Page 14

W hy Jacob ever thought himself a capable escort for Miss Waters to a place he himself had never visited was not something he could reasonably explain.

He liked to think himself a capable and adaptable sort of fellow, but years of being trained in handling accounts and managing people could only go so far in terms of protecting a young lady from highwaymen.

Miss Waters herself, along with a bright-eyed Betsy, might not have understood the risks when they’d weaved their way through Hounslow Heath, or when fellow stagecoach passengers of the more unsavory sort looked at the pair of them appraisingly, but Jacob did.

And he breathed a keen sigh of relief once they were past the notorious grounds for highwaymen.

They stopped for a change of horses, as well as passengers, after that.

And after another ten, uneventful minutes devoid of attacks or assaults, Jacob finally allowed himself to breathe easy.

He had not been raised to be much of an adventurer, but he was still committed to do his best in protecting the two women currently under his care.

It was an added blessing if his commitment didn’t have to be put to the actual test.

“Are you all right?” Miss Waters’ voice piped up. Jacob met her eyes.

Her frame, usually slender, looked even smaller than usual when tucked beside Betsy’s plump form and two other women traveling along with them. At least Jacob, while having to sit facing the rear, only had to share his bench with one other portly gentleman traveler.

“I am well.” Jacob offered a smile. He liked the answering one she flashed back at him—even if it did come along with another flirtatious wink from Betsy. That maid would be the death of him. “Do I not look well? I assure you I took extra care with my cravat this morning.”

Miss Waters laughed, and Jacob wished there were no other strangers with them in the carriage.

Such a sweet smile belonged in the drawing room, not on a public trip to an unknown city, for a vague and uncertain purpose.

But whatever it was that this Sir George Staunton represented seemed to be important to Miss Waters, and Jacob was hardly one to argue against a young person having a mind of her own.

His own life would be so much easier if Father realized that little fact.

“You look well, if you must know,” said Miss Waters, “although perhaps a little—pensive.”

She was growing more perceptive by the day.

Jacob sighed. “Only a bit of fatigue from the road.”

“Hear, hear,” said the older gentleman beside Jacob. “One would think with all the tolls collected that they would keep the roads in better order.”

“Hm,” Jacob hummed.

“It shan’t take more than a day to reach Salisbury, should it?” asked Miss Waters. “We can rest and lodge for an evening, if you’d like.”

It was a kind offer, considering how urgently Jacob knew she wished to consult this baronet of hers.

And Jacob should wish to conclude the trip quickly, if only to effectively conclude his responsibility towards her.

But, somehow, the thought of spending a bit more time with Miss Waters was not entirely unappealing.

“ Do you wish to take another day?” he asked her instead.

The two other women—poor gentlefolk, by the look of their clothing—cast curious glances towards them.

There was always a risk in conversing in a public conveyance.

“Sir—Mil—” He considered how wise it was to reveal their destination given their lack of privacy.

None of their fellow passengers might appear particularly dangerous, but years in trade had taught him to use caution whenever possible.

It was a principle he’d followed faithfully—until encountering Amelia Waters.

“Your relative’s home is not quite so far as to necessitate it. ”

“I know.” She looked down. Only then did Jacob notice her fingers shaking. Was she more nervous than he was, after all?

If they were traveling in a private coach, without the need to jostle with others or to succumb to the whims of a convenient if imperfect assortment of schedules, then he might suggest they take their time—to find decent lodgings and remain rested and alert.

But given that they barely had the luxury of a private conversation, Jacob wasn’t particularly keen on extending their journey unnecessarily. If anything were to happen to Miss Waters—he would be the most responsible party. And the thought of failing in that role troubled him.

“Perhaps we can make a stop, just for a meal,” he offered gently. Miss Waters looked back at him gratefully. “A quick refreshment should help us all as we?—”

A sudden hard lurch was followed by a loud, splintering sound.

A collection of female voices screamed so loudly that it very nearly drowned out the noises coming from the teetering carriage.

Within seconds, the stage coach had dipped entirely to its side, even as the horses continued to haul it forward.

“Oh!” Miss Waters clutched the edge of the carriage door.

She looked frightened, yet not wholly lost to hysterics the way the other three women were.

Jacob braced his limbs against the carriage walls instinctively, as if making sure the sides did not cave in towards them.

To his right, the older gentleman did the same.

Their turned vehicle dragged on. The bumpy road felt even more uneven than usual as it grumbled underneath them.

Prayers and wails abounded. Was this how they died—as an assortment of strangers traveling away from London for one purpose or another?

It felt like a climactic yet anticlimactic way to meet one’s demise all at the same time.

A dozen erratic heartbeats later, their broken conveyance finally screeched to a stop, causing a few heads to bump, against the roof and against each other.

But they were alive. That was what mattered .

The sounds of neighing and clicking horseshoes faded away. Someone must finally have cut the horses loose.

Jacob took a moment to catch his breath and whisper a prayer of thanks.

Life-threatening moments had their way of drawing a man’s every last drop of piety up to the surface.

His father might well believe in the power of his wealth, but Jacob knew better than to think everything in life happened entirely by chance or human will alone.

He looked up, although it was perhaps more strictly sideways given the way the carriage tilted.

Dark almond eyes sparkled at him, brightened by adventure.

Miss Waters’ rose lips glistened, slightly parted as she panted.

If not for the need to keep himself balanced in their lopsided carriage, he would already have tugged her into his arms.

Jacob swallowed. He’d found her intriguing from the start. Now, he was finding her attractive. And that was certainly something an engaged man had no business doing.

The door above them opened, nearly jolting Jacob off his precarious perch both slightly above and across Miss Waters.

“Carriage wheel broke,” barked the driver. “Ye alright in there?”

They all murmured a mixed chorus of assurances and complaints.

“Let’s get ye out of there.”

Carefully, Jacob extricated himself immediately after his gentlemanly neighbor.

And, working hand in hand with the driver, they led out the remaining occupants one by one—each of them shocked, shaken, and a bit disheveled.

Everyone looked the worse for wear, except Amelia, who seemed somehow more awake and energized than she had been this morning .

Jacob smiled. There were more and more things to like about her with every passing hour.

“Can you fix it?”

Jacob turned just as the other gentleman questioned the driver.

The driver shrugged. “Not with the tools I have with me.”

Jacob glanced over at the carriage, one of its wheels ripped clean off its side. He swallowed. The fact that no one was hurt beyond a bruise or two was certainly providential.

“We can’t possibly all wait here the whole day,” the gentleman insisted, addressing their driver.

“No, sir.”

“And what do you expect us to do?”

“There’s an inn down the road. That way, a good hour’s walk.” The driver flicked his thumb westward. “Should ‘ave enough room for the lot of you.”

“A whole hour?” one of the female travelers wailed.

“What sort of inn?” the other one asked, frowning.

“We’ll be fine. We can walk it,” said Amelia. Jacob turned to find her beside him, eyes sparkling up towards him. “It cannot be worse than a ship to China.”

And, somehow, despite it all, she’d managed to make him chuckle.

“Quite a hero, ain’t he?” Betsy heaved a deep, dreamy sigh as she brushed Amelia’s hair that night.

The room they were meant to share at the inn wasn’t large by any measure, but Amelia was thankful that they at least had a room.

Mr. Hawthorne’s tight quarters next door—practically a mattress shoved into a closet—could hardly be called one.

“Master Jacob always had that hero’s look about him. ”

“He was very kind, yes,” Amelia agreed absent-mindedly. In her hands, she stroked her mother’s jewelry box. It felt small between her fingers—delicate, almost fragile. It was a fitting representation of her tenuous grasp on her past, she supposed. “I am glad he is escorting us.”

“Impossible to travel without him,” Betsy declared with confidence as she lowered the brush. “You need anything else, miss?”

“Nothing else, thank you.” Amelia smiled at the maid. The short, plump figure and large round eyes made Betsy look almost childlike for the most part, even if Amelia knew the girl couldn’t be much younger than she. “Do you need to sleep?”

“Always, miss.” Betsy chuckled.