Page 4 of The Hired Hero
“She’s right, ye know.” Mrs. Graves stepped into the room from the shadows of the hall. “Much as it grieves me to say it, I think it’s the only choice.”
“The duke would never make such a decision,” argued Darwin, though the look on his face was one of resignation.
“The duke is not here. So it is I who must decide,” answered Caroline calmly. “I shall sew the packet into the bodice of my gown—Mathilde is very clever with her needle and fabric. It will be impossible for someone who doesn’t know where to look to tell. And after all,” she added, “our enemy cannot be entirely sure the papers have reached us.”
Darwin pressed his lips together, not ready to give up entirely. “I shall send Tom and William with you as well, armed to the teeth.”
Caroline shook her head. “No. That would only attract exactly the sort of attention we wish to avoid.” She gave a tight smile to both of them. “Besides, I have a feeling that it is not force we will need to succeed but wits.”
Two
Caroline sought to find a more comfortable position in the lurching carriage. After nearly two days of continuous travel over rutted back roads, every bone in her body seemed to ache.
Things had not gone well from the start. Just a few hours after leaving Roxbury Manor, one of the wheels of the old vehicle had come off, nearly oversetting them into a ditch. It had cost them precious hours before a wheelwright had been found to make things right. And even though John Coachman had done his best to quicken the pace whenever the conditions permitted, it seemed that their progress was painfully slow.
The country roads appeared to meander at will, causing her to grit her teeth in frustration. And on top of it all, a cold rain had started the day before, adding a chilly dampness to the air that made her pull her heavy black cloak even tighter around her shoulders.
Peering out into the darkness through the small glass-paned window, Caroline wondered how far it was to the next inn. She longed for a hot cup of tea and just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep?—
The coach suddenly hit a particularly nasty rut, knocking her back against the worn squabs and drawing a loud oath from John Coachman. A pang of guilt for dwelling on her own petty discomforts when the rigors of travel were taking a far more serious toll on her companions shot through her. Last night, Polly had developed a bad fever, and though she had tried to disguise it, by morning she had been in a bad enough state that Caroline had insisted that she be left behind at the small inn where they had stopped for a hurried breakfast.
Despite his mutterings, John Coachman hadn’t been able to disagree when he had seen the girl’s wan face and felt her burning brow. By the time a room had been procured, along with the innkeeper’s promise to send for a doctor once he had been paid in advance for a week’s lodging, more hours had slipped by. Caroline wouldn’t hear of continuing until she had seen the girl comfortably settled and provided with enough funds to take a coach back to Roxbury Manor. At least her coachman had been able to grab some much-needed sleep. But now he seemed determined to make up for lost time by pushing himself hard.
On they drove, though the night was so black Caroline wondered how he kept the horses on the road. The thick, scudding clouds let through only an occasional pale wash of moonlight, and the wind, which had begun to whistle down upon them from the bleak moors during the past hour, promised more rain. She could only imagine what miseries poor John was enduring in such conditions.
Sighing, she wedged into a corner and braced her shoulder to counter the increasingly heavy jolts.
Her thoughts couldn’t help but turn to the enormity of what she had undertaken. The lives of many brave people depended on her ability to succeed, and that made the mission daunting enough. But if she were truly honest with herself, that was not the only reason she had chosen to embark on such a hazardous course. What she had told Darwin was absolutely true—she would never have asked one of her household retainers to risk his life.
But there had been other choices. No doubt she would have been commended for showing good sense had she appealed to her father’s close friend and neighbor, Lord Ellsworth, for help.
Caroline’s lips quirked in an involuntary smile. Eminent good sense was not a trait normally associated with her name. Perhaps that was because she had spent too much time racketing around with her cousin Lucien—she, the younger of the two, always pushing herself to match his exploits.
Or perhaps it was because of something else.
Lucien was part of it, to be sure. Both her mother and his parents had died during a particularly bad influenza epidemic, and so he had come to live under her father’s roof. Aside from the fact that the duke had always doted on his young nephew, it was only natural that he treated the lad like a son—after all, Lucien was now the heir to the duke’s title and lands.
And so she and her cousin had become like brother and sister, both being close in age and having no siblings of their own. He had tolerated her following him around like a doting puppy when they were small, and as they had grown older, he had never sought to keep her from taking part in youthful escapades because she was a female. From filching apples from Squire Laidlaw’s trees to racing curricles down the fashionable streets of Mayfair at midnight, Lucien had always treated her as an equal.
Yet Caroline had always known, from her earliest days, that she was not his equal. No matter that she had a better seat on her hunter than most of the gentlemen in the county or could discuss estate affairs with enough expertise to set a lax steward’s ears to ringing… No matter that she could read Virgil or Homer in the original or discuss the political implications of Napoleon’s return to France with more acuity than half of White’s.
None of that changed the fact that she would never be her father’s heir.
His beloved Roxbury would pass on to one not of his own flesh and blood, and that must have been a terrible disappointment to him.
Caroline closed her eyes and brushed away a bead of moisture from her cheek. This once, however, she would prove to everyone that despite what Society’s rules decreed, she was worthy of her family name.
A sigh caught in her throat—if only she could prove it to the person who mattered most…
Somehow, she must have dozed off, for she was jolted awake by the sound of a sharpcrack. Still muzzy from fatigue, Caroline thought for a moment that perhaps she had merely imagined it. But suddenly, there was anothercrack, and she sat bolt upright.
Hell’s bells!There was no mistaking the sound of gunfire.
The coach was picking up speed, rocking wildly from side to side.
“John!” she cried as the violent momentum threw her against the door. “John! What’s happening?”
There was no answer over the pounding of the hooves and the groaning of the wooden joints.
