Daniel swallowed the last of his ale before sliding his empty tankard away from him. The lukewarm, amber liquid traveled quickly down his throat and warmed his stomach—much like an old friend that one hadn’t seen in many years. Damn, it felt good to have a bit of liquor in him after so many months of abstaining from drink. Every night after returning to his empty house, he wondered why he’d made the decision to refrain from alcohol, restrain his gambling, and dedicate less time to pleasures of the flesh. His friends had all but disappeared, little by little, when Daniel refused to participate in the merriment he’d enjoyed his entire life.

It only took a few moments of thought to remember why he’d been determined to cast aside his rakehell ways and become the man his father had raised him to be.

Blast it all but refraining from liquor brought back all the pain.

It was that hurt which enabled Daniel to focus on things more important than himself—and his pleasures.

Namely, his future. He’d even reconnected with his father’s best friend, Lord Percival. It was why Daniel was sitting in The George’s taproom, enjoying his first ale since that fretful morning at Lord Gable’s townhouse.

He waved at the man again as he served another round of patrons, pointedly ignoring Daniel’s question. “Barkeep. When does the mail coach arrive?” he asked more forcefully.

It was the only way he’d complete the task given to him by Percival. The earl had stated a package would be arriving at The George at three o’clock sharp and had said he would be eternally grateful if Daniel could collect it and bring it to Carrolton Hall. The townhouse was the Percival abode when the family was in London, which they had been more and more of late as the aging couple became less willing to make the journey to and from their country estate.

It was the least Daniel could do for the man who’d never turned him away, even after he convinced the earl calling off his betrothal to his daughter was a sound idea.

“Mail coach doesn’t stop at The George, m’lord.” The barkeep didn’t pause as he wiped away a puddle of ale from the bartop and then stuffed his rag in his back pocket before removing several empty plates from a nearby table.

Daniel should have known things would not go as planned, they rarely did. “I am awaiting a package.” Blast him for not inquiring further as to what the actual package contained.

“Stagecoach from Dover arrived not long ago,” the man answered over his shoulder as he bent to clean another emptied table to prepare it for new customers. “Think it is still in the courtyard. You can check with Straton, the driver, to see if he brought anything other than passengers.”

With a gruff, “Thank you,” Daniel stood from his stool and stretched. He’d arrived far earlier than needed and had been perched on the tiny seat for far too long. His back was tense, and his legs were cramped, and the time had given his mind more than ample opportunity to dwell on things better left bottled up and stuffed deep inside, forgotten.

The taproom had filled with patrons at some point—Daniel hadn’t noticed—and it was necessary to weave his way through the crowd toward the door, sidestepping several travelers too weary to move to allow him to pass. Daniel kept his stare on the light filtering in through the open door. The stench of dirt and grime drifted off every person as he finally made his way out into the courtyard, and to a breath not filled with stale ale or human stench—as fresh and unmarred as the air could be in London with hordes of people crowding into every available space anyway. Nevertheless, the air, untainted by stale liquor and the smell of unwashed bodies, happily filled his lungs.

The driver, Straton, leaned against the empty coach, scribbling in a logbook.

“Sir.” Daniel stepped before the man. “Do you, by chance, have a package for Lord Percival?”

“I not be carry’n anythin’ but people, m’lord.” Straton didn’t so much as glance up from his writing. “People and luggage be all I carry. No room for nothin’ else.”

“Are you certain?” Daniel made to look at the log in Straton’s hands. “Mayhap you can check your paperwork.”

“Are ye deaf? I not be transport’n anythin’ but people and their baggage.” He snapped the logbook shut and trained a cold stare on Daniel. “Now, if’n ye don’t mind, I only have an hour’s time afore I be off again. I need ta find meself a hot meal an’ a pint.”

Percival had sent Daniel on a fool’s errand, a waste of his time. However, Daniel had naught else to do. The earl could have as easily sent a servant to collect the package and not requested Daniel handle the matter personally.

The coach driver—and the barkeep—were mistaken, or Lord Percival was losing his senses. Something Daniel didn’t want to contemplate. He had much yet to learn from the older man.

His fist tightened and then released. Rushing to conclusions would help no one, especially Daniel.

Daniel pivoted toward the inn to locate someone who could give him answers or direct him to the nearest mail coach stop. The last several months working with Lord Percival had filled a part of him that had been empty for many years. It had given him purpose, and a reason to wake up each day for something other than finding a high-stakes gaming hell and a bottle of scotch. It was almost like having his father back. He’d spent much time with both men in his youth, as his father and the earl had been close friends, sharing everything from hunting trips to holiday celebrations. And, in turn, Daniel and the earl’s daughter had spent years gallivanting about their country estates and exploring the gardens of their townhomes.

He was uncertain what had brought the woman to mind as she’d been away from London many years.

The crowd from the stagecoach had settled, with anyone who hadn’t departed the inn courtyard immediately was seated and enjoying a meal or a tankard of ale. A barmaid assisted the man behind the counter, carrying plates to and fro.

Daniel spotted the driver in a dimly lit corner of the room, his face lowered as he continued to scrutinize and write in his log.

He’d gained the same answer from the barkeep earlier, so Daniel turned, continuing into the foyer of the inn in search of someone with useful information.

An elderly woman, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, and her greying hair tied back in a severe knot, stood behind the counter, a welcoming smile of greeting on her face. “Good day, sir. I am the proprietor’s wife. Do you need a room?”

“No.” Daniel returned her smile, pushing a lock of black hair behind his ear. “I was sent to collect a package coming from Dover. However, the barkeep informed me The George is not expecting the mail coach, only the stagecoach today, and the driver told me he only had passengers and luggage.”

“That is true,” she confirmed. “The mail coach does not stop here. I am sorry you were misinformed.”

“That is not your fault, ma’am.” Daniel nodded in thanks. “One last question. Does the mail coach stop anywhere near here?”

The woman tapped her finger against her chin in thought. “We drop our mail off at a building about fifteen minutes’ walk north of here, past the market.” She grabbed a paper and a nub, hurriedly noting an address. “Here. The footman in the courtyard can get you headed in the right direction.”

Daniel took the paper she held out to him. “Thank you again.” He inspected the address while the woman hurried back to her duties. The name and direction of a solicitor’s office greeted him. Percival was not the type to confuse something as simple as the location of a delivery, though Daniel need remember that the man was aging by the day. Even more so since seeing his only daughter off to war when she’d decided to follow her new husband. A prickle of sorrow bubbled up. Daniel was quick to press it back down where it belonged. It only gave way to the betrayal he’d thought he conqueror long ago, rising and sparking his anger and disappointment with a woman he’d thought he knew—until she left with little more than a half-hearted explanation. No, he would not think of the past…especially her.

“I believe the package you were sent to collect is I, Daniel.”

He froze, afraid to turn and dispel the hope that suddenly overtook him and extinguished his anger. It was as if a pail of icy water had been dumped over his head. It could not be her. Percival would have told him if she’d returned to England. His lungs burned, begging for air to relieve the strain from his frantically beating heart.

If he turned and was not greeted by the angelic, heart-shaped face framed by brown curls and featuring intense, deep blue eyes, he’d perish on the spot. Despite his heartache and unease, he wanted nothing as much as he wanted to turn and see her standing behind him. How many times had he thought he’d spotted her across a crowded ballroom, or traveling in a passing carriage down Bond Street, or promenading in Hyde Park?

He’d lost count of the number of times he’d pushed his way through a flock of people or turned his horse about and given chase on his way to the racetrack—but every time had resulted in the same end. A startled woman, and Daniel appearing the lunatic on his way to Bedlam.

Not today—in this crowded inn. He would not appear the man lacking in senses and cause a spectacle of himself.

Daniel had aged since Lettie had fled England, that fate was not reserved solely for her father. As the years passed, his longing for her—for the connection and bond they were supposed to have—erased the old him, only adding to his sense of loneliness.

Slowly, he turned…certain that disappointment once again awaited him.