hour.
“It’s done,” he finally said.
She struggled to breathe—her chest crushed under the weight of an elephant’s foot.
“The mail coach headed for London arrives at ten after four this afternoon,” he said. “That means the letter will arrive in London about thirty-six hours later.”
“So fast,” she murmured. The mail coach would be traveling much faster than they had. But then, the mail drove on through the night, every night, stopping only to change horses and collect or deliver the mail—although oftentimes “stopping” simply meant slowing down enough to throw the mailbag into the inn’s doorway and then catching the bag of outgoing mail when it was tossed from a window.
“Aye.” He held her gaze steadily. “By the time we reach our destination, it might already be over.”
Over.
Meaning her father and his accomplices would all be imprisoned and awaiting their trials for treason. She shuddered.
Colin spoke to a boy about readying their carriage and ensuring the letter was mailed safely, then pressed a coin into the lad’s hand along with the folded missive addressed to Major Campbell. Finally, he turned back to her and frowned at her untouched plate of food. “Have you eaten enough, lass?”
“I’m not very hungry,” she managed.
His lips tightened, then he turned to direct one of the hovering serving girls to bundle the rest of the food so they could eat it later. After the girl left, he turned back to Emilia. “I’d sit here and hand-feed you if I could. You need your strength. But we also need to be on the road. Since that woman recognized you last night, I dinna wish to take any chances.”
She nodded, and a few moments later the maid returned with their luncheon, now wrapped in a clean linen cloth and tied with a bit of twine. “Thank you,” Emilia murmured, taking the package.
“Your carriage is ready, sir,” the boy said, rushing toward them from the entrance.
“Well done, lad.” Colin took her arm in his and led her out to the circular drive at the front of the inn, where their phaeton already awaited them, a pair of fresh horses hitched to it. In moments the town was behind them, and they were back in the countryside.
Emilia could so easily allow herself to melt into a complex soup of self-loathing and fear, but she desperately wanted to avoid that. The truth was, for the first time in her life, she was truly free. She didn’t yet know what to do with her freedom, but freedom was precious and highly sought after for any young lady of the
ton.
She shouldn’t squander it.
Once again, she took out her pencil and paper and a square board to work upon, and began to draw, soon becoming engrossed in the task, her gaze flicking between her paper and the fields of endlessly rolling green, punctuated now and then by pale yellow bales of hay and dotted by the occasional flock of sheep.
Beside her, Colin was a quiet, steady presence, and she was glad for that. She didn’t know how she could possibly talk to him right now and sound like a sensible, rational human being.
Hours passed, and it was near dusk when Colin shifted beside her. “You havna eaten your luncheon yet, Emilia.”
She looked up at him, blinking her eyes as if emerging from a long sleep. “I forgot,” she admitted, and her stomach growled, perhaps in annoyance at her lack of concern for it. Emilia returned her attention to her drawing, tilting her head to study it.
Colin made a whistling sound through his teeth. She slid him a glance to see his gaze on her drawing. “You’re talented. You didna tell me you were so skilled.”
She narrowed her eyes at the paper. One of the problems with her drawings was that she could always see the flaws in her work, never the beauty. She threw most of her drawings away because of that. But now, even though the flaws of this one laughed at her from the sheet and her fingers itched to grab the paper and crush it in her fist, she didn’t.
Holding both reins in one
“It’s done,” he finally said.
She struggled to breathe—her chest crushed under the weight of an elephant’s foot.
“The mail coach headed for London arrives at ten after four this afternoon,” he said. “That means the letter will arrive in London about thirty-six hours later.”
“So fast,” she murmured. The mail coach would be traveling much faster than they had. But then, the mail drove on through the night, every night, stopping only to change horses and collect or deliver the mail—although oftentimes “stopping” simply meant slowing down enough to throw the mailbag into the inn’s doorway and then catching the bag of outgoing mail when it was tossed from a window.
“Aye.” He held her gaze steadily. “By the time we reach our destination, it might already be over.”
Over.
Meaning her father and his accomplices would all be imprisoned and awaiting their trials for treason. She shuddered.
Colin spoke to a boy about readying their carriage and ensuring the letter was mailed safely, then pressed a coin into the lad’s hand along with the folded missive addressed to Major Campbell. Finally, he turned back to her and frowned at her untouched plate of food. “Have you eaten enough, lass?”
“I’m not very hungry,” she managed.
His lips tightened, then he turned to direct one of the hovering serving girls to bundle the rest of the food so they could eat it later. After the girl left, he turned back to Emilia. “I’d sit here and hand-feed you if I could. You need your strength. But we also need to be on the road. Since that woman recognized you last night, I dinna wish to take any chances.”
She nodded, and a few moments later the maid returned with their luncheon, now wrapped in a clean linen cloth and tied with a bit of twine. “Thank you,” Emilia murmured, taking the package.
“Your carriage is ready, sir,” the boy said, rushing toward them from the entrance.
“Well done, lad.” Colin took her arm in his and led her out to the circular drive at the front of the inn, where their phaeton already awaited them, a pair of fresh horses hitched to it. In moments the town was behind them, and they were back in the countryside.
Emilia could so easily allow herself to melt into a complex soup of self-loathing and fear, but she desperately wanted to avoid that. The truth was, for the first time in her life, she was truly free. She didn’t yet know what to do with her freedom, but freedom was precious and highly sought after for any young lady of the
ton.
She shouldn’t squander it.
Once again, she took out her pencil and paper and a square board to work upon, and began to draw, soon becoming engrossed in the task, her gaze flicking between her paper and the fields of endlessly rolling green, punctuated now and then by pale yellow bales of hay and dotted by the occasional flock of sheep.
Beside her, Colin was a quiet, steady presence, and she was glad for that. She didn’t know how she could possibly talk to him right now and sound like a sensible, rational human being.
Hours passed, and it was near dusk when Colin shifted beside her. “You havna eaten your luncheon yet, Emilia.”
She looked up at him, blinking her eyes as if emerging from a long sleep. “I forgot,” she admitted, and her stomach growled, perhaps in annoyance at her lack of concern for it. Emilia returned her attention to her drawing, tilting her head to study it.
Colin made a whistling sound through his teeth. She slid him a glance to see his gaze on her drawing. “You’re talented. You didna tell me you were so skilled.”
She narrowed her eyes at the paper. One of the problems with her drawings was that she could always see the flaws in her work, never the beauty. She threw most of her drawings away because of that. But now, even though the flaws of this one laughed at her from the sheet and her fingers itched to grab the paper and crush it in her fist, she didn’t.
Holding both reins in one
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