Georgie followed him out to his curricle. A young groom was holding the heads of a pair of magnificent black horses; they pawed the ground with their hooves, seemingly impatient.
‘Do you want me to drive them, sir?’ the groom asked, glancing at his master whom he knew to be just up from his sick bed. ‘They’ve got the devil in them at the moment.’
‘You can ride behind, Ned,’ Richard said, his mouth thinning with determination. ‘I’ll tell you if I need you to take over.’
‘Right you are, Captain. Just asking.’
Richard nodded. He handed Georgie into the curricle and then got up beside her, the young groom jumping up at the back. Richard’s progress was clearly hampered by the wound to his thigh, but he managed it without a wince, though Georgie saw his cheek tighten and guessed it had hurt him to do it. She wondered then if he were quite well, but decided to say nothing. His tone to the groom had been sharp and she did not wish to bring his anger down on her own head.
If he was in pain, it did not affect his handling of the superb matched pair and they were soon bowling along at a fair pace. Once or twice people walking in the street put their hand up to him, and she saw a few curious eyes turned on her, as if they were wondering who she might be. Of course they saw a young lad, not a lady, and must imagine she was Captain Hernshaw’s nephew or some such thing. She pulled her cap on tighter, making sure that it could not become dislodged by a gust of wind. She did not want any of these fashionable ladies and gentlemen realising that she was not a boy, but a young woman—especially as she had seen two ladies whom she recalled as being friends of her mother. They would think her behaviour shocking, and, she acknowledged, they would be perfectly right.
She had run away from the protection of her mother’s brother, spent two weeks living rough on the streets of London amongst thieves, prostitutes and worse, and then she had gone to the house of a gentleman she did not know, living in his house for more than a week without a proper chaperon. It was a scandalous tale and anyone hearing it without explanation would think her lost to all shame. Indeed, if it became common knowledge she would be ruined.
She would not allow any of it to weigh with her, Georgie decided. Once this journey was over she would put the memory behind her, forget she had ever met Captain Hernshaw and his servants. Yet even as she thought it she felt a pang of regret. A part of her longed to be back where she belonged, wearing pretty clothes and mixing in society, but another part of her wished that their journey might go on for much longer than two days.
* * *
In that, at least, it looked as if she might have her way, Georgie realised when they stopped later that afternoon. The journey had been delayed twice so far for Captain Hernshaw had pulled over into a quiet country lay-by about an hour after leaving the busy streets of London behind. He had given his groom the reins and sat back, allowing the youth to take over. A glance at his white face had been sufficient to tell Georgie that he had found driving more of a strain than he had imagined. After a longish stop for nuncheon at an inn, he had called a halt at just past four in the afternoon, declaring that they would stay the night at a pleasant country inn some ten miles short of the destination he had planned.
‘This is very pretty,’ she said as he gave her his hand to help her down. ‘It will not be as noisy as the posting inn you planned on using.’
‘No,’ he said, his mouth thinned and pale, as if he were holding himself on a tight rein. ‘But I cannot vouch for the beds. They do not always air them as they ought in these places.’
‘Oh, I am sure it will be quite comfortable here,’ Georgie said. ‘We must hope that they have enough rooms for us.’
‘Yes, that is a point,’ Richard said. ‘We need three, but at a pinch I could share with Henderson.’
‘Should you not find that uncomfortable?’
‘Perhaps.’ He smiled oddly. ‘But I can hardly share with you, can I? Though I might find it preferable. Ned will sleep with the horses, for he is used to it, and tells me he snores proper dreadful—his words, not mine.’
Georgie blushed and turned away, for there was something in his eyes at that moment she found strangely disturbing. It was one of the few times he had said anything that made her aware of their situation.
‘No, of course you cannot sleep in my room,’ she replied. ‘We must hope they have three rooms to let.’
Fortunately for all of them the landlord did have three rooms to offer and seemed pleased to have company. He said that his wife was preparing supper and that she would cook an extra capon or two to cater for the gentleman’s needs.
Richard thanked him for his consideration, telling him that they would be content with whatever was served. He asked Georgie if she could amuse herself for an hour or two and went straight up to his own chamber. Georgie realised that he probably needed to rest his leg and she went to her bedchamber, which was small but suited to the young lad she was supposed to be. She made herself comfortable and returned to the public rooms. She did not stop there, but went out of the back door into a garden.
It was a country inn and the host was a family man. His wife had washing blowing on a rope line in the backyard, and there were three children all under the age of eleven playing games. The eldest, a girl, had a hoop, which she was rolling along the ground by means of a stick, hitting it at just the right moment so that it continued to turn and stay upright. The smallest, a boy, was running behind her, laughing and begging for his turn, and a girl of about six was sitting on an upturned bucket nursing a rag doll.
Georgie went up to her. The child was singing a song, her face intent as she nursed her baby. ‘What is her name?’ she asked, squatting down on a bale of hay close by. ‘She is very pretty.’
‘I call her Rosie,’ the girl said with a shy smile. ‘She is my baby.’
‘I can see that she is,’ Georgie said. ‘Do you like nursing her?’
‘My name is Rose,’ the girl told her in a confiding manner. ‘Ma had a baby, but she died. I don’t want my baby to die.’
‘Oh, I am sure she won’t,’ Georgie said. ‘Not if you look after her.’
The girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked it, considering for a moment or two before asking, ‘What is your name?’
‘Georgie.’
‘My brother is called George,’ the girl said. ‘He is horrid. He never wants to play with me, only Shirley.’
‘That is a shame,’ Georgie said. ‘But brothers are like that sometimes. I dare say he doesn’t mean to be horrid to you.’
‘Would you like to hold Rosie? She likes you.’
‘Yes, why not,’ Georgie said. She held out her hands for the doll, cradling it carefully as if it were a real baby. Rose got up and came to sit beside her on the straw. ‘You’re nice. I thought all boys were horrid like my brother, but you’re not.’
Georgie laughed. ‘I expect you will find that some boys are nice when you grow up,’ she said.
Something made her turn her head at that moment to look up at the inn windows. Captain Hernshaw was standing looking down at her, an odd expression in his eyes. She smiled a little uncertainly and turned back to the child. He was suffering, she was certain of it, but he would not ask for help, though perhaps he would accept it from Henderson if he really needed it. She knew a longing to go to him and offer her help, but she was certain he would send her away; he did not need her, for he had his manservant, but it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she needed him.
Richard watched Georgie for a few minutes before she became aware of him. When she was laughing she looked too pretty to be a boy and he