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“I thought we was leaving all the drama behind us when we left old Hinchcliffe behind,” Miss Broome replied.
Lavinia shot her a startled look, and Miss Broome’s mouth snapped shut with a surprisingly loud clacking noise.
Hmm, Lucas thought. Miss Broome’s slip of the tongue afforded the first real bit of information he’d gotten. Now he at least had a name: Hinchcliffe. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
The interior of the carriage had felt cramped enough before—and was even more so now that it tilted toward the broken front wheel. Lucas wasn’t of a mind to sit holding elderly Miss Weston for the next hour or so while they all waited to be rescued, although he certainly would if the situation called for it. He decided on a different plan, though it meant his only suit of clothes was going to get thoroughly wet and muddy.
“I believe I’ll step out of the carriage for a while so there will be room to lay Miss Weston on the carriage seat,” he said. “She’ll be more comfortable that way.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Weston said.
“Thank you, Lucas,” Lavinia said. She stood and moved out of the way while Miss Broome placed a cushion at the end of the seat for Miss Weston to use as a pillow. Thank goodness for the extra cushions he had obtained for the journey. They would provide Miss Weston with a bit of comfort for the time being.
Then Lucas stood, slouching due to his height and the low ceiling of the carriage, and held Miss Weston against his chest, an arm under her knees. As he moved, the others all shifted positions in the cramped space—Mr. Drake into Lucas’s spot, Lavinia next to him, and Miss Broome in the corner previously occupied by Mr. Drake. It all took a bit of squeezing and shuffling, but they managed it without bumping Miss Weston too badly in the process. When they were finally in place, he laid her gently on the seat.
Mr. Drake found space to place a cushion on the floor of the carriage and then managed to fold himself up and sit on it cross-legged, giving Lavinia and Miss Broome the entire bench to themselves. He patted Miss Weston’s arm reassuringly with a solicitousness that bordered on affection.
Lavinia reached out and laid her hand on Lucas’s arm.
“Thank you again, Lucas,” she said. “It was indeed fortunate that you were here to assist.”
A few strands of vivid red hair that had escaped their confines of the cap and bonnet during the mishap now framed her face, a perfect oval of fair skin. And her eyes . . .
For the briefest of moments, her eyes were luminous with something Lucas had not seen there before. She had beautiful eyes—large gray ones that were hard to ignore. He had already begun to wonder if she used her eyes as some sort of tool. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that, precisely, except that he’d observed her arch a brow, narrow her eyes, or shoot glances that seemed intended to elicit particular responses from others.
But just now he’d seen something deeper expressed in them. Honesty? Authenticity? He wasn’t sure, for as quickly as he’d seen the look, it had disappeared.
He nodded to her. “At your service, ma’am,” he said and then left the close confines of the carriage and stepped out into the deluge.
