Page 6 of The Spinster’s Secret Stake (Ladies of Opportunity #2)

SIX

Montpelier Row

Blackheath, England

3 May 1819—Around half past ten in the morning

What was the worst that could happen?

Mrs. Beale would say no.

Roxina rapped Mrs. Beale’s brass knocker—a cat’s face, of course. The door flew open at once, as if the elderly woman had been watching out her front window.

Given Mrs. Beale’s propensity to snoop—ah, sleuth—she probably had.

“Would you like to accompany me to St. Alfege Church this morning?” Roxina asked without preamble. She had little time to spare after oversleeping and baking this morning, but as she passed Mrs. Beale’s gate, the impulse to invite her to church seized Roxina.

“You are very kind to think of me, my dear, but my gout no longer allows long treks.” Expression slightly unsure, Mrs. Beale offered a tentative smile. “Would you care to join me for supper this evening? I make a fine chicken pasty, if I don’t say so myself.”

“That would be delightful.” Roxina swept her lips upward into an answering smile. “I made a rhubarb crumble this morning. I shall bring it.”

Noticing the panting dog at her side, Mrs. Beale raised her eyebrows. “Taken in that scruffy creature, have you?”

“Yes, I felt sorry for him.” Roxina dropped Dash an affectionate glance. “Dash is a gentle soul, and I like the company.”

“You have a tender heart, Miss Danforth.” The elderly woman gave a knowing nod, her chins folding in on themselves like a well-stacked pile of crumpets. “I suspected that the first time I saw you.”

Roxina very much doubted that but said nothing. Mrs. Beale’s opinion of her had not always been favorable. But then, neither had hers been of Mrs. Beale.

“You wouldn’t have extended such kindness to an old woman if you did not.” Holding one of her tabbies with her gnarled hands, Mrs. Beale ran her arthritic fingers over the green-eyed cat’s soft fur.

“I rescued my four darlings as well. Someone dumped them at Blackheath Common five years ago. I heard their pitiful cries when I walked by.” A twinkle lit her eyes. “I could still walk quite well back then.”

“I’m sure,” Roxina murmured politely.

She really must be on her way. She hated being one of the last to arrive and chance interrupting the service.

“Can you imagine what sort of dastardly person would do such a horrid thing to an innocent animal?” Features hardening, Mrs. Beale pursed her lips in disapproval. “There is a special place in hell for such wretches.”

Roxina gave a brief nod, the gentle breeze ruffling her bonnet’s ribbons. “Unfortunately, the world is full of scoundrels and scapegraces.”

Her brother and Shelby instantly came to mind, though she no longer believed Shelby to be a scallywag.

Would she ever see either again?

Did they ever think of her?

She doubted it.

That truth didn’t wound her as much as it once would have done.

Perhaps she had learned to forgive, or at the very least, move on.

Mrs. Beale’s spoiled pet regarded Dash warily, the disdain in its bottle-green eyes making it abundantly clear that if it could speak, it would voice a strongly worded complaint about the intrusion of canines into its domain.

Sitting on his haunches, his tongue lolling as he panted, Dash thumped his tail with the contentment of a dog who had known want.

“I know what it is like to be alone, Miss Danforth.” Mrs. Beale peered at her, sincerity and earnestness creasing her plump features. “If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. We women must stick together.”

At her kindness, a sudden rush of emotions formed a lump in Roxina’s throat.

“Thank you. I shall. I had better be on my way, or I shall be late.” With a little wave, she bid Mrs. Beale good morning. “I look forward to supping with you.”

And Roxina did.

She had been wise to reach out to her crusty neighbor—her first friend in Blackheath.

With Dash at her side, Roxina enjoyed the twenty-minute walk to St. Alfege. The warm spring morning lifted her spirits, and the troubles of the previous night faded away.

The lane stretched ahead, a winding path flanked by fields of green, wildflowers bursting in patches of white, yellow, and purple. A copse of elm trees lined a portion of the roadside, their canopy of leaves fluttering in the breeze.

Small cottages with graying thatched roofs and stone or brick walls stood in tidy rows, smoke curling lazily from chimneys where morning fires had been set. Geese waddled along a nearby pond, honking their displeasure at a boy who tossed pebbles into the water. Overhead, a kestrel soared, its keen gaze sweeping the ground below for prey.

Roxina smiled at a woman in a cornflower-blue bonnet in the latest fashion, exchanging pleasantries with another lady standing near a whitewashed cottage where several chickens pecked at the dirt, searching for insects. The chatter of pedestrians, the clip-clop of horses, and the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer formed a familiar symphony.

The gentle hum of village life wrapped around her like a comforting shawl.

For now, she considered this home.

Basking in the warm sunlight and listening to the occasional whir of a dove as it took flight, Roxina made her way along the dusty, rutted track, leaving the outskirts of Blackheath for Greenwich. She nodded at occasional passersby and more than once stepped to the side to allow a coach, carriage, or horseman to pass her.

Seemingly accustomed to pedestrians and vehicles, Dash’s pace never faltered.

The breeze teased the hem of her yellow gown as she strolled along, the top two buttons of her cream-colored spencer left undone.

The first new shiny half-boots she had owned in years peeked out from beneath the fabric with every step, the soft leather molding comfortably to her feet. Her freshly acquired gloves, pristine and snug, encased her hands, the delicate stitching a mark of fine craftsmanship.

Such simple luxuries.

A sense of serenity she had never experienced encompassed Roxina. Her straw bonnet’s white ribbon whipped across her face, and she flicked it away, half-turning at the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle.

A mud-splattered black coach bore down upon her. Alarm sent her heart vaulting to her throat as she grabbed Dash’s new collar and pulled him to the side.

What was the driver thinking, careening along at such a breakneck speed and in such a reckless fashion? Not only did pedestrians travel along this route, but conveyances also frequently passed through.

His hackles raised, and crouching low, Dash flattened his ears and barred his teeth.

His abrupt behavior change startled Roxina.

Until now, he had been nothing but docile.

Amid a cloud of dust and crushed grass, the coach careened to a sudden halt beside her.

Two burly men reached Roxina before she could lift her skirts to flee or call for help. The brutes reeked of ale and sweat, their soiled clothes adding to their foul stench. One bore a scar from temple to jaw, his yellowed, broken teeth flashing as he assessed her with a lewd grin. The other, broader and more imposing, possessed a thick neck and a nose battered by past brawls.

Snarling and snapping at the culprits’ heels, Dash tried to protect her.

Run. Run, Dash, run !

Hell-bent on drawing blood, Dash bit one abductor in the ankle, yanking hard enough to make the man stumble into his accomplice. The enraged dog then clamped his teeth onto the other’s ample bum, evoking a string of expletives vulgar enough to make a sailor blush.

Each man roughly seized one of Roxina’s arms, and one slapped a grimy hand over her mouth, cutting off her shriek of rage and fear. Before she could fight back, they shoved her into the waiting coach.

The other bounder sent a well-placed boot into Dash’s chest.

The dog yelped and flew backward, rolling over several times on the track.

Dash !

Infuriated all the more, Roxina struggled harder, kicking at her captors.

Their guttural curses grated in the air, and their crushing grips tightened on her arms.

She bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs.

The next instant, the other abductor backhanded her, and she slumped into unconsciousness.