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Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman.

—Pride and Prejudice

CLARA KNEW BEING a young widow came with advantages, one of which was a carriage at her disposal and traveling alone with only her maid.

She would admit it to no one, but the other benefits, like financial security and a good name, felt most uncertain now.

She gripped the pocket watch of her late husband and waited again for the pang of longing that never came.

This next phase of her life needed to last several months—long enough to get everything in order so her ruin would never be exposed.

The hands of the clock marched on, their time declaring they should reach their destination in the heart of Derbyshire within the next hour. Thank goodness she’d made a few good friends during her widowhood who proved helpful now.

Clara tamped down the feeling of uneasiness threatening to crawl up her stomach as she thought of her uncertain future.

But as the carriage rumbled on, it was her maid, Beth, who actually seemed increasingly uneasy. Did she have nerves, too? Surely their new situation wouldn’t be that vexing. But when Beth’s face turned viridescent, Clara called the driver.

“Stop the carriage immediately!” Then, she turned to her maid. “I think it’s best if we get you outside.”

“I do feel quite strange,” Beth managed, pulling herself toward the door. Clara took her by the elbow, and as soon as the conveyance stilled, she helped her down the steps toward the ravine next to the road.

A noise scared the horses, and the driver went back to steady them.

Her maid’s skin felt hot to the touch, and Clara could see beads of sweat on the girl’s brow.

After a few steps, Beth grabbed at her stomach and doubled over.

Clara was shorter than her maid, and she struggled to support Beth’s form.

Beth started to swoon and fall forward, and Clara fought to keep her grip when she heard a horse on the road, and then suddenly, a second pair of arms supported the other side of the maid.

“Allow me to assist,” a tall, brown-haired stranger said.

Before Clara could ask questions or even thank him, Beth’s middle contorted as the entire contents of her last meal came spewing forth from her mouth in the most unladylike manner ever to be conceived.

Poor Beth!

Once she stopped, Clara examined her maid, amazed that none of the foul-smelling liquid had landed on Beth’s clothes or her own. It took a moment to realize they hadn’t entirely landed on the mossy rocks before them—but also on the lapel and down the front of the stranger’s jacket.

Clara gasped a breath. “Sir, I am ever so sorry!”

The man looked down at his jacket and lifted his head, smiling. This revealed a pleasant, trustworthy face, coupled with a straight nose and nice teeth.

“No matter,” he said, his voice as calm as the babbling water near the ravine.

“Nothing that won’t wash off in that”—his smile faded by degrees, and then his face resembled a verdant tinge all too similar to Beth’s earlier shade—“creek.” He managed the strangled word just before falling forward himself, spewing his own meal onto the ground.

The sound was so violent that Clara clamped her eyes shut, and when the awful noise finally subsided, she peeled open one eye to see what further damage had happened to his ensemble. To her amazement, not one iota of additional liquid had landed on him.

But a good deal of his lunch adorned her shoe and the hem of her gown.

Her eyes widened, but she still held on to Beth, and despite what had just happened, she tried to keep her wits about her. “Beth,” she said softly, “why don’t you take a moment and rest in this shade.”

She led her maid to a patch of grass below a tree. The driver had finally calmed the horses and brought a blanket over for Beth. Still in obvious pain, Beth curled up sideways and clutched her stomach.

Clara’s mind reeled at the quick turn of events.

Beth must have eaten something that disagreed with her during their midday meal at the inn earlier that day.

The bumps of the carriage ride had only exacerbated the issue, and when she’d tried to rid herself of said lunch, a handsome gentleman had miraculously—and gallantly—come to Clara’s assistance in the disaster.

And then, instead of him saving the day and it all ending with Clara swooning into his arms, he’d spewed all over her.

So much for a damsel in distress. No one ever mentioned the “knight in puking armor” part of the story.

Right on cue, the nameless knight came up behind her. “I must beg your pardon. I wanted to help, but I fear the smell overpowered me, and—”

“You’ve said quite enough.” She held up a hand as she bit back her chuckle. “But I would prefer it not happen again, so can I help you out of that jacket? I think it’s safest for both of us if you run it through the stream straightway.”

His eyes widened, but he gave a curt nod.

She’d never helped remove a stranger’s jacket before, but as it stood, he was a liability.

Starting with the unsoiled section, she peeled it away from him as he shrugged an arm out.

She didn’t dare meet his gaze, but his bewildered countenance permeated her mind like the smell of his jacket permeated the air.

When the second arm came out, she held the garment gingerly by two fingers out in front of her.

“Can you manage the honors, or should I?”

“Oh, give me that,” he said, snatching it from her and stomping toward the water. She chuckled. Maybe her teasing tone had gone too far, but something about him made her instantly comfortable in his presence. An ease she hadn’t even felt with her own husband during their short marriage.

But it didn’t matter; she had somewhere to get to before evening.

Her life was not to be dotted with fairy-tale princes.

Not in her past life, and certainly not in her future.

Though it was truly refreshing to speak her mind with this man.

That was something she’d never been allowed to do before.

She turned toward Beth and walked over to check her forehead.

The girl’s skin was still hot, and her body was still curled in pain.

Clara sighed. “I think it’s best if you continue to rest.”

Clara made her way upstream and began washing off her shoes and the hem of her dress. She was lucky the damage wasn’t more, for she knew changing among the barren rocks without a maid wasn’t an option.

While scrubbing, she stole a glance toward the man.

He didn’t seem dangerous, but she decided to be guarded until she knew more.

He was pleasantly built and looked to be at least thirty or thirty-five, if she were guessing.

He still retained a thick head of hair, with just a bit of gray flecking the brown around his temples.

He moved farther downstream, and she noticed he walked with a very slight limp.

She wished she could somehow analyze his face without the threat of him throwing up again.

She remembered those straight teeth though.

And those green-blue eyes—like the color of a churning ocean.

His shirt and vest were well-tailored, and she wondered his name and rank before realizing she ought not wonder anything about him.

He had nearly ruined her boots—thank heavens she’d opted for her sturdiest pair and not something more delicate—yet she wasn’t angry at him.

He probably felt too poorly to come speak with her again anyway.

She sighed and turned back toward Beth, whose body was finally still, her eyes closed. The poor girl needed a respite, so Clara turned toward the sunshine and spread the edge of her dress flat to allow it to dry.

Oh, how she loved freedom! The feel of the sun on her face was more than just warm.

It buoyed her soul. For years, everyone had told her she must not ruin her complexion or gather even a single freckle.

Because for most of her life, she’d been prepared as a marriage pawn.

Then, once her piece had been moved into position, it had proved a much more dismal game than she’d hoped, with no love and little respect.

And then, only two years into their marriage, her husband had died unexpectedly.

Suddenly, she’d become her own master for the first time, and she relished the change.

If only her finances were not making that change so short-lived.

Soon she’d be tied to duty for several months—or maybe years—as a companion to a young friend.

So, as she looked around at the beautiful, budding landscape, she didn’t mind lingering here a little longer.

After all, it wouldn’t do to arrive on her new doorstep a sopping mess with an indisposed lady’s maid.

But part of her wondered if a conversation with the man still washing in the stream would be as pleasant as his smile.

She only checked over her shoulder twice, and it seemed like he was taking quite a long time to rinse his jacket. It wouldn’t do to be staring at him, so she turned her head forward and continued to let the sunshine soak into her skin—she had no husband to impress anymore.

And Clara most definitely wouldn’t mind if she didn’t have to deal with a husband for a very long time.

“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind her.

Yanked from her calm, she turned to see the yet-to-be-named, hopefully non-bandit striding toward her, his smile gallant, and he was looking quite handsome in his shirtsleeves and vest.

“Mind if I sit for a moment?” He eyed the space next to her like he’d already purchased it. Her throat tightened in response. She knew nothing of this man. But he had helped her, or at least tried, and he seemed kind and upstanding.

Studying him, she assented through tight lips.

He situated himself at a respectful distance from her, his boots out in front of him as he sat one ankle crossed over the other, with his hands behind him to brace him. If one were analyzing his posture, he looked as comfortable as a person who’d been her friend for years.

“That was rather a retch-ed beginning, I’m afraid.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his terrible joke.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said, looking at her.

She glanced away. “Well, at least that’s something.” She purposely continued to look in the other direction. “The last time I looked at you, I caused you to vomit.”

“Let me assure you, it was not your countenance’s fault.”

Two compliments back-to-back. She cleared her throat. He knew nothing about her. He should not be flirting with her. She could be married for all he knew!

Clara sighed. “I suppose it was my maid, Beth, who started it. There you were, coming to our aid, and she had no compassion for your service.”

The timbre of his voice dropped a degree. “In truth, I am quite sorry about your shoes and clothing. Were you on your way somewhere important?”

“A friend’s house.”

“Will this friend understand your misfortune?”

She swallowed. It was a unique situation, but she hoped for grace from those she met there, especially her friend’s austere relations. “I think so.”

“Glad to hear it.” He leaned forward. “Might I ask where this friend is located?”

“Near here.”

His chin drew down in a slow nod. She wasn’t about to tell a stranger all her personal details.

He squared his shoulders toward her, and lifted one hand. “You . . . traveled alone to see this friend? With nothing but a maid for protection?”

Finally, he’d come almost to the question he should have asked in the beginning. She couldn’t help but smile as she revealed her trump card in this interview. “I am Mrs. Hughes.” She raised a brow. “And can therefore travel alone.”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat, and the hand he gestured with came down much farther from her than before. The whole of him seemed to wriggle away like she was a snake he’d just found in the grass.

She could correct his preliminary understanding.

But she wanted to ensure that he knew what she was doing traveling alone.

And suddenly, explaining more seemed too forward.

If she ever did marry again, sometime in the distant future, there’d be strict parameters she’d be looking for.

None of which involved actually finding someone charming.

He stood, and one would think the grass below him had caught fire. “Well, I had better be on my way. I was just passing by to a nearby town.” His awkwardness seemed plastered on him like the water still dripping from his sodden jacket.

“And which town is that?”

“One near here,” he said, pointing vaguely down the road.

“Ahhh.” She deserved that. “You delight in your secrets.”

His eyes flashed for a moment to a bundle she hadn’t first noticed attached to his mount. “Only as much as some young women I know.”

“Me?” With an incredulous hand, she touched her sternum. “No, I am purposefully vague in the case that rogue, nameless strangers turn out to be scoundrels or bandits despite their seemingly harmless first impressions and—dare I say—weak stomachs.”

He laughed and shook his head. She shouldn’t have flirted with him either. But she would not miss a retort to such a setup. The freedom to tease was something she’d never had before either.

“I must be on my way.” He tugged down his coat and dipped his head. After a curt nod to her driver, he took to his horse and was off.

He was a small speck blending in with the flat brownish rocks of the Derbyshire Peak District before she realized she didn’t get his name.

All of that, and no name!

It didn’t matter. She certainly wasn’t searching for a husband. Plus, paramount to all else, she must stick to her solidarity of purpose if she were going to save herself and maintain her independence. The unnamed man had nothing to do with her objectives.