Page 56 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
Where that certainty sprang from, what had given it birth, he couldn’t say, but it was there, a rock-solid and unshakeable conviction that would not be denied.
Now, he simply had to make it happen.
As far as he could see, steering her to the complementary conclusion—that he was the one for her—was his surest path to his goal. Hence his stipulation of an understanding that any liaison would, ultimately, lead them to front an altar somewhere.
She raised a gloved hand and pointed ahead at a cluster of roofs to the left of the road. “That’s Honington. We don’t need to stop. Conran’s lower field is around the corner and farther along the Sleaford road.”
Nicholas nodded. “Let’s pause for a moment when we reach that spot.”
The previous evening, they’d debated which road they should take—to continue down the road they’d been following to Honington, the fork to Sleaford, and Conran’s field or, once again, to make a leap of faith and, from the inn, take the lane that, while being a shortcut via Sudbrook village to the road to Sleaford, met the Sleaford road well past Honington. Adriana and Dickie had maintained that there were no major lanes between Conran’s field and the Sudbrook lane intersection, but when questioned more closely, they’d admitted there were several minor lanes along that stretch.
Nicholas had put his foot down. Backed by Young Gillies, the stablemen, and even Rory, he’d pointed out that making assumptions had cost them days. More, the difference between the two routes was a matter of a mile or so. There really was no benefit in rushing ahead and, potentially, once again missing the thief’s trail.
Adriana had grumbled but, a moment later, had acknowledged that, as their thief wasn’t behaving in any predictable way, not as any of them had expected a horse thief would, perhaps it would be as well to pick up the trail at the last sighting.
Nicholas had uttered a silent hallelujah and said nothing more. As long as they stuck to the thief’s trail and religiously verified which way the villain went, he was perfectly content to let Adriana lead the way.
As they neared the fork and the turn toward Sleaford, he glanced at her face.
Her expression suggested that she was fully focused on their pursuit, leaving him still wondering what direction she would take regarding the matter between them.
Addie slowed and, at a trot, went around the turn into the Sleaford road. Beside her, Nicholas wheeled his big gray, and the rest of their company streamed in their wake.
It was a constant battle to keep her gaze forward and not allow it to slip sideways to dwell on Nicholas. There was no point in her trying to study, analyze, or calculate; she’d always relied on her instincts to guide her, and in this case, they’d spoken clearly. Consequently, her decision regarding Nicholas was a foregone conclusion, but she’d decided that, for today, she should keep her mind focused entirely on tracking their thief.
They were only miles north of the Grange. She knew the road well, as did Dickie, Rory, Jed, and Mike.
When Farmer Conran’s lower field came into view, she slowed Nickleby to a walk and tipped her head toward the stubbled expanse. “That’s where Conran was when he saw The Barbarian.” She met Nicholas’s gaze. “So the thief rode along here with The Barbarian in tow.”
Nicholas nodded and scanned the way ahead. “According to the signpost at the fork, Sleaford is twelve miles ahead.” He looked at her. “The Sudbrook lane is the next major intersection. Between here and there, where might we find another person who saw our quarry ride past?”
She frowned. “It was Wednesday afternoon when he rode along here. Wednesday is market day in Sleaford. That being so”—she glanced back at Rory—“old Mrs. Milford might have been on her way back home in her cart.”
Rory nodded encouragingly. “She might have passed him.”
Addie felt anticipation surge. “Depending on when she left Sleaford, she might even have seen him close to the town.”
Enthused, she tapped her heel to Nickleby’s side and increased their pace to a canter. When Nicholas ranged alongside, she flung an eager glance his way. “Old Mrs. Milford lives in a cottage just up the Sudbrook lane.”
In short order, they reached the cottage. While the others waited with the horses in the lane, Addie, accompanied by Nicholas and Dickie, walked up the neat paved path to the cottage and jangled the bell that hung beside the front door.
No one appeared.
“She’ll be out in her garden,” Dickie said. “It’s at the back.”
“She sells vegetables she grows at the market,” Addie explained as she and Nicholas followed Dickie around the cottage.
The rear plot was long and narrow and divided into neat rows. In that season, each strip of ground was covered in profuse growth. They peered and hunted, but couldn’t see anyone.
Eventually, Nicholas cupped his hands about his mouth and, facing down the garden, called, “Mrs. Milford?” and a gray head popped up at the rear corner of the garden.
Mrs. Milford’s eyes were better than her hearing. She saw them and waved. “Good morning, your ladyship. Sirs.” She straightened and started to make her way toward them.
Reminded by the old lady’s rolling gait that she had a bad leg, Addie hurried down the central path to meet her. “Good morning to you, too, Mrs. Milford.” Addie flashed a bright smile and halted at the opening to the side path the other woman was on.
Short and stocky and wreathed in smiles, Mrs. Milford joined her. The old woman’s gaze went to Dickie and Nicholas as they came up, and she nodded politely. “Gentlemen.” She returned her gaze to Addie’s face. “What can I help you with, my lady?”
“We were wondering if, on your way home from the Sleaford market last Wednesday, you might have seen a man—a rider on a chestnut horse—leading a big bay stallion.”
