Page 68 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
She smiled, feeling lighter with every passing second. He was here. He would find Mina. And best of all, he’d proved Mrs. Pursley completely wrong.
“Now, I’ve got to pay my shot at the inn. No one was about when I got up, and so I ducked on over to Mr. Bray’s home. After that, we’ll be off.” Then he bowed politely to all three and headed for the inn.
Faithful man.
And Mrs. Pursley was proved a gossiping old biddy who got everything wrong. A perfect start to the morning. Meanwhile, the village had already stirred itself to gossip. Deprived of Mr. Hallowsby, it turned on her, looking for details about her family in London. They’d heard the news from the vicar who told Mrs. Pursley…who apparently told everyone.
Maybelle kept it vague, saying she hoped to return in a month with surprising news. If she didn’t, well…she’d never live down the ignominy.
Eventually, Mr. Hallowsby returned from the inn. Maybelle had already tossed her small satchel into the cart. It carried all her worldly goods—her best two dresses and underthings, plus the sketch of her mother’s face as it had been drawn by her father’s hand.
Time to go. She swallowed. This was what she wanted, so why was it hard to leave? She glanced around at faces she’d known all her life. She’d never been more than ten miles from her home. And now she was going to London? It unsettled her. Truthfully, it terrified her.
Then Mr. Hallowsby took her lax hand in his, offering to help her climb up as if she were a fine lady. But when she meant to go, her feet stayed stubbornly planted. There was an awkward silence as she stood there, willing herself to move. And then he squeezed her hand.
“There’s no shame in delaying. You need not go today.”
Which meant she need not go ever. “It has been delayed too long. I’m four-and-twenty and have never met them.”
He shrugged. “You could write them.”
Her mother had been adamant that she not write. She had to go in person if she meant to claim her parentage. Which meant she had to get in the cart.
She looked into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts. She had no idea why he mattered so much to her. She could have looked to any of the village, people who had known her all her life. But she already knew their opinions—for good or for ill. His thoughts were unknown. And so she looked into his eyes and saw patience. Neither support nor condemnation, as he awaited her decision.
That was shocking. She knew he was not shy about pressing her. Yesterday’s seduction had been proof of that. But today he was neutral. Which left her to make up her own mind, which is how it should have been anyway.
“I will go,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
His lips quirked as he raised her hand to his lips. “You are a brave woman.”
No one had ever called her that. Bold, certainly. Brassy and wild, definitely. But not brave, and not with such admiration.
How warm that made her feel. How her heart was beating now, and not in fear. She grinned at him, then flashed all the villagers an excited wave before climbing into the cart. She was Cinderella on the way to the ball. She was Red Riding Hood on the way to her grandmother’s house and a grand adventure. She was the heroine of every great tale she had never heard.
With that bold thought, she settled back on the hard wood and grinned. A moment later, Mr. Hallowsby settled between her and Mr. Bray’s eldest girl, Valerie. Then her neighbor clucked at the horses, and they were off.
She named the homes that they passed until she didn’t know the family names anymore. Soon her eyes tired from trying to see everything at once.
Why did she bother? There was nothing new to see. Perhaps she didn’t have a memory associated with the trees or the bend in the road, but it still looked the same. She smiled at her companions and listened to Mr. Bray whistle. That was lovely.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Lord, this was tedious.
She looked to Mr. Hallowsby.
“Everything good, then?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Perfectly.”
“Excellent.” Then he began to chat with them. He asked about their homes and their lives. Within a couple miles, they were all laughing, shy Valerie included. And in another hour, they had made it to the coaching inn.
*
