Page 63 of What a Widow Wants

Ah, there it was. Her jewelry box. Not that she owned many costly pieces. None of the family jewels came to the wife of a third son, but Stephen had bought her a few good pieces. She gathered them in her reticule, a jeweled hair comb, a pearl and emerald broach with matching earrings, and a sapphire ring. All the rest was paste and she closed the box on it. This should be enough that if they found an inn she could barter for food and a night’s lodgings as they waited for Matthew to come.

“What are we doing, Mama?” Ella had been quiet so long, Fanny jumped at the sound of her voice.

“You startled me, lovey. We are going to have to take a very long walk in just a little bit.” What else in the trunk might she use? Poking through the jumbled things she’d thrown together last night, she wished first for something warm. The cold had begun to seep through her heavy traveling gown and she was certain Ella must be chilly. The wind had not risen, but the cold was damp and would feel even more so after the sun set.

Fanny glanced toward the sun, riding low on the horizon. Not much time at all. She dug frantically through the clothing, pulling out a fan, a petticoat, a pair of lace gloves. Finally in the very bottom she found a thick woolen shawl and pulled it out with a crow of pleasure. “Come here, Ella.”

Dutifully the girl stepped forward, her cheeks red with the cold.

“Here, let’s put this around you, lovey.” She draped and tied the brown shawl around Ella’s shoulders. It hung all the way down the back of her coat, which would help keep her warm. “Now, grasp the corners of the shawl and hold them tight over your chest.”

“Like this?” Ella pulled them together, the ends almost touching the ground.

“Let me fix them.” A tight knot secured the garment, covering her daughter front and back. “There. Now, let’s hide this trunk, so no one comes along and takes it.” Kneeling down again, Fanny secured the lock, then looked around for a place to conceal it. The stand of trees behind them seemed the closest place. One old oak had a broken branch, making it look like a woman kicking her legs. She’d remember that tree. “Can you help me with the trunk, lovey?”

Ella nodded and grasped the handle, but could scarcely lift it off the ground. “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s so heavy.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She’d loaded it down with things she thought she’d need but now obviously didn’t. “Let’s see if we can drag it.”

Together they managed to pull the trunk, bit by bit, behind the tree where it fit perfectly into a depression in the ground. Winded by the exertion, Fanny rested on the lid again, although as soon as she ceased moving, the cold began its insidious penetration of her spencer. They had best start walking, both to find an inn and to keep warm. “Come along, lovey. I think we must walk.” Fanny took her daughter’s hand and headed toward the road on her left.

“But the carriage went that way, Mama,” she replied, pointing the way they had come.

“I know, dear. But the place we are trying to go to, where I hope Lord Lathbury will find us, is that way.”

“Lord Laffbury is coming to meet us?” Ella jumped up and down until the shawl slipped askew.

“I truly hope so, my dear.” Why she had not married the man when he first asked her in June she now could not fathom. Would she ever fall into folly where Matthew was concerned? What she wouldn’t give right now to be safe and warm in his arms. She gazed around the chilly clearing as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Those who dance must pay the piper. Her father’s words echoed in her ears as she took Ella’s hand and started down the cold, empty road.

* * *

Racing hell-bent down the London post road, his horse lathered and himself freezing in the damp cold, Matthew reined Spartan down to a trot so they could enter the courtyard of the Duke of Gloucester Inn in Mickleham, the third such inn he’d turned into since he set out. The other two had not garnered any results. Neither the Red Lyon just past Ashtead, nor the Dog and Duck in Leatherhead had seen any woman fitting Fanny’s description with a child. They must have stopped somewhere along this stretch to change horses. Maybe the Duke would bring him good luck. It had better bring him a new horse, because Spartan, though valiant, could not keep up the pace they’d kept since the late morning. “We’ll get you a rubdown and a good feed, old chap, then I’ll pick you back up on the way home. Do not worry, I will not even entertain the notion of hitching you to a carriage to get them home. I’ll rent one and you can lord over all the other horses as being your master’s favorite.”

Walking the horse to an ostler, he handed over the reins, gave the instructions for Spartan’s care, and queried about another horse on whom he might continue to Copsale. The groom nodded and informed him the change would take about five minutes. Matthew nodded and turned toward the Inn’s doorway.

The aroma of chicken in a country gravy assailed him as he strode through the doorway, making his feet falter and his stomach growl.

“Will you have some of my wife’s chicken à la king, my lord? It’s fit for the king, I’ll swear upon it.” The jovial innkeeper, Mr. Larch, kept up a chatter as Matthew took a seat and nodded for them to bring the dinner. “And if you please,” he finally broke in on the man’s tale of how a friendly game of cards ended in a man hanged, “can you tell me if a carriage passed through this morning carrying a lady with a child?”

“There’ve been several such, my lord. Can you describe the lady?”

“She’s tall for a woman, dark hair, like mine and the child as well. Both with blue eyes.”

Looking frankly at Matthew, the man finally nodded. “Aye, my lord. I believe I did see them earlier, around eleven o’clock. They came in briefly and shared one of my wife’s plum tarts.”

Thank God, a trace of them at last. “Thank you so much. I’m trying to catch them up before they reach Copsale.”

A silent cock of the head and Larch stepped back. “Indeed, my lord.”

“A lover’s quarrel only and my wife was off to visit her mother before I could make amends. Eleven o’clock you say?” It was now two. Had they stopped also farther on to make easy stages for Fanny? No way to know. He’d best not tarry here. “I believe I shall have to take bread and cheese and a bottle of ale instead of your good wife’s chicken, Mr. Larch. I dare not linger here long if I am to catch them up.”

The man’s countenance fell until Matthew flipped him a coin worth double the price of the meal. “Very good, my lord.”

Bread, cheese, and ale met him as he mounted his new horse, a black stallion that seemed eager for the road. Stowing the bag holding his meal behind the saddle, he called his thanks to the groom and swung up onto the horse. “What’s his name?” he called, touching the animal’s flank with his heel.

“Lucifer, my lord,” the lad called as the horse shot away from the courtyard.

They turned onto the road, headed south toward Copsale, the horse straining to increase its speed. “All right, Lucifer.” He eased up on the reins and the horse broke into a gallop. “Let’s ride like the devil.”