Rogue in Red Velvet. Lynne Connolly

did it arrive?”

      “But two minutes ago. I thought you might like it now, since you’re breakfasting alone.” By which Saxton meant the vicar hadn’t just popped in to discuss some triviality with her. The vicar was a greedy man and Connie’s cook made good breakfasts.

      “Certainly and thank you.” She’d risen several hours ago and ridden out on estate business after consuming only a few slices of buttered bread and tea. The wind this morning was a lazy one, going right through her instead of around her and she’d looked forward to her meal, which she was now relishing in solitary splendor.

      She was glad she had no audience other than Saxton. Had Alex defied her wishes and written to her after all? Fumbling a little, she folded the paper open.

       My dearest Sweetheart,

       I cannot wait to make you mine.

       Everything is in train for your arrival. The Downhollands wish our union as soon as possible and I concur in that desire most fervently. I regret I cannot ride North to escort you to town but you will find a hearty welcome on your arrival. Please write and tell me of your plans. I will arrange to have you met and taken to the Downholland’s London residence.

       I find that I miss you more than I thought I could ever miss anyone and I need your love and support. I miss your tantalizing presence, your perfume and your good sense and I want to present you at Court.

       Yes, that is my main reason for asking you to come to London with all haste. I have obtained an invitation to attend St. James’s and if I were married before my visit, that would include my wife. I cannot decline such a treat on your behalf and I don’t hesitate to remind you that it would aid our fortunes, too. A honeymoon and a season of sightseeing would be conducive to your spirits, would it not?

       I am fortunate to have made the acquaintance of several influential people in town and I can promise you an enjoyable time during our stay. I have several appointments with men in the City, by which I hope to increase our holdings and secure us a greater income. I have also renewed my acquaintance with my second cousin, the Duke of Northwich, and he has kindly extended an invitation to attend his house for tea after we are wed. When we are done with London we will return to our home with all due dispatch and begin our married life in complete amity.

       I understand the stage leaves for London every day from Carlisle, so it might be better if you catch that, or if you require more comfort, a post chaise should prove adequate. We should think of purchasing a good travelling carriage on our return home.

       I wait impatiently for your letter,

       Yours, etc.

       Jasper Dankworth.

      Of course, Alex wouldn’t write. She’d told him not to. But she couldn’t deny the sense of hollow disappointment filling her now.

      Saxton should really have left the room but she was no doubt waiting for some juicy titbit that would enliven the Saxton household when she went home at the end of the week.

      Connie schooled her features, put the letter gently face down and asked for more tea. The maid bustled out, the lappets of her cap whipping out behind her in her haste to leave the room.

      Connie had some mending to do after breakfast, which left her clear to think. As her fingers flew over the sheets and the handkerchiefs, she pondered the letter. Apart from the lack of transport, it seemed a reasonable request but she was puzzled that he hadn’t sent a carriage or arranged for a post chaise, much as she disliked that form of transport.

      Or at least, that the Downhollands hadn’t done so. They had arranged for one for her recent visit to their house.

      If he’d obtained an invitation to a presentation at court, that was a coup, although she’d have to buy a mantua, an old-fashioned gown she’d have no use for afterwards. Or she’d wager she could hire one.

      She dropped the sheet she’d darned and picked up a handkerchief that needed edging.

      Jasper’s protestations of love and passion seemed a trifle overdone but gentlemen often paid extravagant compliments in the hope they would receive more in return. Hastily, Connie moved away from that thought, although she would have welcomed the attentions of someone else in her bed and concentrated on turning the corner of the handkerchief neatly. Alex was someone she must never think of again, except as a passing acquaintance.

      By the end of a relatively restful afternoon, she had made her decision. She was to dine at the vicarage that night and as Saxton helped her dress, she put matters in train.

      “I need a ticket to London on the stage next Wednesday. Two tickets. Inside the coach, please. I’ve written a note to Mr. Dankworth, telling him of my arrival and I want that sent as soon as possible.” She picked up the string of amethyst beads she’d inherited from her mother. Not as grand as most London ensembles, but it would do. It would certainly do for tonight. She straightened so Saxton could tighten her stays.

      “I’ll require someone to accompany me. I’d prefer you, Saxton, since you’re a sensible woman and unlikely to let the sights overcome you but if you decide you cannot, Benton will do. I’ll be marrying Mr. Dankworth in London. We’ll hold a ball when we return to celebrate the event locally.” They could hire the Assembly Rooms in local Pantown. “Saxton, can you please stop tugging at my laces? That’s quite tight enough.”

      Although Connie was standing with her back to Saxton she could see her in the mirror. The maid’s round face flushed beet red. “Sorry ma’am.” She must be overset, because she didn’t call her Missus. Or maybe she was excited. The untypical fumbling was a clue. “I’ll tell Harrison about the letter and I’ll send him to buy the tickets in the morning. Just wondering, ma’am but why don’t you hire a chaise?”

      “I don’t see why I should pay a fortune to travel in that kind of discomfort. It’s fast, to be sure but the roads aren’t suitable, or at least the ones we took weren’t. So I might as well pay a modest amount and still be uncomfortable.”

      The only way she’d travel in comfort was on a good road, preferably a turnpike, in a well-sprung, private vehicle, taking its time. Since she couldn’t afford that, she’d make do with the stage.

      “Yes, missus.”

      At least they were back to that.

      * * * *

      Could people die of boredom?

      When Connie thought there was nothing new to say about the weather, one of her fellow passengers on this godforsaken vehicle thought of something else.

      The occupants of the inside of the coach were so respectable they could have given her vicar a run for his money. They discussed the weather, the French, who they hated to the last man and woman, the strangeness of the Londoner and the irresponsibility of the ruling class. Especially its young men who did nothing that they didn’t want to.

      Connie could have disabused them of that notion but she chose not to. However much the motherly woman sitting opposite her probed and poked, she enlightened her no further.

      After the first day’s excitement and the first night’s uncomfortable lodging, when she shared a sagging rope-bed with her maid, Connie spent most of the next day’s travel catching up on her sleep. The days passed until they had only two more nights on the road before they reached London.

      By the time they reached Leicester, she was heartily sick of travelling. When the coach stopped for a meal and a change of horses, she took the air with Saxton in tow. Better than eating food she didn’t really want in the stuffy taproom of the inn.

      “Come, Saxton.”

      The maid accompanied Connie, grumbling under her breath, her stout figure wobbling on the uneven cobbles of the coaching inn yard.

      They strolled along the street, Connie relishing the fresh air and the lack of tedious