Joanna Maitland - A Penniless Prospect

‘Oh, stuff! Now, let’s be going. He’ll expect you to help me into the carriage.’

Up on the box beside the old coachman, Jamie was soon inwardly rejoicing at her escape. In just a few hours, they would reach Bath, and then she would be free. Her heart was singing. But no amount of joy could prevent her from gradually freezing. Edmund’s clothes were not thick enough for winter wear and his cloak, though long, was thin, affording little protection against the bitingly sharp wind. Jamie glanced enviously at the thick greatcoat, mufflers and gloves of the coachman. Her own hands were becoming blue with cold and so numb she could barely feel them. She was sure there was a drip on the end of her nose. With grim determination, she ignored it and concentrated on mastering the chattering of her teeth. She refused to give up now. Only a few hours more…

Once Smithers was settled, Richard studiously ignored her. He relaxed in the corner of his opulent carriage, a fur rug over his knees, and closed his eyes to indicate that he did not propose to converse during the journey. He waited until the abigail fell asleep, lulled by the rhythmic rocking of the carriage. As her breathing slowed, he opened his eyes once more. And he fixed his gaze on her, thoughtfully examining every aspect of her person.

He had been surprised to find that he felt sorry for a simple lad, in spite of his suspicions of the sister’s lame explanations. The boy had looked so uncomfortable in his fine clothes, obviously charity cast-offs from someone in the Calderwood family. And he would be vulnerable without his sister, if he were indeed taking a situation on his own. Richard sighed. His conscience would not allow him to draw back, when a simpleton needed his help. Besides, there might be profit in this encounter. Smithers knew more about the Calderwood household than any agent he had yet been able to employ.

Richard had noted the attempt at masculine panache as the boy slung his sister’s bags into the carriage. But it was not so much the awkwardness of Jamie’s movements which had attracted his attention, as the size of the abigail’s baggage. Strange, if she were indeed travelling to Bath for a few days only. If she were leaving for good, on the other hand…

He smiled to himself. Things were beginning to work out rather better than he had hoped, and might yet be turned even more to his advantage. He would consider further during the journey. There was no rush, now that he had the woman under his eye.

At length, the carriage turned into a posting inn for a change of horses. The grooms were quickly about their business, unhitching the team and assessing the quality of the replacements. Nobody was paying any attention to Jamie. She sat immobile, too cold to move a muscle.

Lord Hardinge lowered the glass on his side of the carriage and poked his head out. ‘Jamie! Down from there! Go and fetch me a tankard of ale. Look sharp, now!’

Jamie hurried to climb down. She made a pretty poor showing, for her fingers were so cold she could barely grip the handholds. Seeing a waiter coming towards the carriage with a tray of tankards, she rushed to grab one and immediately dropped it. The ale splashed all over the waiter’s boots.

‘Why, you young—’ began the waiter, incensed, raising his free hand to strike Jamie.

‘That will do!’ commanded Lord Hardinge, flinging open the door and jumping down. ‘If my servants are to be chastised, I shall do it.’

The waiter began to stammer an apology, but his lordship simply took a full tankard from the tray, threw down some coppers and turned away.

‘Come here, Jamie.’

Jamie’s first reaction was to run, but her frozen limbs would never have moved fast enough. Keeping her eyes lowered, she approached her intimidating benefactor. He sounded much less angry now than when he had shouted at the waiter, but still…

‘Show me your hands.’

Jamie did so. They were thin and blue. The filthy fingernails stood out starkly.

‘Have you no gloves?’

Jamie shook her head, still gazing at the ground.

His lordship put a hand on her frozen cheek. Suddenly it seemed as if all the blood in Jamie’s body had rushed to that spot. She felt sure that the outline of his fingers was impressed in brightest scarlet on her burning skin. And that same quivering of all her body had returned.

‘Why, you’re frozen to the marrow, lad. No wonder you dropped that tankard. I should have known. You’re much too thin—and as for these clothes… Well, you’d better come inside with your sister, before I have your death on my conscience.’

Jamie did not move. She was still trying to come to terms with the strange effects this man had on her.

‘Don’t just stand there, boy.’ It sounded as if the Earl was beginning to regret his generosity. ‘Come, jump in.’ He gave Jamie a hearty push towards the carriage.

As Jamie climbed in, she registered the shock on the abigail’s face. No wonder. Spending hours under the eagle eye of Lord Hardinge might well lead to discovery. Jamie dared not utter a sound. Annie busied herself with chafing Jamie’s hands and clucking over her like an anxious mother hen.

‘Enough, Smithers, enough!’ snapped Lord Hardinge. ‘I have no objection to your helping your brother to get warm but, for heaven’s sake, do it without all this gabblemongering!’

Looking chastened, Smithers lapsed into silence. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep again.

Jamie soon found herself the only one awake. Cautiously, she sat up in her corner, pushing her hat back from her eyes and flexing her fingers, which tingled painfully as the sensation returned. She felt in her pocket for a handkerchief to deal with the drip on her nose. She did not have one, which reminded her that boys like simple Jamie never used them, so she experimented with wiping her nose on her sleeve instead. Ugh!

But what did that matter? She had escaped! She might never again live the life of a gentlewoman, but her future was now her own to decide. She paused to savour the luxury of the carriage, its deeply cushioned seats and the pervasive smell of rich leather. Nothing at Calderwood was half so splendid. And if Lady Calderwood had owned such an equipage, she would never have allowed her hated stepdaughter to set foot in it. Jamie sank back in her seat, longing to shout with exultant laughter.

Opposite her, Lord Hardinge moved in his sleep. He had removed his hat, presumably so that he might doze more comfortably. Jamie found herself gazing at him. It was such a handsome face in repose—thick, arched black brows, a finely chiselled nose, perhaps a little long, a generous mouth made for smiling, and a strong chin, slightly cleft. His thick dark hair became him, even in disarray. Jamie found herself wondering about the colour of his eyes. Dark, she supposed, like the rest of him, unconsciously raising her eyes to look again at his face.

Cobalt blue eyes bored into hers! Lord Hardinge had been watching her, just when she thought she was safe. And his eyes seemed to be able to see into the depths of her being! She shuddered visibly.

Glancing at the still-sleeping abigail, the Earl frowned across at Jamie, his face very stern. ‘Satisfied, are you, lad?’ he asked in a menacing whisper.

Jamie shuddered again.

Lord Hardinge’s expression softened slightly. ‘Don’t worry, Jamie. I am not angry.’ His voice seemed less hostile now. ‘But you really must not stare at your betters in that insolent way. It could earn you a beating in some houses.’

Jamie began to stammer an incoherent apology.

‘Forget it,’ interrupted his lordship sharply, closing his eyes once more.

Jamie held her breath for a long time, trying to control her racing pulse and fearing another onslaught from the powerful man sitting opposite her.