The Reluctant Escort. Mary Nichols

soon written and given to the landlord to put on the mail and they went outside where three horses stood patiently waiting for their riders. He helped her to mount Jenny, then picked up the reins of Frank’s horse, which she learned was called Good Boy, and sprang nimbly into his own saddle.

      They turned and rode towards Norwich, sometimes cantering and, now and again, when it was safe to do so, putting the horses to a gallop. She rode well, he noticed. He noted other things too: her softly rounded breasts and trim waist, her bright eyes, always so full of life, her pink lips and the way a strand of her hair curled so lovingly into her neck. And he asked himself what in heaven’s name he was doing with her. Frank was right—he had run mad.

      When they crossed the river and entered the city, she was so diverted by the size of it, the busy streets, full of carts and carriages, the pedestrians and hawkers crying their wares and the shops and taverns, she could do nothing but gape.

      ‘I did not know it would be such a big place,’ she said. ‘Is it as large as London?’

      ‘Not quite. But it is an important centre of commerce. You will find all you need here.’

      He smiled indulgently as the road took them past the castle. She pulled up her horse to stare up at its looming grey wall. ‘Is it occupied?’

      ‘Oh, yes, by several hundred criminals.’

      ‘It’s a prison?’ She shuddered, imagining the Captain being confined there, and it occurred to her that the life he led was dangerous in the extreme. If he were arrested and taken from her, what would she do? Might she be arrested too for aiding him? Adventure for adventure’s sake was suddenly not so appealing. ‘Then the sooner we leave it behind the better,’ she said.

      ‘We must wait for Frank and Martha. In the meantime we shall go shopping.’

      ‘Good,’ she said, looking down at her habit, which was so dusty and crumpled it looked as though she had slept in it. ‘I tried to get the creases out but it proved impossible.’

      ‘We need to refresh ourselves first and the horses need stabling,’ he said, deciding that taking her as she was into a genteel establishment to buy the things a lady needed to travel to London would invite strange looks and he could not afford to arouse curiosity.

      He took her to The Bell where the rooms were superior to any they had had so far: a well-furnished bedroom and a sitting room with a table and chairs and an upholstered sofa.

      While she shut herself in the bedroom to strip off her clothes and wash, he changed into pantaloons and a clean shirt, tied a fresh cravat about his neck, donned waistcoat and frockcoat and left the building.

      He returned just as Molly came out of the bedchamber into the sitting room. She had asked the chambermaid to press her habit and it was a little more respectable than it had been but still bore evidence of a long ride. She had cleaned her face and now it was pink and glowing and her blue eyes sparkled. She had evidently borrowed a brush and spent some time on her hair, because it gleamed with health and she had put it up into a Grecian style, which suited her piquant face.

      His grandmother had been right, he decided; Molly Martineau would one day turn heads with her beauty. She was inexperienced and that was part of her charm, but he felt his loins stirring at the sight of her and realised he was not so impervious as he’d thought he was.

      ‘Here,’ he said, almost embarrassed, handing her the parcel he carried. ‘Put this on. It is, I think, more suitable for a shopping expedition than a riding habit.’

      She opened the package eagerly to reveal a simple round gown in turquoise muslin, with little puff sleeves and a round neck filled with lace. There was a little matching cape, white stockings, blue kid shoes and a reticule. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is very pretty. I could not have chosen anything I liked more. But will it fit?’

      ‘There is only one way to find out,’ he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. ‘Put it on and we will go out and buy more.’

      She needed no second bidding and disappeared into the bedchamber. Twenty minutes later she emerged once again, looking very fetching and smiling happily. ‘You guessed my size exactly, Captain. How very clever of you. Except the shoes are a little tight.’

      ‘I am sorry about that. Perhaps you could wear your riding boots…’

      ‘Oh, no, that will spoil the effect. I shall manage.’

      ‘Madam.’ He smiled at her, offering her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

      Laughing, she laid her hand upon his sleeve and together they went out into the street and strolled towards the centre of the city to the emporium where he had bought the gown and where he knew there were other establishments offering ladies’ apparel, as well as things like fans and reticules, parasols and footwear, underwear and toiletries.

      ‘Kit her out with everything she needs for a stay in London,’ he told one proprietress, whose name, according to the legend above the door of her establishment, was Mrs Hannah Solomon.

      ‘I am to have a Season,’ Molly told her. ‘Is that not exciting?’

      ‘Yes, indeed,’ the woman agreed. ‘So very sensible of your uncle to buy your requirements in Norwich. The prices in London are much higher.’

      Molly looked at Duncan when she mentioned her uncle and stifled a little giggle. He simply smiled and said nothing to put right the mistake.

      The morning flew by as he sat and watched her parade before him in day gowns, carriage gowns, riding habits, gloves, shoes, half-boots, hats, bonnets, capes, spencers and pelisses. His resolve to limit her spending was abandoned in the face of her pleasure.

      ‘Which shall it be?’ she asked, looking from a carriage dress and matching pelisse in soft green velvet to an afternoon gown of blue sarcenet. ‘I cannot make up my mind, so you choose.’

      ‘Then have them both.’

      ‘Oh, you are the most generous of men!’ she exclaimed as Mrs Solomon began folding the gowns to pack into boxes before he should change his mind. ‘I am beginning to revise my opinion that you are not chivalrous.’

      He bowed towards her. ‘And I am gratified to hear you say so.’

      ‘Madam will need underthings?’ Mrs Solomon queried, determined not to let this customer go until she had wrung every last drop out of the transaction.

      ‘Naturally she will,’ he said.

      ‘And she must have at least one ballgown,’ she went on. ‘I have just the thing.’ She disappeared through a curtain at the back of the premises and came back carrying a large dress box. ‘This was made for a young lady who changed her mind about buying it. You are of a size, I think.’ She opened the box and held the gown up against Molly.

      The overskirt was made of the palest blue-green crepe with an open front which floated round her like shimmering water. It had puffed sleeves and a deep round neckline filled with rouched lace and the bodice was caught under the bosom with a cluster of silk flowers in pale colours of pink, blue and lilac; more of the flowers trimmed the hem. The underskirt was of white satin. Molly ran her hands lovingly over it. ‘Oh, it is beautiful, but I do not know…’

      ‘Try it on,’ Duncan said.

      He watched as she disappeared into an adjoining room to put it on, a procedure which had been going on all morning. He had thought he would be bored by it, but he was captivated. She was so easy to please and he guessed she had had few such pleasures in her young life. He was prepared to wager that Harriet had all the gowns she needed, while her daughter had nothing but what would suit a schoolgirl.

      He looked up as Molly came back to stand before him. The gown fitted perfectly and her simple beauty took his breath away so that, for a moment, he could not speak.

      ‘What do you think?’ she demanded. ‘Is it not beautiful?’

      He swallowed hard. ‘Indeed, yes.’

      ‘It