Page 31 of The Proposition
“I shall prepare to swoon,” Clemency said, chuckling. “As all damsels must.”
The approaching carriage had to belong to someone genteel, for it was not so shabby as one used by the post or for paying passengers. Well-polished and trim, the carriage rattled toward them with a team of four matching black horses. As it drew closer, Clemency frowned, for it looked rather familiar….
“I’ll be damned,” William cursed, shouting happily. “That’s Jack Connors.”
Clemency went rigid. Jack Connors did not have an enviable reputation in Round Orchard. He was considered a vagabond and a drunk, only his money protecting him from real social scorn and snubbing. Her direct interactions with theman were limited, as he usually kept to himself with the gentlemen at assemblies and balls, debauching in billiards rooms where no lady dared to tread.
“Do you know him well?” Clemency asked.
The carriage slowed, the driver noting their distress and reining in the horses accordingly. A spray of gravel arced across the pebbly dirt road, and Dandle hurried out in front of the horses to direct the other driver away from the hole that had caused their misfortune.
“Not really. Well enough to ask for assistance. Jack Connors is a useless sort of man, unfit to run a house, unfit to manage tenants, fit only for drinking and gambling, but he can be amiable. Certainly he is harmless,” William replied. He took off his hat and fixed his tangle of golden curls, which had grown damp from standing in the mist. He had their father’s tall, thin frame and soft, pot-bellied middle, but his face remained handsome, and he projected a protective authority that always soothed her.
“He and Turner Boyle could be quarreling,” Clemency added in a low tone. William shot her a glance from his height, his lip curling in annoyance.
“That is hardly reason to ignore us,” William replied. “Rendering aid is the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“I’m simply warning you,” she said, also growing annoyed. “If he seems chilly, there is a reason.”
“Be quiet and pleasant, then; I do not fancy freezing to death here while Dandle rides for aid.”
Clemency scoffed and turned away, retreating a few steps behind her brother and Dandle to fidget with her gloves. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Connors’s carriageswerve to the opposite side of the lane. The driver pulled down a woolen scarf from his mouth and called to them.
“Is there trouble?”
The door swung open a moment later and Jack Connors appeared. He was dressed in a heavy green coat, an ermine draped haphazardly around his shoulders. He had a collier’s body, thick as a stump, a square head, and quick, small eyes that fixed on each thing in turn, suggesting a measured wit that Clemency sincerely doubted he possessed. His black hair was kept very short, making his big, protruding ears more noticeable.
“Trouble?” Jack Connors echoed, hurrying over to them. His eyes lingered on Clemency and he frowned, as if trying to remember where he had seen her before.
“Wheel is shot,” William said, approaching and taking the hand Connors offered in friendship.
“Well, it’s William Fry, what a chance!” Connors guffawed boyishly. Stupidly. Clemency berated herself for being so mean, but she considered him an accomplice to her intended’s deceptions. She wondered how a man with a reputation for not holding his drink had managed to remain friends with Turner Boyle without throwing a punch.
“Are you traveling alone?” William asked, stepping back while Dandle and the other driver attended to the broken wheel.
“I am, I am,” Connors replied. His gaze kept flicking to Clemency in a way that made her squirm. “Up to London. Some, um, some business there.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. How incredibly vague. And could it be a coincidence that the man who had accusedConnors of stealing from him and then stormed off was also recently removed to London? She made her face into a steely mask.
“I have here my sister and my wife, and if there is room for them, I beg you take them on,” William explained, gesturing to Clemency and then the carriage. “We are also bound for London, and I would be in your debt for any assistance—”
“There’s room enough for the whole party,” Connors replied. “Your man can ride ahead for the parts, then meet us in Croydon, and there you can resume as planned, or hire a new carriage. Of course, you’re welcome to join me for the remainder, but I would not presume…”
“Thank you, sir, truly,” William said, beaming. “Let us to Croydon, and firm up our plans there. Anything, I say, to be out of this cursed damp.”
Connors nodded and swept his hand toward his own carriage. “Hear, hear.”
William leapt to open the door to his carriage and help Tansy down, and Clemency wandered a few steps away, wringing her hands and pacing. They needed the help, obviously, but the prospect of being stuck in a small box with Jack Connors for hours on end did not exactly please her. She heard the gravel behind her crunch as he came to her side, and Clemency pasted on a neutral smile, turning to regard him with a polite curtsey.
“Mr. Connors,” she said, blank. “Thank you so much for your kindness.”
“It is no trouble, Miss Fry, and lucky that I happened by.”
He offered his arm and reluctantly she took it, trying to hold herself as far away from his hip as she could. They tookthe walk to his carriage in silence, but she knew a man bursting to speak when she saw one. He seemed to hum with unsaid words, his jaw set and tense as he offered the flat of his palm while she hoisted herself into the carriage. It smelled like a brewery inside.
Clemency flattened herself against the opposite door while Tansy was fetched, and while William and Connors had a word with the drivers.
“How lucky,” Tansy cooed, nestled down into her heavy shawl across from Clemency.
