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A village on the road to Derbyshire

A melia did not believe in luck.

It was a coincidence that she’d spotted a single magpie overhead, and less than an hour later, the forward left wheel of their carriage had fractured. Coincidence, not luck.

It was also a coincidence that the incident had occurred deep in the forest, miles and miles from civilization, with only a single small village reachable by foot. And that the only blacksmith in residence had taken a holiday to visit his sister in Cumbria.

A weeklong holiday in the Lake District? It was as if the entire world had gone mad.

Except that Amelia was also traveling north to visit her sister.

Hopefully, the blacksmith had not been beset by so many coincidences on his journey.

Amelia twirled the mother-of-pearl inlaid bangle that her sister Dominique had given her on her last birthday.

She’d worn it nearly every day for the last month in anticipation of the journey.

She had not seen her sister, brother-in-law, or niece in nearly a year.

The child would not recognize her. Amelia had already resigned herself to the fact.

But she hoped the pile of presents packed away in her trunk would win the one-year-old over quickly.

The driver had remained back with the carriage, managing horses and said piles of luggage, which left Amelia to trudge on to the nearest village, seeking—but not finding—assistance. She had secured lodgings at the only inn the village boasted.

Amelia mentally ticked off items as she walked.

The carriage could not be mended at present, but she’d paid a stable boy to bring word to the inn once the blacksmith returned.

Tick . She’d obtained two rooms from Mr. Towbridge at the inn, so that both she and her companion, Miss Darrow, would have some measure of privacy.

If they were to be in residence for a week, it would be necessary.

Tick . She’d already mentally composed the letter she would send to her sister, alerting her of the delay.

Half-tick . Now she needed to update Miss Darrow on their status.

She’d left her elderly companion perusing ribbons at the tiny haberdashery, but Amelia was not surprised to find the lady outside the establishment rather than in. Miss Darrow tended to wander.

Tall and straight, despite her age, Miss Darrow was in an animated conversation with an equally statuesque blonde woman that Amelia did not recognize.

The woman looked about Amelia’s own age of twenty-eight, though it could have been the casual confidence and elegance that exuded from the woman that had Amelia adding years.

“Miss Wartham!” Miss Darrow called as she spotted Amelia. For a woman well into her seventh decade, Miss Darrow’s voice was unusually girlish. It made her difficult to ignore—not that the elderly woman gave Amelia much of a chance.

A flush of discomfort rolled through Amelia’s stomach. She’d had enough excitement for one day. She’d have preferred to retire to her room at the inn posthaste and take a nap rather than smile at a new acquaintance. But smile she did as she joined the two women.

“I apologize for the delay, Miss Darrow. My search for the smithy came up short, I’m afraid, though I see you’ve been well entertained in my absence.” Her voice lifted on the last word in time with her eyebrows.

“Lady Blake recognized me from afar.” Miss Darrow smiled, squeezing the other woman’s hand with a proprietary familiarity that only the elderly seemed entitled to.

“Miss Darrow and my great aunt Charlotte were debutantes together,” Lady Blake, the lovely blonde, explained. “I admit I’d never formally made Miss Darrow’s acquaintance, but Aunt Charlotte pointed her out many times through the years—and spoke most kindly of you.”

Fondness warmed Amelia’s belly. Despite Miss Darrow’s predilection for finding friends in even the most remote of places, she adored her companion. She often wondered who was chaperoning who.

The smile she gave to Lady Blake this time wasn’t forced at all. “Then I consider us well met. I am Miss Amelia Wartham.”

“Indeed!” Lady Blake agreed. “And a pleasure to meet you, after hearing Miss Darrow sing your praises. Now what of the smithy, dear?”

“He’s taken a holiday to the Lake District, apparently, and is not expected to return until the week’s end.” Amelia kept the exasperation out of her voice, but only just a little. “But I’ve spoken with the innkeeper. We’ll have lodgings for the wait, and I can send a note to my sister.”

She expected the disappointment in Miss Darrow’s crinkled features. While Amelia preferred her own company, Miss Darrow thrived on interaction. It usually made them well-matched as companions. Miss Darrow did the talking, and Amelia could sip an appropriate libation in relative peace.

Perhaps Lady Blake lived nearby and would invite them for tea or a meal. That would break up the monotony for Miss Darrow.

But Miss Darrow’s blue eyes lit with excitement. Her mouth curved upward in a blinding smile, making her suddenly appear at least a decade younger. That flush of anxiety in Amelia’s stomach roared back to life.

“What luck!” Lady Blake exclaimed. “I am hosting a house party this very week. It is just a short ride from the village, and we have more than enough room to accommodate two additional guests. I would be honored if you joined us!”

A house party. Amelia would rather have camped in the woods where their carriage had gone awry. She was supposed to be ensconced in Derbyshire with her sister and niece. A delay was bad enough, but the prospect of a comfortable room and time to read by herself was at least a decent consolation.

“That is kind but unnecessary. We shall be perfectly well accommodated here,” Amelia said. But even she recognized the weakness of the protest and the yearning on Miss Darrow’s face.

“Mr. Towbridge runs a lovely establishment,” Lady Blake agreed before she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Mrs. Towbridge is an industrious sort, but by the end of the week, you’ll be so full of potatoes and porridge that you won’t be able to move.”

Amelia sighed. Logically, there was no reason for her to refuse. If Miss Darrow vouched for Lady Blake, then she must be suitable enough. Miss Darrow might be excitable, but she was not unintelligent. In fact, she could be downright sneaky when she tried to be.

“We could hardly refuse such a kind invitation,” Miss Darrow said, casting a long look in Amelia’s direction. She infused the expression with just a hint of reprobation, reminding Amelia that she was technically the chaperone, the elder of them.

Amelia suppressed a very unladylike snort.

Before she could argue further, the indomitable Lady Blake had summoned her driver and given instructions to where their own coach and driver waited.

Miss Darrow was positively glowing as the driver handed her up into Lady Blake’s unbroken conveyance. Amelia glared at the four perfectly functional carriage wheels. If Lady Blake truly wanted to be of assistance, she’d lend them her carriage.

That is an unkind thought , she admonished herself.

Lady Blake was hosting a house party. She would need her own carriage for outings.

Amelia steeled herself and returned to her list. Lodgings secured.

Tick . Miss Darrow updated—or rather, Miss Darrow had updated her.

Tick . She would write her letter to Dominique as soon as they arrived—

“Did you forget about me?”

A voice like molten chocolate flooded Amelia’s ears. She almost opened her mouth to taste it.

“You are impossible to forget.”

“An observation meant as a compliment, I am sure.”

“Believe what you like.”

“Have you acquired additional passengers?”

“Indeed! Miss Darrow, Miss Wartham, I apologize for neglecting to tell you that my annoying brother also accompanied me into town.”

Someone said a name. Amelia was certain that they must have. Lady Blake or her brother, one of them had said his name. But Amelia missed it. She was too busy drowning in her own senses. She watched through a mist as the tall blond man, a male match for his sister, bowed over Miss Darrow’s hand.

Then he reached for hers.

Amelia had heard of people being struck by lightning. It was a fable, mostly. Bad luck. I don’t believe in luck , she reminded herself.

But when Lady Blake’s brother lifted her hand to his lips, she was tempted to look up at the clear blue sky in search of a lightning bolt.

Her entire body tingled. Heat radiated out from her knuckles, through her wrist, and up her arm.

“We are so blessed to have you join us, Miss Wartham,” that man said. It had the same effect on her as before. Except that this time, her legs felt a bit weak. She grabbed the door of the carriage.

Miss Darrow said something. Then Lady Blake. Then they were all climbing into the carriage. Lady Blake’s brother climbed up to join the driver.

Amelia stared down at her hand, folded in her lap. And murmured a silent prayer of thanks for Miss Darrow and her endless stream of chatter. Because Amelia did not think she could form a coherent sentence if her life depended upon it.