Page 84 of Wedding the Widow

“Look.” Papa pointed down the street toward Jemmy, dodging his way back toward them laden with several parcels that stuck out helter-skelter. “Apparently he did have a plan.” Papa opened the carriage door, and Jemmy thrust the packages into Elizabeth’s lap as he scrambled in.

Immediately the carriage filled with the most mouthwatering scent of fresh bread and sweet rolls. Almost tasting the smell, Elizabeth licked her lips and beamed at her beloved.

“No need to wait to eat, my love, my lady,” Jemmy nodded to her mother, “when there was food to be had for ready money.”

“Why indeed.” Elizabeth tore the brown paper from a loaf of crusty, hot bread, tore off a chunk, and popped it into her mouth. The explosion of warm, sweet goodness in her mouth made her groan with pleasure. “I love you, Jemmy.”

“Well done, Brack.” Papa tore off a piece and offered it his wife. “Have some, my dear.”

Mama rolled her eyes at him but took the offering and bit into it with gusto. “My thanks to you. Lord Brack. I believe you will do, after all.”

“There is fresh butter and a pot of marmalade as well.” Crossing his arms, Jemmy settled back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Bless you, my love.” Elizabeth unwrapped the rest of the parcels, and little was heard for the next half an hour save “Pass the butter, please,” and “My, but this is sticky.”

Sated at last, Elizabeth sank back against the seat, relaxing into a wonderful, drowsy state. “I believe I shall nap until we reach the first changing post. How far do you think it is, Papa?”

“We’ve just now turned onto the Old North Road proper,” he replied, surreptitiously licking marmalade from his fingers. “We will come to the tollbooth at Whetstone shortly. After that, perhaps a mile or so, there’s an inn, the Turtledove, where we can rest a bit before pushing on.”

“Lord Wentworth.”

They all gazed upward at the trap.

“Was that Markson?” Papa frowned. “Why is he slowing?”

The carriage had gone from its goodly pace to a trot and now had slowed to a crawl. Elizabeth peered out the window, looking for a reason for the change in speed, but they were in a wooded area, and there was nothing to see. “Jemmy, I do not like this.”

Papa stood up and opened the trap. “What is going on, Markson?”

“It may be nothing, love.” Jemmy patted her hand, but his eyes had narrowed, and he glanced from side to side out the windows, obviously on alert.

“Is it highwaymen, Wentworth?” Mama’s tone held nothing but disgust. “They are usually not so bold in daylight. If it is, however, mark my words, they will rue the day they stopped my carriage.”

“Mama, hush.” Elizabeth grasped her mother’s hand and gave it a shake.

“Well, Markson, why have we stopped?” Papa sounded testy. Perhaps there wasn’t any danger, only an overturned carriage up ahead or a tree downed over the road.

Muted voices filtered down through the trap, then Papa lowered the trap and opened the door. “Of all the days in the year for a carriage to lose a wheel.” He clambered out and headed toward the front of the carriage.

Uttering a sigh of relief, Elizabeth closed her eyes. Delay she could accept, although she did long for a bed and a good nap at the Turtledove. She leaned against the carriage door, tempted to fall asleep here and now.

Suddenly, the door opened, and she was falling out into the cold, crisp air. Jemmy saved her, grasping her arm and hauling her back inside as a big, burly man, dressed in dark coat and pants, gold braid decorating the edges of the jacket, leered at her.

“Ahhhh,” she screamed, struggling toward the opposite side of the carriage.

“Damnation.” Jemmy shoved her into her startled mother and thrust his foot at the stranger, kicking him backward. He swung the door closed, then reached over to close the door Papa had left open. Before he could grab the handle, a similarly attired man grabbed his arm and hauled Jemmy out of the carriage.

Elizabeth shrieked and tried to follow him.

“Help! Help! Robbers! Thieves!” her mother screamed, to no avail, as the ruffian slammed the door shut.

“Go, Grieves,” he shouted up to someone on the coachman’s seat.

The carriage started with a thump, sending Elizabeth and her mother jouncing against the seats as the landau careened away.

Chapter 31

Cursing like a tavern brawler, Jemmy picked himself up from the frozen grass where he’d landed when the liveried ruffian had pulled him from the carriage.