Page 17 of Yielding to Love

She stared at him a moment longer. Those white knuckles. The wild eyes. The theatrics.

She sniffed. “You are doing it far too brown.”

His head jerked back, and he blinked.

“Major, you can’t expect me to believe that escorting us to Tonbridge is a favor I am doing for you.”

“I—”

“Is there even any contagion?”

“I wouldn’t lie about that!”

“What are you lying about?”

She saw a small twitch at the corner of his eye before he set his jaw. Then he looked past her, clearly thinking. She wondered if he was reexamining his words. She felt sure of it when he said, “Nothing I said was untrue.” His eyes met hers. “Only my manner was false. I worried you would resist my help. As you did the other night—”

“Major! The crisis at issue then was that I’d stayed too long at a bookshop. This is contagion! I’m not a ninny.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping men, then back at her. He lowered his voice. “I apologize. Of course, you’ll accept my help.”

She felt peeved he was getting his way regardless. “I haven’t a choice. Though I would like an honest answer why you’re so eager to put yourself out.”

“I haven’t anything better to do. That is the truth. If you like, we can argue more later. But now, I have a horse out front. I can be back with a carriage in less than an hour. Does the colonel have much in his room?”

“A few clothes and his shaving kit. And the chair he’s in. It’s his.” His, but the wheels did not turn smoothly, and it was difficult to maneuver. It was the best she could do for fifteen pounds.

“Good. That will make it easier. We can collect his things, then go to the Stirlings’ for yours. Will it take you long to pack?”

“Not very. And I can send for anything I forget.”

“Could you send for all of it? We can be on our way quicker if we don’t stop at the Stirlings’.”

“Good Lord, no! I have to say goodbye to Marianne.” A wave of heat rolled up her neck. She’d told her friend about meeting Major Taverston at the hospital, but not about the encounter at the Temple of the Muses. She could imagine Marianne’s astonishment, seeing her ride off with him into the night.

Major Taverston nodded. “Very good. I’ll fetch a carriage. If you can, wait here on the terrace until I return.”

*

Camellia could not have said what she expected, but it certainly was not the carriage Major Taverston brought around to the side door of the hospital. She had never ridden in anything so grand. The wood was painted a glossy black. The handles and metal attachments gleamed so, it wouldn’t surprise her to learn they were plated with gold. Four matching black Norfolk Trotters were in the traces. And Major Taverston had also borrowed a driver in livery.

The Major lifted Neville into the carriage and climbed up after him to see him settled. Then he vaulted down and handed Camellia up. The inside was well cushioned and upholstered in a rich brocade. She tried not to gawp, but who lived like this?

“There are sandwiches in that basket and tea in the bottle. I’m sorry but the tea won’t be hot. And there are blankets under the red cushion if you need them.”

“Thank you, Major,” Neville said. His teeth were clenched. “Camellia, I need my laudanum.” As she fished the bottle and spoon from her reticule, Major Taverston turned away, frowning. She wondered what worried him now.

To her relief, he wasn’t going to ride in the carriage with them. He would ride alongside on a gorgeous chestnut Thoroughbred that must have been at least sixteen hands tall. She felt she had stepped straight into a fairy tale. Handsome prince included.

Neville fell asleep in the short time it took to reach the Stirlings’. Major Taverston opened the carriage door and helped her down.

“I’ll wait here with the colonel.” He cast an anxious look at the sky. “I think we are in for some rain.”

“I’ll hurry.”

Marianne met her at the door. Fluttering. “What on earth? Whose carriage is that?”

“Major Taverston’s.” She gave the quickest explanation she could, emphasizing the major’s determination to help Neville. Her friend merely stared, open-mouthed, until the story was told.