Page 96 of Crash Landing
But not Florence’s parents. He did not know them and could not trust them. They had been hurtful to Florence for most of her life, and being present at her wedding ceremony was more likely to cause tumult rather than joy. Better they be told of her marriage after the fact.
“Let me help you into the coach, love,” Trajan said, placing his arms in proprietary fashion around Florence’s waist. After last night, he’d grown quite familiar with her body.
Great body.
He checked that their travel pouches were secured in the coach, and then climbed in after her, sinking onto the bench seat beside her with a grunt. “All good, love?”
She nodded and smiled up at him. “Perfect.”
The mail coach took off as though demons were on their tail. Florence, being fairly light, almost flew off her seat.
He tucked an arm around her as the coach bounced along with reckless speed, and kept hold of her throughout the ride.
Not only Florence needed to be held secure. He was worried about those letters falling out of the hidden pocket in her gown. But she cast him a reassuring glance. “All’s well.”
“Good.” He had not brought up the subject yet, but he intended to read those love letters before they were turned over to the princess.
How could he not? It was important for him to know who wrote them to Lady Simmons, if only to prevent the princess from piling more tasks onto Florence.
Florence might be angry with him, but he would smooth things over afterward. After all, she may have promised the princess she would not read them, buthehad made no such promise.
Of course, he had no intention of ever revealing the name of the writer or the contents of those letters to anyone, not even Florence. But he needed to gather as much information as he could in order to better protect her. She was extraordinarily naïve when it came to matters of politics and power.
They made Bournemouth before nightfall. Trajan had no idea how the outside passengers had not flown out of their seats every time the coach whipped around a sharp curve or hit a rut.
He and Florence stepped out and reclaimed their travel pouches.
“Will ye no’ be riding with us?” the guard who rode on the mail coach asked. As a security measure, each coach had a driver and armed guard because they traveled at night as well as day, and every highwayman recognized the distinctive red and black of these coaches.
“No, we’ll be making private arrangements from here. My wife was bouncing around like a leaf in the wind. We’ll take a more leisurely pace to London.” Trajan gave the guard and driver their gratuities, knowing he had made the right decision as a dozen passengers climbed on, some elbowing their way inside and others atop the coach. This added load would probably slow the horses and tire them out faster.
He watched the mail coach rumble off, then entered the Bournemouth coaching inn and arranged for a private dining room for him and Florence.
After ordering their meals, Trajan took a moment to speak to the inn’s proprietor and hire a private coach and guard. “Have them ready within the hour.”
“Aye, Your Grace. You’ll have my best.”
Florence was surprised that he meant them to continue at night. “Isn’t it dangerous?”
“It could be if we ventured off these toll roads. But we’ll soon catch up to the mail coach and keep close to it as we travel through the night. We’ll also have an armed guard with us. We should be all right, since I am also armed, and so is our driver.”
“I ought to have a weapon, too.”
“But you don’t know how to shoot. Besides, you are too softhearted to take down a man in cold blood. He’ll grab the pistol out of your hand as you stand there gawking at him and shootyou.” He gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “I don’t want to lose you, Florence.”
She blushed. “You never will. You know I am hopelessly in love with you.”
He smiled. “Yes, I know. Mutual, Florence. First thing I’ll do oncewe are back at Gull Hall is give you lessons on the use of weapons. Is that a fair compromise?”
“Yes.”
Their private coach was far more comfortable, and the inns and coaching stations where they had to pause every ten or so miles were clean and well maintained despite the amount of traffic that flowed through them.
There were enough carriages on the road even in the evenings to allow for a safe enough ride. Many stretches of the toll road were lit with torches, and the horses knew the route well enough by now to canter along without need for guidance by the driver.
They arrived in London on the morning of the third day, which was a day ahead of what Trajan had estimated. But these night coaches were faster than he’d realized, and this was a pleasant surprise. They could have spent last night at leisure at a coaching inn, but he was eager to reach London and marry Florence.
There was the matter of the letters, of course. Once that was addressed, he would turn his attention to the final matter that might prove more difficult to solve.
