Page 7 of A Stranger’s Gamble

Chapter Four

After breakfast a week later, Sophie stood at the bottom of the front doorsteps, wrapped in an ermine-trimmed pelisse as the footmen strapped the last of her three trunks onto the back of the coach-and-six. The maids had packed twice the dozen dresses Sophie had laid out for the trip. Having a calico printer as a father ensured a never-ending supply of fashionable prints to wear. She would have to work hard to attend enough parties and events to be able to wear them all.

A thrill rushed through her. Edinburgh. She would stay with the aunt she hadn’t seen since she was five. Aunt Maddie lived in Italy until four years ago when she returned to Scotland. Sophie’s father never said it, but she suspected her aunt blamed him for Sophie’s mother’s death. That was silly, of course. People died of pneumonia all the time. She could just as easily have died in Edinburgh as she had in Invergarry.

At any rate, it seemed Aunt Maddie had forgiven Sophie’s father enough to agree to her staying until she met the marquess. Discomfort swirled in her stomach. She would have preferred to stay at an inn and not deal with the woman who had never bothered to visit her and her father.

Sophie breathed deep of the early autumn air and willed her shoulders to relax. She planned to enjoy herself on this trip, marquesses and aunts be damned. The footman nimbly leapt from the carriage with the last trunk finally secure. She eyed the vehicle. Three days in a carriage did not appeal to her. Thankfully, day after tomorrow afternoon, she would break free of the confines of the vehicle and ride like the wind on her mare Ophelia for the final few miles into Edinburgh.

The scrape of her father’s boots on the steps sounded behind her, and she turned as he reached her. She had told him that she had no interest in marrying a marquess. He had put his foot down and said she was going to Edinburgh—and that was that.

“Your Aunt will take good care of you,” he said.

“Of course, Father.”

“I won’t be able to join you until the ball. We have a problem with the latest vat of Turkey Red.”

Sophie nodded. “No need to worry. I shall be fine.”

He grasped her shoulders and she looked up into his face. “This is for the best, Sophie. He’s a good man. Not many noblemen would have paid their dead fathers debts, especially to the tune of leaving themselves penniless.”

“You have never met the man,” she replied.

“That will be rectified when I arrive in Edinburgh. I have made arrangements at the two inns where you will stay the two nights. You are not to travel after dark.”

“There is no need to worry, Father. You know I am a crack shot.” She lifted her reticule, where she kept a muff pistol. She didn’t mention that she’d stowed her favorite revolver in the valise Beatrice was bringing down.

Her father locked gazes with her. “Mr. Williams has strict instructions from me not to let you bully him into driving past sunset.”

Sophie’s heart softened. “I won’t bully him, I promise.”

When her cousin had been waylaid by highwaymen six years ago, Sophie had begged to learn to shoot. To her surprise, her father had acquiesced without argument. Though he had remained staunch that she would no longer be allowed to ride on a road after dark.

“I will see you in Edinburgh.” He kissed her forehead, then headed back inside to his study where his men from the dye works waited.

Sophie sighed. He obsessed over his dye works. She understood his passion. She felt the same with her horses. She shifted her gaze to her to prized mare tied to the back of the carriage. Nothing compared to the wind in her hair and the feel of a horse moving beneath her as she galloped across the heather.

Beatrice emerged from the house, a cloth-covered basket looped over one arm and the valise in the other.

Sophie grinned at the bag. “Thank you, Bea.”

Beatrice scowled and lifted the basket. “I heated stones for the journey, Miss.”

“You think of everything,” Sophie said. “You did think of everything?” She glanced meaningfully at the canvas bag.

“Aye,” Beatrice said. “But no good can come of your shenanigans, miss.”

Sophie winked. “What good is life without shenanigans?”

She had everything she needed in that bag, but she couldn’t take advantage of the items until day after tomorrow. On that point, Mr. Carney was adamant. On the third day of their trip, when they were an hour from Edinburgh, she would ride like the wind on Ophelia.

The footman opened the door. Sophie descended the stairs to the coach with Beatrice at her side. Sophie paused and looked back at her childhood home. The stately stone manor with its black slate roof lay nestled amidst gardens on the edge of town. She felt certain nowhere on earth was more beautiful. She would have a nice adventure, then return home to the heather covered hills she and Ophelia loved to travel together.

Sophie faced the carriage and allowed the footman to hand her up into the carriage. Beatrice followed, then busied herself with the warming stones and the fleece-lined lap blankets. The carriage tilted slightly as the footman hopped onto his seat beside the driver, then the crack of Mr. Carney’s whip sounded, and the carriage jolted into motion.

Sophie peered through the plate glass window and let the sun warm her face. Thick, white puffy clouds dotted the bright blue sky. As they turned out onto the open road, excitement hummed in her belly. The last of the thatched roofs of the village disappeared behind them.