Page 13 of A Much Maligned Miss

“You are a filthy liar, Sidney Price!” spat back an infuriated woman. “How you’ve got the effrontery to lie to my face when I know for a fact—”

Not caring to hear more, Caroline held her breath and tiptoed back the way she came. She would backtrack to the sundial and then cut across the lawn instead. Hopefully no one would spot her from the windows. It wasn’t until she reached the beginning of the drive that she realized she had recognized the woman’s voice. It had been Goring, her mother’s dour-faced maid.

5

The carriage had scarcely drawn up at the bottom of the drive when Miss Halperston emerged from the trees looking pale and shaken. Though her dark hair was tucked out of sight, her navy bonnet and cloak made her face look even more pallid by way of contrast, and Gervaise guessed she was feeling the aftereffects of the previous night.

Despite the pallor of her skin, she looked a good deal neater than the last time he had seen her, and he wondered what the hell he had been thinking offering for her to travel to London with him. It had been a whim, nothing more, and sometimes, he reflected, whims did lead you astray.

Caroline Halperston looked far from alluring in the morning air, clutching her carpet bag before her as though it was some kind of life preserver. Too late now for regrets of course, Gervaise realized throwing open the door for her.

She clambered in, collapsing unceremoniously onto the seat opposite him. “Carry on, Juggins,” he called up to the driver and they lurched away without more ado. She turned her head and peered anxiously out of the rear window until the lonely spot disappeared from view altogether.

“Memorizing the old place or checking for pursuers?” Gervaise enquired lazily.

She turned back to him, her expression troubled. “I just came across my mother’s maid in the shrubberies,” she confided in him, “with a man.”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, it’s a little early in the day for that,” he observed, “but so long as the flesh is willing.” At her blank look he clarified, “Doubtless you interrupted some intrigue.”

“Yes, it seemed so,” she agreed gravely. “Oh, not in the way you mean, but…” Her words trailed off and she bit her lip.

“Not a lovers’ tryst, then?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh no, not Goring,” she said decisively. “Perhaps if it had been Sophy…but I have not seen Sophy since yesterday morning.” Seeing his look of enquiry, she explained, “She is our housemaid and much younger and prettier than Goring.”

“Goring,” Gervaise pondered aloud. “Was that not the woman who fetched your mother’s smelling salts last night?” Caroline frowned, and he wondered how clear the events of the previous evening were to her. “Sour-faced individual with a rather grim disposition,” he prompted helpfully.

“Oh yes, that would have been her,” she agreed at once.

“Ah, I see now why you are so skeptical. It would be hard to imagine her taking a lover.”

“Oh, it most certainly was not a meeting of lovers,” she said absently, then seemed to give herself a shake. “But I have not even greeted you this morning, my lord. In truth, I was not sure if stowaways should greet their harborers.”

He smirked at that. “I confess, I’m a little rusty on the etiquette myself. Tell me, Miss Halperston, just how old are you?” he asked at the same time as she blurted out, “Are we going to London?”

“London, yes,” he answered.

“Oh, I’m quite old. Twenty-seven in a few months. You need not worry about that.”

“Worry?” Her words surprised him. He was not exactly the worrying type.

She twisted her hands in her lap. “About spiriting me away, I mean, from the only home I’ve ever known.” She sent him a look of appeal. “The only thing that worries me is that I don’t actually have any money.”

“Well, if we are having a frank discussion of our prospects, neither do I,” Gervaise responded. He didn’t want her running away with the idea he was the answer to her every prayer. Seeing her dismayed expression, he elaborated. “I have enough for our passage to London, but after that…” He shrugged.

“Well, that’s alright, then,” she breathed out. “For a moment I did not think we would get out of Cornwall!” She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she turned to him impulsively. “Thank you for being honest with me,” she said, surprising him even further and glancing around the carriage. “This is Viscount Faris’s coach, is it not?”

“It is.”

“And it will take us as far as St. Ives?”

“It will.”

“And there we will meet the mail coach?” He nodded at her. “How long will it take? To reach London, I mean?”

“Four days.”

“Four days,” she repeated. “That means three nights. Do we drive through them or stop overnight?”