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Chapter 8
Lucas awakened, his muscles stifffrom sleeping on the floor for the second night in a row. He sat up and stretched, taking a moment to knead a spot on his neck that was particularly tight. As he turned his head, he noticed with relief that his clothes had been returned, as promised, and were neatly laid out on a chair near the tables, clean and pressed, his boots polished to a decent shine. Miss Broome had done an excellent job, as Lavinia had assured him she would.
He rose from the floor, washed, and donned the clothes, all the while listening to the lump huddled under the blanket on the bed snore in a whistling, snuffling sort of way.
A quick peek through the window curtains showed the rain had stopped and the clouds didn’t look threatening, which boded well for getting back on the road. The first order of business, then, was to find Grimes and determine the status of the broken wheel.
He nudged the lump on the bed. “It’s time we got on our way, Mr. Drake.”
The lump groaned and rearranged its shape a bit, then began to whistle-snore again.
Lucas nudged him less gently this time. “Wake up, Drake. Morning awaits.”
“If you say it is morning, I’ll believe you,” a gravelly voice uttered from beneath the blanket. “But my bones are inclined to argue the point.”
Lucas drew the curtains back, letting the early morning light into the room. “The roads will be muddy today, so we need to be on our way in order to make decent time. Please inform the ladies of this as soon as you can. I’m off to see if the carriage wheel has been mended.”
Mr. Drake’s head emerged from beneath the blanket, his thin gray hair mussed, his eyes puffy from sleep. “Haven’t been the proverbial early bird for more than half a century now. Give a man a moment to wake up.” He rubbed a hand over his grizzled face. “I’ll tell them, assuming they haven’t already figured it out for themselves.”
“Good man. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Lucas grabbed his saddlebag and left Mr. Drake struggling to an upright position and sliding his bony legs over the side of the bed.
Much to his surprise, Lucas found all three women already in the dining room, eating breakfast despite the early hour. Miss Weston seemed in good spirits, and even Miss Broome looked a bit less sour of countenance this morning. And Lavinia . . . Now that he knew what she really looked like, he wondered at the fact that he’d not noticed before.
Her traveling clothes were the same, and she still wore the cap, but she seemed to be making an incremental transformation as they made their way north. Anyone who’d seen her arrive at the inn yesterday would see the same woman, but Lucas detected more of the real Lavinia beginning to emerge. After two days—had it been only two days?—she looked fresh and exquisitely lovely to him, and her gray eyes had flashed with intelligence just now when she’d turned her head to glance at him upon his arrival in the dining room.
There was something conspiratorial about the women’s behavior, however, that made a particular spot on Lucas’s sore neck throb anew. Their heads were drawn close together, and they spoke in low tones as they drank their tea and attacked their breakfast.
“Ah, Mr. Jennings,” Miss Weston chirped when he approached. “Come and join us, won’t you? I hope you slept well.”
“I did, thank you,” he replied. “But I must refuse your kind offer. I am off to learn the status of our carriage.”
“The carriage wheel is mended, and we can leave as soon as we wish,” Lavinia said, dabbing at her lips with her napkin. “I have already spoken with Grimes.”
What an efficient person she was.
Lucas was surprisingly irked that she’d already seen to the task. “Excellent,” he said. “Then I shall be pleased to join you ladies after all.” He sat in the vacant chair next to Lavinia while Miss Weston motioned to the serving girl, who quickly returned with a hearty plateful of eggs, kidneys, beans, and toast and set it in front of him.
“When shall we arrive at Primrose Farm, do you think?” Miss Westonasked him. She sighed gustily. “Primrose Farm. Was there ever a more idyllic-sounding name? I can hardly wait to get there and spend my days walkingthrough the gardens and sewing and reading for enjoyment and not out ofnecessity.”
“It won’t be long now, Delia,” Lavinia assured her. “A couple more days at most.”
“In answer to your question, Miss Weston,” Lucas said, “with any luck, we’ll reach Stamford by this evening, assuming the roads have dried sufficiently. By the end of the following day, we should arrive at Primrose Farm, assuming you are prepared for two long days of travel.”
“Oh, I am,” Miss Weston assured him. “We have traveled in much worse conditions than these, Mr. Jennings. Why, I remember a time—” She jumped a little in her seat. “Well, it doesn’t bear repeating, now does it? But rest assured, Mr. Jennings, I am a hearty traveler, as are we all.”
Lucas and Hannah both glanced at Lavinia, who was calmly sipping her tea. She set her cup back on its saucer. “I daresay you won’t find any group of persons more eager to reach a destination than you find us, Lucas. I do wish Artie would hurry so we can be on our way.”
As if on cue, Mr. Drake entered the dining room. “Fried kidneys, my favorite,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together after viewing Lucas’s plate. “I daresay it looks to be a grand day for travel.”
“It took you long enough to get down here,” Hannah said.
“Didn’t want to wake up,” Mr. Drake replied. “Haven’t slept that soundly in years—all thanks to you, Jennings, my good man. These three can put a man to fretting, what with their headstrong ways. ‘Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, / And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.’ Nice to have a fellow gent to share the burden for a time. Restful.”
“Indeed,” Lavinia said briskly as Lucas stood so Mr. Drake could take his seat at the table. The serving girl removed Lucas’s plate and set a fresh one filled with food in front of Mr. Drake. “Now, eat quickly so we can be on our way. It does us no good to be sitting here waxing poetic if we are all so intent on getting to Primrose Farm.”
“You have no worries on that score, Livvy,” Mr. Drake said before picking up his knife and fork and putting action to his words.
Once again, old Mr. Drake had tossed a Shakespearean couplet into the conversation, and Miss Weston had assured Lucas they were old hands at traveling. The pieces all supported Lucas’s theory that they had been involved to varying degrees in theater. But they weren’t thieves or scoundrels; he’d been around enough of those types in the army to read a person’s character well enough.
