Page 9 of A Lyon for Luck
Knowing that he would have to return home, that he would have to tell his hysterical wife that their daughter was still missing, filled him with dread. It wasn’t that he craved her approval or that he worried about upsetting her. In truth, he didn’t care how she felt about the matter. He simply didn’t want to be bothered with her. He didn’t want to have to deal with her inability to comport herself with even the barest hint of fortitude. She was always snapping at him, or screaming, or crying, or having some sort of overly emotionalresponse. At least, he thought, Daphne hadn’t taken that after her. If there was one thing his daughter could be counted on, it was typically for her calm and cool demeanor. Though that had seemingly been absent of late.
Returning home, he entered the foyer and found her pacing and wringing her hands. “Well?” she demanded.
“No sign of her… not yet.”
“Lord Pozenby is set to arrive within the hour!” she hissed. “What on earth will we do, Reginald? He will be livid, and rightly so. Has she no care at all for us and what she is putting us through?”
“Not in the least,” he replied. “She lacks even the most basic gratitude for all that we have done for her. Most parents would have refused her entry into their home at all after a stunt such as the one she pulled prior to Lynley’s marriage to that Lockhart cow.”
“Those wretched people,” she said. “You don’t think… she wouldn’t possibly have gone to them for aid, would she? I mean she has no friends left. Everyone in society who is worth knowing has turned their back on her!”
It had crossed his mind. She had been too quick to hold them blameless, too quick to state she had no ill feeling for her former betrothed and his new wife. It was them or that troublemaker at the Lyon’s Den, Bessie Dove-Lyon. One of the two would have been her only recourse, but the likelihood of either of them offering any aid in their search for her was laughable. Never mind that they were her parents, Bessie Dove-Lyon had shown that she would perpetually thumb her nose in the face of what was right and proper. As for Lynley and his bride, they likely felt some sort of misguided loyalty born of their own guilt.
“When Pozenby arrives, we will go together and confront the lot of them. After all, he is the wronged party. His word will have more sway,” Reginald said. “By virtue of being her betrothed and also a titled gentleman. Lynley was always a bit high in the instep, I think.Looking down his patrician nose at us.”
“You’re quite right, of course,” she agreed. “I’m ashamed to call her our daughter given how she’s behaved, but we cannot afford to simply turn our backs on her. Not if Pozenby still wants her after this.”
“Oh, he will,” Reginald said. “The man is perverse in that way. He only wants her at all because she’s been so disdainful of him. This may, if we are cautious in how we approach it, actually work to our benefit. Mind your tongue when he arrives. I will handle him.”
She nodded. “Whatever you think is best, Reginald.”
He wasn’t so foolish as to believe her. He knew the tone Esther used when she was placating him, but he also knew that Pozenby wouldn’t listen to her anyway. It was something they were both well aware of. They were in a tenuous position, and one wrong move could send them straight to debtors’ prison. It would be a difficult thing, pandering to Pozenby’s ego while aiding him in tracking Daphne. But he’d manage, because the alternative was unthinkable.
They’d been onthe road for a considerable length of time and were making good progress. They were far enough north that the bitter cold was infiltrating the small confines of the carriage, its cruelty marked. Then the unthinkable happened.
A wheel simply snapped.
The carriage tilted alarmingly to the left. A scream escaped Daphne. Fletcher reached for her, grabbing her, holding her close, as the carriage teetered ominously before finally settling at an awkward angle. Their momentum, it seemed, had come to a grueling halt.
“Are you injured?” he asked her.
Breathlessly, she replied, “No. No. I was merely startled. That wasrather alarming. What could have happened?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it was, we’re going to be stuck for quite some time. Let me talk to the driver and figure out exactly where we are. Maybe we can get off the road for a bit. Wait here,” Fletcher instructed.
Daphne nodded in agreement. “Of course. What if we’re too far from the village? What if we’re still too close to London? I don’t want my father to catch us.”
Fletcher sighed heavily. “He won’t. Even if he does, I won’t let them take you back. I promise. I vow it with everything in me. I will keep you safe from them. For now, let’s just figure out where we are.”
He climbed down from the carriage and approached the driver, who was looking at the wheel with an expression that was beyond grim.
“What’s happened?” Fletcher asked.
“Wheel snapped,” the driver replied. “Worse yet, took part of the axle with it. Not sure how long it’ll take to get it fixed. We’ll need to get to the village, get some folks out here who can haul it in. And I don’t reckon the two of you want to go into town.”
Fletcher considered their options. “No, we don’t want to be in the village. The fewer people who see us, the better. Where exactly are we?”
“A bit south of Longborough, my lord,” the driver said.
It was a stroke of good luck. One that Fletcher was supremely grateful for. Taking some of the precious coin that he had, he passed it to the coachman. “See to getting the carriage repaired. If it can’t be fixed in time, hire another and meet us at this same spot tomorrow morning at first light.”
The driver glanced at the carriage, but his worry was focused on its occupant. “And the young lady?”
“If we had to break down, this was the best place to do so. Part of my recent inheritance includes a hunting lodge that, if I’m notmistaken, is just through those woods by about a mile,” Fletcher said, indicating the trees to the western edge of the road. “I haven’t seen it since I was a boy, but it’ll keep us out of the cold for the night.”
“I suppose there’s no harm in it, seein’ as the two of you are already off to be wed,” the servant said. “I’ll lead the horses into town with me. Get them rested up and we can use them tomorrow for the first leg.”
While the driver was seeing to the horses, Fletcher returned to the carriage and opened the door. “We’ll get out here. We’ve had a stroke of good fortune and broke down near my late uncle’s hunting lodge. It might be shabby, but it is shelter for the night.”
