Page 59 of Wolfhaven

He’d been a reckless fool in pursuing Evaine Ballard. He’d allowed himself to believe she desired him for himself, when all along, her grandmother had been not-so-subtly angling to make her granddaughter a duchess. He’d walked right into the most obvious setup in the world. He had only himself to blame for this mess.

Hazel tried to keep up a stream of chatter for the first mile or two, but eventually she gave up. Talking was too taxing for her weakened lungs.

Tension trailed them into the sparsely populated village of Alperth, little more than a collection of farms, a couple of shops, and a tavern.

It was just his confounded luck that today happened to be a market day.

He should have factored that in. Wednesdays and Saturdays were when the local farm wives brought their children into the village to barter and sell their excess produce to any travelers who wished to make the journey. Cogswell had come into town during the last market to get fresh provisions. While it was convenient that they could easily resupply, all they really needed was in that shop. Any other day, save Sunday, would have sufficed.

But no. An unfortunate coincidence that could have been prevented with a modicum of forethought.

Stares followed them as they trundled down the dusty dirt road.

No one called welcome. One vendor’s hawking call died uneasy on her lips as she caught sight of his scars.

“It’s the duke,” someone said.

“But who are the women?” asked another, loudly enough for everyone to overhear. Speculation trailed them. Gareth ignored them all. He drove the cart straight to the apothecary shop and tethered the horse near the water trough to rest.

“Excuse me, your lordship, when are you bringing my horse back? You said you’d rented him for a day or two. Been nigh on a week,” one man called out to him. The ire in the man’s tone was unmistakable, though he was making an attempt to be polite.

Gareth didn’t return the courtesy.

“I’ll return your gelding when I am through using him,” he snapped. “You’ll get your payment as promised.”

The man turned away grumbling, “Better bring my horse back unharmed.”

Wonderful. Now the villagers were going to call him an abuser of horseflesh. In addition to his many other sins.

“Let’s get this over with.” He held out one hand to Evaine. She ignored him and hopped down without assistance. Her grandmother wasn’t so nimble. Hazel put her hand in his palm and climbed out of the cart.

Inside the shop, the paunchy and balding shopkeeper’s crooked smile faltered when Gareth ducked through the door. He was tall enough to have to dodge the bell hung over it. His silver cane, black woolen greatcoat, and unmistakable face marked him instantly.

“Sir. How can I assist you this fine day?” The man’s gaze darted to Evaine’s red cloak. She had pushed the hood back. Her eyes were clear. No sign of crying. Gareth felt a wave of relief—at least until she turned her flinty stare upon him and immediately jerked away as if merely making eye contact with him had scorched her.

“We’re looking for medicine. Specifically, this kind, if you have it. If not, a similar version will do.” He passed an empty bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup across the counter and turned to Hazel. She nodded meekly. Anything to alleviate her cough.

“You’re in luck, as I’m the only registered chemist for miles. You’d have to go to Leeds to find the next closest one. I’m out of Mrs. Winslow’s unfortunately.” The shop keeper inspected his shelves. Tucked in the far back of a glass fronted cabinet he found two bottles of a different kind of laudanum-laced syrup. “Can’t keep these in stock. Popular for all kinds of grippe and coughs. Will this suit?”

He showed them to Hazel. Evaine occupied herself by wandering around the shop. Keeping her distance yet staying close enough to overhear the conversation. He was shutting her out. Assuming control of something that wasn’t his decision.

“Miss Ballard, will these suit?” Gareth asked tightly.

“Ask Gran.” Evaine’s fingertips trailed along a display of hair ornaments. Cheap, gaudy things. Pretty. Like she was.

“Dr. J. Collis Browne’s Chlorodyne is stronger than I usually take,” Hazel said doubtfully. Turning the bottle prominently marked POISON over to peer at the price written on the back, and blanched. “Do you have anything less expensive?”

“Nothing is cheap these days, madam. Then I have…let’s see. Here’s Kay’s Linseed Compound.”

Hazel made a face, then sighed. “I’ll take the chlorodyne, then. The linseed makes me feel as if I’ve swallowed a slug. One bottle, please. I can dilute it.”

“We’ll take two. Just in case.” He needed to wrap things up at Wolfhaven and get back to London. Quickly. He refused to leave his guests without adequate supplies.

“Sir. I can’t pay for that.” Hazel clutched an old, worn sock that clinked metallically. Gareth felt a jolt of shock. This was their entire savings? Not enough coin to pay for two bottles of an admittedly overpriced cough syrup?

Evaine had stepped away from the display of hair ornaments and crossed her hands at the small of her back. She stared out the window where a crowd had assembled to stare into the shop.

Gareth saw this turning ugly. Quickly. He snatched a gold-tone hair comb in the shape of a shell and threw it on the counter. An impulsive gift. An attempt to atone for what had gone wrong between them this morning. His heart ached.