Page 59 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

Anne had once said that if given her head, Locket could bolt all the way to Bridgehampton. Stella wished it were true. Wished she could loosen the reins and let Locket carry her far away from Fostonbury, all the way to London.

Or to Devon.

Not for the first time, her thoughts turned toward Teddy in his cliffside estate. To that scorching kiss they’d shared in the sleigh. Who knew when Stella would see him again? Or if she would see him again.

Daniel was still set against accompanying her to Anne’s wedding. Never mind that Stella had exerted a herculean effort to soften his resolve. She’d spent the past two weeks diligently copying and organizing his notes, accompanying him on parish visits to the sick and elderly, and overseeing a thorough cleaning of the vicarage. She’d made the box room fit for occupancy, inventoried the linens, and prepared a month’s worth of menus. She’d even penned an invitation to Squire Smalljoy in her own hand, personally inviting him to join them at tonight’s dinner to welcome Miss Trent and her mother.

All to no avail.

Daniel was no more inclined to take Stella to London than he’d been on the first night she’d asked him.

Stella said as much in the letters she wrote to Julia and Evie. But not to Anne. Stella told her nothing of the troubles she was presently enduring. The last thing she wanted was Anne making good on her threat to come and collect Stella personally. And Anne would, too.

It wouldn’t do. Stella would simply have to find another way to get to London this spring.

Turning Locket back toward the vicarage, Stella trotted the mare, then walked her to cool her out. By the time they reached the rear entrance of the stable, Locket was calm and steady, and ready for a bucket of mash.

“She’ll be quiet until this afternoon, I reckon,” Turvey said, taking Locket’s reins as Stella dismounted. “Doesn’t take her but a few hours to get restless again.”

“She and I both,” Stella murmured. She gave her mare an affectionate scratch on the neck. “We’re of a similar temperament, aren’t we?”

Turvey respectfully refrained from answering as he led Locket away to untack her.

Stella walked back to the vicarage, shaking the gray horsehair from the skirts of her habit as she went. There was still much to be done before this afternoon. Miss Trent and her mother were due to arrive at Fairhook Station at half past two. Daniel would be going to fetch them in a hired gig.

But as Stella crossed the grounds to the front of the house, she saw—much to her alarm—the same coach she’d passed on the road now parked in front of the vicarage door. Two petite ladies in sturdy cloaks and bonnets had descended from the vehicle, one young and one old.

It was Amanda Trent and her mother.

The portly, brassy-haired Mrs. Trent was overseeing the removal of a number of trunks and leather traveling cases from the coach, with Daniel’s help. Mrs. Waltham stood at the open door of the vicarage, looking rather harried, as she showed the footmen where to put them.

Stella briefly considered slipping away to her room to hurriedly wash and change, but it was too late. Miss Trent had already spotted her.

“Miss Hobhouse!” Miss Trent exclaimed. “I thought it was you we saw on the road.” She swept across the drive to meet Stella. Not much more than five feet in height, she possessed all the steely purpose of a conqueror come to finalize her battle plans—an effect completely unmarred by her flaxen ringlets and her tiny pink rosebud of a mouth.

“I told your brother that you would be back directly,” she said, “as wild a pace as you were keeping.”

“Miss Trent.” Stella exchanged curtsies with the young woman. “This is a surprise. We weren’t expecting you to arrive until this afternoon.”

“You must call me Amanda,” Miss Trent insisted. “And I shall address you as Stella. We shall be family soon, shan’t we?”

“Yes. It seems we shall.”

“The very reason I suggested we take an earlier train. Why delay the start of our lives together? I assured Mama that you and dear Mr. Hobhouse wouldn’t mind. ‘Miss Hobhouse will have all in readiness,’ I told her. ‘She is an excellent housekeeper to her brother. Unmarried sisters always are.’ ”

Stella pasted on a smile, ignoring Amanda’s barbs. This is how it always began with her. The subtly cutting comments and treacle-covered darts. Amanda Trent was an underhanded opponent. It was impossible to war with her openly, but it was war all the same, and they both knew it.

“You are welcome at any hour, of course.” Stella gestured to the front door, conscious of her soiled riding habit and the wild strands of her gray hair sticking to her perspiration-damp brow.

No doubt she looked a fright, especially to someone as notoriously fastidious as Amanda. The young lady had just traveled all the way from London, but still appeared as fresh as a nosegay.

Daniel shot a severe glance in Stella’s direction as she passed. He’d warned her not to embarrass him in front of their guests, and here she was, offending everyone’s sensibilities in the very first moment.

“I beg you would excuse my sister’s unfortunate appearance,” he said. “Stella? Hadn’t you better change before joining us in the parlor?”

“Indeed,” Stella replied. As if she hadn’t been intending to do that very thing!

“It appeared an exciting ride.” Amanda linked her arm with Stella’s as they walked to the door, affecting an intimacy the two of them didn’t share. “Though, if you’ll permit a word of advice, not perhaps an excessively wise one. A lady should never gallop her horse. Mama was quite shocked to see you doing so. She mentioned it to your brother straightaway.”