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“How are the horses?” she asked.
“Unnerved but unharmed. You’re quite well?”
“Certainly. I hate to think what could have happened had we somersaulted. You saved us from being seriously injured,” Ella told Mr. Snagsby, trying to ignore the wincing pain in her ribs.
The coachman’s face reddened with pleasure. “We lost a wheel, Miss Ella. No avoiding a crash after that. Luckily, the Mad Bishop is just across the road.”
The viscount strutted up to them. “Your driving was criminal. I’ll be taking the worth of the carriage out of your wages, and I’ll have you put in prison!”
“Those would be the wages you haven’t paid in weeks?” Mr. Snagsby inquired, a hard note in his voice.
“You’ll never see the light of day again!” the viscount snarled. “You may wait here for the constable to collect you.” He strode past Ella. “Come along, girl.”
“Bill, I’ll escort Miss Ella into the inn,” Mr. Snagsby told the groom. “You take care of the horses and get those men to haul the wreck off the road. It isn’t going anywhere, not in a month of Sundays.” Hostlers were pouring out of the Mad Bishop, coming to help.
“Mr. Snagsby, I do apologize for my uncle’s unkind words,” Ella said, as they crossed the street. She discovered that if she breathed shallowly, her ribs scarcely hurt at all.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Ella, but I shall leave the two of you here in the inn and send Bill home with the horses. I’ve been offered a place elsewhere, with a man who pays wages when they’re due.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ella said, horribly embarrassed. Not that it was her job to pay the outside staff, but she should have realized her uncle wouldn’t bother.
“Not your fault. There’s no sign of a ducal carriage,” Mr. Snagsby observed as they walked through the inn courtyard.
A few carriages were drawn up to the side, but none of them had a coat of arms on the door. Perhaps the Prince of Wales had cronies willing to carry out his immoral schemes in a discreet fashion.
“I’ll bid you farewell here,” the coachman said. “You’ve been a ray of sunshine in this household, Miss, and all of us know it.”
“You have been an excellent coachman, Mr. Snagsby. If the viscountess or I can ever give you a reference, please don’t hesitate to write.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry for your situation, and that’s a fact. In case his lordship wishes to send my wages after me—that’s a jest!—I’ll leave word with Mr. Jarvis.”
Ella nodded farewell. Preparing to battle with royalty, she took a deep breath, wincing at the resulting throb from her ribs, and opened the door to the public room.
No dissipated royals were in sight.
Neither was Fulvia.
Instead, a livid duke’s daughter was facing off with the viscount.
“Why, Lady Regina!” Ella exclaimed.
Regina flicked her a contemptuous gaze and turned back to his lordship. “You brought household staff?”
The viscount’s expression was easy to interpret. He was torn between deference to a duke’s daughter and rage over his daughter’s downfall. Rage won. “Where is my daughter?” he blustered.
“As I already informed you,” Lady Regina said, “Fulvia was here. I have no idea where she is now. She and I arrived together—but then she stole my brother’s carriage!”
“My daughter stole the Duke of Lennox’s carriage?” the viscount exclaimed. “Nonsense! We have a perfectly good coach that is at her disposal.”
“She informed me that your coach was a rickety rattletrap that would never take her all the way to Gretna Green.” Lady Regina turned away, adjusting her necklace in the mirror over the fireplace so that its diamonds glittered in the morning sunshine. “She wasn’t the least repentant about leaving me in this hovel,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Gretna Green!” Ella cried, walking over to stand beside the viscount. “But that’s impossible … that’s—”
“Poppycock!” her uncle cut in. “No one in the royal family can marry without permission. Look what happened with George IV and Mrs. Fitzherbert. Their marriage was annulled.”
Regina whirled about to face the viscount. “Who said anything about a royal wedding?”
“You mentioned Gretna Green,” he said.
