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Chapter Four
It was with a deep sense of relief that Perdie bundled herself into the coach the next morning with Felicity and let Hattie carry them on their way. The ring of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones jerked her awake despite the early morning light. When the clatter faded to the softer sound of the wheels on rutted dirt, she relaxed back into the squabs.
Felicity was already asleep next to her, her head cradled on the back of one hand. Perdie tried not to begrudge her a moment’s rest, but since they had hurried out of the inn in the wee hours of the morning without taking more than a crust of bread to break their fast, she was not in a charitable mood. However, the more distance she put between herself and London and her brother who might already be searching for her to drag her to marry Lord Owen, the better.
Not to mention the man who had so eagerly played the role of her husband last night.
You do ken we are now married?
Beyond the teasing tone, there had been something indefinable in his gaze. Perdie had heard stories from Aileen whom she at met at 48 Berkeley Square. Aileen swore that young girls who ran away from London to Gretna Green or Lamberton did not need to find a man of the cloth to marry them. Once they pronounced it before witnesses that they were married, whether he be a blacksmith or a farmer, in the eyes of the law they were wedded.
You do ken we are now married?
Perdie groaned silently. What if that was what Thaddeus meant when he asked her that question. What if because he was Scottish that law held true? Perdie looked behind her; they really needed to hurry. He had proven to be wonderful and kind, but it was best she saw the last of him.
The sun rose slowly to the cheerful warbles and chirps of the country birds. Perdie found herself pulling aside the curtains for a better look at the passing scenery. Her breathing was even, but there was a tension between her shoulders that she could not shake.
Her hands shook—from fatigue, she told herself—as she pulled the pistol out from beneath the waistband of her breeches. She examined the inelegant thing, then let it settle on her knee, an extra insurance. Perhaps she was allowing her restless dreams from last night to influence her mood this morning, but she had more than her own safety to consider.
Although Felicity had attended the same lessons at 48 Berkeley Square as Perdie, it had been to act as Perdie’s chaperone. Felicity hadn’t the blunt to pay the subscription fee to the club. Perdie was more than willing to pay for her friend to be admitted through the door, but it meant that Felicity had spent most of her time on the sidelines, watching rather than participating.
It meant that Perdie was their only line of defense. And she would take that job seriously until they reached Dunston in Kent.
Smothering a yawn, a flash of color snagged her attention. When Perdie turned her regard to the windowpane once again, she froze at the shadow of a horse. Her heart climbed into her throat, stifling the scream that threatened. She held the pistol firmly, calming the rising panic. The shadow resolved itself into a familiar black stallion, but that didn’t stop her heart from galloping.
As Thaddeus leaned down to rap politely at the window, Perdie hastened to stash the pistol out of sight. She was still rearranging her skirts as Felicity jumped awake, and Thaddeus—the maddening scoundrel—leaned down to give her a charming smile. “I didn’t expect you awake so early.”
Felicity made a sleepy, questioning sound.
Perdie scowled at the cheerful face Thaddeus presented to her. She checked once more to ensure that her skirts were in order—today, a blue as pale as the sky patterned with small violets—and hiked up her chin. “And why, pray tell, are you still following me? Surely we are not going in the same direction. I believe when I met you yesterday you were heading elsewhere.”
He cocked one eyebrow, still leaning haphazardly to see in through the window. “I didn’t know it was beyond the pale for a husband to be concerned for the welfare of his wife.”
Perdie’s heart jolted. Oh dear, oh dear! A quick searching glance showed a countenance that was decidedly serious. “Your wife?”
“Aye. My wee bonny wife.”
“My good sir—” she began.
“Thaddeus, please; what kind of husband would I be for you to call me sir?”
She spluttered and he flashed her a wickedly charming smile. Something hot and uncomfortable shivered low in her belly, and Perdie dropped the small curtain as if she had been singed. Devil take the man!
Despite the cheerful words, muffled by the glass between them, and his charming smile, she refused to be enchanted. Perdie even glared at him, to which he winked. The man was a stranger, and it was decidedly odd that he had shamelessly inserted himself into her affairs. It befuddled her that she found his nearness disturbing and comforting.
Abruptly, he hauled on the reins. He and his horse disappeared from the window.
Perhaps Perdie had managed to scare him away with a look.
Stifling a yawn behind her hand, Felicity leaned close to whisper, “And what a husband he would be.”
Perdie could have done without the bald admiration in her friend’s voice. “He’d be the kind to scandalize every last matron in the ton, I’m sure. Did you see what he’s wearing today? Those are a working man’s clothes; he’s no gentleman.”
“He has a manservant. That’s more than most can afford.”
She had a point there.
“For all we know, Lionel might be his son.”
