Apparently, they were one of the parties, and the other party stood near the inn’s front door and consisted of three ladies and one gentleman. The gentleman, a rather stern-looking figure, did not look amused by the mistake.
The innkeeper lowered his voice to whisper. “In any other case, I would say you must have the room, as you outrank Mr. Bigg-Wither, but he has an estate a few miles off and he is such a determined fellow!”
