Page 98 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Lynch’s landau was not as plush as what Ophelia was used to back in New York, but she’d found it comfortable enough when roaming about London. However, this was not that. The cushioning on the benches was thin. She felt every bump. And Dessie—seated facing her, next to Lynch—shouldn’t be jostled about so in her condition. But Dessie was too excited to complain, and Ophelia, too worried. She could guess what Eli meant by “messier”.

They zipped out of London by way of backstreets and alleyways, then hit a long stretch of road that was open, if poorly maintained. The air whistling through the gap at the window began to smell of grass instead of coal smoke. Ophelia no longer questioned whether John dreaded taking her and her sister out for carriage rides. Clearly, when tasked with speed and purpose, he was in his element. She’d never been in a carriage moving so fast. She made the mistake of telling Lynch they would surely overtake Trentham, but he laughed. “Don’t lay any wagers on it.”

The first coaching inn was at Weybridge, where they had to exchange their tired team for fresh horses. Ophelia and Dessie visited the necessary, and when they emerged, they saw Lynch talking with the proprietor. He rejoined them at once.

“We missed him by no more than half an hour. I doubt we can catch him, but at least we’re not too far behind.”

“What is the plan if we do catch him?” Ophelia asked.

“The devil if I know.”

Two hours later at Aldershot, the second coaching inn, they’d closed the gap to a quarter hour, according to the grooms in the stable.

“Next is Greatham, and then another hour or so to Southampton,” Lynch said as they set off once more. He spoke quietly, as if to himself. “I hope we can find Robin before he finds them.”

“Do you think Mr. Cameron was right?” Dessie asked. “That Lord Hayworth might resort to fisticuffs?”

“He might.” He grimaced. “The fellow must imagine he’s Lady Elizabeth’s knight in shining armor.”

Ophelia found his expression concerning. Apparently, Dessie did too, from the way she was studying her husband’s face. “Are you worried for Robin or Lord Hayworth?”

“Both.” Lynch groaned. “Robin won’t start anything, but if Hayworth does…” He looked down at the ground. “He’ll regret it. I suppose you know that Robin doesn’t believe in pulling his punches.”

The groom came around the corner of the inn, leading their carriage. The thread of the conversation was lost, or purposely dropped, as they piled back in. As they set off, Lynch fussed over Dessie’s comfort, a concern she pooh-poohed. Then they fell into a conversation about Lord Selbourne. He was opposed to the new bill, but Lynch believed that a concerted effort by the Married Women’s Property Committee might sway him. Ophelia cared about the bill passing, but not the details. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, but couldn’t sleep. She was agitated by impatience and boredom, two emotions that should not coexist.

At last, with the sun down and a night-time chill settling in, they stopped at the Greatham coaching inn. Lynch asked if they needed tea, but they both declined. They didn’t have time to waste. After they exited the carriage, Lynch called up to John, to be sure he was still up to the task. Another hour to go. Half-hearing John’s emphatic affirmative, Ophelia went around the landau, taking high-kneed marching steps to awaken her pins-and-needles legs. Before stepping into the drive, she looked carefully both ways. She’d almost been run down once, though it wasn’t her fault. The carriage had come out of nowhere. Now again, a vehicle was rumbling toward her, but this one she saw in time. She began moving back, until she recognized it as Trentham’s.

She raced toward him, waving her arms in the air. “Wait! Stop!”

Her words were drowned out by the noise of the wheels on the road, the “tiger” Will’s yelp, and the protesting horses as Trentham reined in sharply. She could see the strain in his arms and on his face. “Damn it! Don’t ever run at a moving carriage!”

“I knew you would stop.” She felt breathless even though she hadn’t run fast or far.

“What the devil are you doing here?” He wiped his forearm across his brow. His cravat was loose, wilted, and speckled with dirt. The carriage lamps lent a ghostly hue to his tired face. “You’re following me?”

“Yes. With Lynch and Dessie.”

“Good God,” he muttered. “Must everything be a circus?”

“Lady Elizabeth needs a chaperone.”

“A little late for that.”

The horses whinnied and pawed the ground. Although they had the somewhat shabby appearance of horses-for-rent, they did not look old or worn-out. Trentham would no doubt have hired the best available, leaving no better than second best for Lynch. After finally catching up with him, it would be a shame to fall back behind. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Lynch and Dessie approaching, but they were still hidden by the landau.

“Let me ride with you.”

His mouth twisted into a grimace. “I’m in a hurry. Just tell Lynch that March says they’ve bought passage to France on the Enchanted Girl. They’re sailing at daybreak.”

“I’ll tell him, but wait for me. I’ll come with you. We should talk.”

She shrank under the fierceness of his scowl. “I don’t see the point. If you believe me to be a man capable of abducting an innocent—”

“I know you’re not.”

“Only because the proof was placed before your eyes.”

“You have every right to be angry with me—”