17
Theodora leaned her forehead against the window, hoping the cool glass might ease the headache that had grown throughout the day. Across from her, Alice was blithely chatting about all the things she hoped to see on their trip north—other inns, lakes, military men (who seemed to be great favorites with her), large pigs (really large ones, not the smallish ones she always saw in her village), fine ladies, and (inexplicably) bears. Lance hid behind a book on crop rotation, while Jane alternated between sneezing, knitting, and dozing.
The coach, which had seemed luxuriously large before, now felt stiflingly small. Between Jane’s knitting basket, Alice’s large hatbox, Lance’s satchel of books, Theodora’s reticule, three foot warmers, and a number of coach blankets, there was little room to do more than lean against one’s assigned corner, while every bump knocked someone’s knee against someone else’s.
Pressing her fingertips to her temples, Theodora wished she could throw open the door and jump to freedom.
Jane sneezed again, this time followed by a long cough.
Alice tsked. “Law, miss! You sound like the devil’s crawled into your lungs and died.”
Jane flushed and looked miserable. “I’m sorry!”
“Alice!” Lance said in a reproving voice. “Jane does no such thing!”
Jane gave a wobbly smile. “It’s quite all right. I sound worse than I feel.”
Theodora didn’t believe that for a moment, but wisely made no comment, and returned to gazing out the window. Outside the day grew darker, clouds gathering. A soft rain pattered on the coach roof, streaks of water racing down the glass. The minutes passed and Alice, her observations apparently exhausted, fell asleep in her corner, her head tilted back, her mouth wide open as she snored.
Eyes watering, Jane tucked her kerchief into her pocket and then tugged more yarn from her basket. “It’s so dreary this afternoon. I—” Her gaze moved past Theodora and caught on something. She blinked once. Then twice. Her mouth dropped open.
Theodora turned and there, riding outside the window, was Conner. She looked away. I will not look. I will not look. I will not—
But she couldn’t resist. She not only looked, but she stared. The light rain beaded on Conner’s shoulders, pooled in the brim of his hat, and then splashed onto his broad shoulders, his handsome face wet, his hair clinging to his neck in a beguiling fashion.
She scowled. Why was it that when women were drenched by rain, they merely looked soggy, while men mysteriously appeared even more attractive and powerful? The whole thing is bloody unfair. Conner tugged his hat low, the brim funneling water down the sweep of his cape, his boots shiny and wet in the stirrups. As if he could feel her gaze he turned his head, and their eyes met.
For a breathless moment they looked at one another, and the feel of their last kiss burned Theodora’s lips anew.
It was hard enough to travel with a man she’d once been in love with, without his looking so damnably romantic, riding in the rain, his clothes clinging to him, his blue eyes warm with—lust?
What else could it be? He knows no other feeling where women are concerned.
Yet her heart thudded wildly, and she found herself leaning toward the glass. Conner smiled, his intriguing eyes crinkling. The ice-blue color set in those thick, dark brown lashes was a surprise, and they burned with an intensity that made her wish for all the things that would never be.
Conner’s teeth flashed in a grin and he winked, and she felt a tremor from her heart all the way to the bottom of her feet. She pulled away from the window. It took all of her self-control not to look outside again, but she managed. When she finally peeked sideways, he was gone.
She leaned to the side and saw him ahead, trotting farther and farther away.
The sight invoked a memory she’d almost forgotten. When she’d been sixteen, her horse had thrown a shoe while she’d been out riding. Leading him home, she’d been caught in a rainstorm and had sought shelter in the folly across the lake near Cumberbatch House. A “ruined” Greek temple with toppled columns, ivy-covered statues, and a raised pagoda, it had been designed for romantic summer picnics.
Since she was so late returning, her parents had organized a search party that Conner, visiting with Derrick on a school break, had joined.
And he’d been the one who’d thought to look in the pagoda.
Theodora had already been half in love with him, and when she’d seen him ride up, rain-wet as he was now, her imagination had turned his shiny, wet cape into a suit of armor, and his gelding into a magnificent steed worthy of carrying a knight into battle.
Naturally he’d had no idea of the romantic thoughts racing through her head, and had treated her like a younger sister, teasing her about hiding from dinner because she’d heard Cook was to serve parsnips, and laughingly demanding a shilling for giving her a ride home.
For her, though, he was already the focus of all of her youthful dreams and desires. So when he’d climbed into the saddle and swept her up in front of him, covered her with his cape and taken her back to the house with his arms around her, it had been a golden moment stolen from her own romantic imagination.
Getting ready for dinner that night, she’d floated about her room, remembering the strength of his arms, the warmth of his smile when he’d found her, as if she were the only woman for him; had pictured his declaration—oh, she’d imagined all sorts of things. And her imagination added details to the events that had happened—that his gaze had lingered on her for an unusually long time after one of the grooms had lifted her down, that he’d walked his horse very slowly on the way home as if prolonging their moment, and that he’d seemed especially happy to have been the one to find her.
When she’d gone down to dinner, she’d breathlessly waited to see him again, thinking things would be different now—that they would be different. But he’d merely chucked her under the chin as if she were a child and said in a teasing voice, “I hope you’ve learned to take an umbrella when you ride!” He’d laughed as if he’d made a great joke and, called away by her brother to see something, made no effort to speak to her again.
Devastated, she’d fought tears throughout dinner, her heart torn in two. As soon as she could, she’d escaped to her bedchamber where, cheeks hot and spirits low, she’d wept and paced the floor, cursing her stupidity for so childishly hoping.
It was a lesson she needed to remember now. She was through imagining her happiness; she wanted real happiness. The kind that climbed into bed with one each and every night. The kind that stayed during the good times, the bad times, and the slow times in between. She hadn’t given up the belief that somewhere there was a man willing to be just that for her, someone she could respect and admire, someone capable of loving her as fiercely as she would love them.
Conner disappeared from sight, and a hollowness settled into her heart as she leaned back against the squabs.
Why must he follow us? But Thea knew why, and part of her trembled with excitement, the other in fear.
Jane tsked. “It’s too cold and wet to be outside like that. We could have offered him a seat in the coach.”
Theodora made a vague noise in response.
“He will take cold in that rain,” Jane fretted. “The poor man must be drenched.”
Good. Maybe he’ll stop early at a different inn than ours.
Jane sighed. “I do hope Mr. Douglas doesn’t take ill—”
“He’ll be fine!” Theodora burst out.
Jane’s eyes widened while Lance lowered his book, surprise in both their gazes.
Her face hot, Theodora said in a defiant tone, “Conner is forever outside in all sorts of weather—he loves it. You should hear him talking of the storms he’s faced aboard ship.”
“That’s true,” Lance mused. “The lifestyle of a privateer is indeed for the hearty—and usually the undisciplined, although Douglas does not strike me as the latter.”
Which showed how little he knew Conner, Theodora decided, although she held her tongue on the tempting topic.
Jane and Lance embarked upon a discussion of the effects of being outside in the weather constantly, which led them to share seemingly every illness they and their families had suffered.
Bored, Theodora leaned back in her seat. Alice snorted in her sleep, muttering something about gooblegooks and the need for a sharp knife, a comment so disturbing to Lance that he pulled himself farther into his corner of the coach, and tucked his coat about his legs.
Soon the coach slowed, and Theodora was relieved to see they were turning into an inn yard. “Here we are,” she said with relief, peering out the window through the heavy streaks of rain at the inn. Two stories tall, with a rambling rock façade where a pink rosebush climbed, the thatched roof was golden in color. The building sat by the road surrounded by green fields and a stand of trees.
It was odd to see such a large establishment in the middle of a farming district, but perhaps they were close to the North Road, which was always busy this time of year.
Pulling her knitting basket together, Jane peered out the window, too. “It looks like a large fairy cottage!”
“Except for that cart blocking the entryway,” Lance said.
“Oh dear,” Jane said. “It looks as if one wheel has sunk into the mud.”
Lance tugged on his coat. “Stay here and I’ll see what’s to be done about the cart.” He opened the door and jumped out into the rain, slamming the door closed.
Theodora frowned. “Moving the cart will only save us a few steps. There’s no reason for Lance or anyone else to get soaked for that. We should jump out and run for the door.”
Alice rubbed her eyes and yawned. “We’ll get wet.”
“Only for a moment if we hurry.”
Jane didn’t look so decided. “The mud looks treacherous. Just look at how deep that wheel is sunk.”
“Gor’, you’re right,” Alice exclaimed. “We would sink in up to our—”
“That’s highly unlikely.” Theodora shook out the cloak she’d rolled into a pillow for Jane earlier, and slung it over her shoulders. She could just make out Lance under the overhang speaking to Spencer and a familiar figure in a black overcoat, his broad shoulder blocking the door from view. Of course Conner’s already here. He got to ride.
She bit back a mutter. “I’m going to see what’s happening.”
“Aye, you go and find out,” Alice said cheerfully. “We’ll wait here.”
Jane frowned. “Theodora, just wait until—”
Theodora threw open the coach door and hopped out, water splashing around her boots. The rain was harder than she’d expected as she shut the door and made a dash toward the overhang. Her shoulders became instantly damp under her cloak, and rain soaked through her hood into her bonnet.
She ducked her head against the rain, lifted her skirts, and ran. She’d only gone a few steps when she came to a puddle so deep, she knew that the water would go over the top of her boots.
Blast it!
She looked for a way around, but the puddle seemed to go on forever. The rain sluiced unrelentingly, water now trickling from her neck and shoulders down her back.
There was a slightly narrower section to her right, so she gritted her teeth and hurried over, splashing with each step. Once there, she jumped as far as she could, the rain pelting her face. To her relief, she cleared the puddle.
Then one foot began to sink into the mud.
She quickly lifted it free, which put all of her weight on her other foot, and it sank into the mire, soaking up the wet and cold.
“Blast it!” She put the first foot back down, but the other foot was now ankle deep in the mud and she couldn’t tug it free. She was thoroughly drenched now, the rain soaking through to her skin. There was only one answer.
She bent down and unlaced her boots, her fingers fumbling on the wet laces. Finished, she stood and was taking a deep breath before plunging on, when a deep voice said, “Stubborn woman!”
Then she was summarily swung up into Conner’s arms and carried away, her boots left behind in the mud.