Page 68 of Managing the Major

When the coach slowed to a walk, Octavia recognized the last tollgate through the window and knew they were almost to Epsom. “I haven’t been to the Downs with Richard in several years, but during the race season, carriages fill this road, and it takes forever. It’s nice to travel without the crowds.”

She reached for her bonnet and hesitated, realizing there was no mirror in her reticule.

“Let me help,” Richard offered. As she held the curls gathered at her temples, he placed the bonnet carefully on top of her coiffure and tied the ribbons under her chin, giving it a tweak.

“Ouch,” she laughed. “You must think I’m Fallon.”

“My daughter is of an age where she detests hats. Unlike the rest of our family, she openly scorns fashion and is quite comfortable in a smock spattered with paint.”

The carriage rumbled to a halt. Richard opened the doors and jumped down, unfolding the metal steps. He held out his hand to Octavia, who alighted and stood on the side, shaking out her skirts.

Alastair grimaced as he unfolded his tall body. “I might need your shoulder, Richard. My bad leg stiffens when I sit for long periods.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Alastair used it for support when placing his left leg on the middle step. Once descended, he stretched the leg before walking gingerly forward.

Richard handed Alastair the silver-handled stick lying on the floor of the coach. “I assume this is yours. Nicely designed—I often carry a walking stick at night. It tends to discourage footpads.”

They had disembarked in the yard of the King’s Head, a well-established hotel that catered to the aristocracy. An ostler ran up to take the heads of the bay team, while a footman unloaded the luggage. As Richard gave him instructions, the landau pulled in, halting behind the coach.

Jerome tied the reins up and climbed down from the driver’s seat, pulling the steps free for Marie and Stephens to descend.

“Did you have a problem, Jerome?” Richard asked, going over to check the horses.

“A bit. One o’ the horses looked lame, and I stopped ’em afore any harm was done, an’ pulled a stone from the back right shoe o’ the near leader an’ packed it. ’E’s been good since.” He raised the hoof to show Richard.

“I suspect they’ll be occupied for a while,” Alastair said. “Let’s walk over to the hotel.” He already looked less dependent on his stick, only slightly favoring his left leg.

“I’m loosening up,” he said, noticing her concern. “But I mustn’t neglect my early morning walks while we’re here.”

“Perhaps I’ll keep you company. It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? Such a quaint town—there’s a market on Saturdays, and before Bath became so popular, many people came for the restorative spring here.”

“I vaguely remember hearing that, but my father only visited briefly for the races. We could walk tomorrow and explore, if you like.”

“Do you think I need a chaperone? After all, few enough people will be about that early.” Alastair didn’t look entirely convinced.

“We’ll go at seven thirty and invite Richard. He won’t come—he’s not a particularly early riser—but then he certainly can’t object if we go without him.”

“Your reasoning somewhat escapes me, Octavia, but you know your brother better than I. Shall we go inside?”

Richard was in conversation with yet another ostler, no doubt giving directions about the second set of horses. She nodded, and they climbed the front steps of the hotel, followed by Marie and the valet. A rotund man with a mustache rushed over to greet them.

“Good afternoon, sir. Are you with the Earl of Seldon?” he asked, a trifle winded.

“We are,” Alastair said. “This is Miss Merrick, and I am Major Fairfax. His Lordship is speaking with your ostler.”

“Very good, sir. One of my men will take your servants upstairs to unpack the luggage. I have set aside three of our finest rooms, and a parlor for the earl with a private dining room attached, all downstairs. There are auxiliary rooms in the servants’ quarters.”

Octavia was about to ask for refreshments, but it was unnecessary. Of course, Richard had secured only the best service.

“We have prepared a luncheon with a fine Chablis…there is also lemonade or punch. May I take you to the dining room, and the earl can join you when he’s finished?”

“Does that sound agreeable, Miss Merrick?” Alastair asked, reverting to formality. “You must be parched from the journey.”

If only they didn’t have to pretend. “Oh, yes. Let’s have a glass of wine by all means. We’re on holiday, after all.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven