Pride in Regency Society: Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife / The Earl's Runaway Bride. Sarah Mallory

it, Mrs Wylder.’

      ‘I shall have more than that.’

      ‘Ma’am?’

      Eve put her hands on her hips and looked at him. ‘Go and change into dry clothes, Mr Granby. And order my carriage. We are going to Hastings.’

      Granby’s smile vanished. ‘Hastings! Now?’

      ‘Yes, now. As soon as we are packed.’

      ‘But, madam, there is not the least need—’

      ‘There is every need,’ she flung at him. ‘I am anxious to know that I am not the widow of a common villain!’

      ‘Mrs Wylder, I beg of you, at least postpone your journey until this storm has eased.’

      

      Richard Granby stood beside Eve in the doorway, looking out with dismay at the rain that lashed the house while the coachman packed the trunks securely, water running from the brim of his hat and his oiled coat.

      ‘I am determined to reach Hastings today,’ she retorted. ‘You may ride in the carriage with Martha and me, if you do not wish to get another soaking.’

      The valet declined the offer, and clambered miserably up beside Dan Coachman.

      ‘He is afraid I shall interrogate him further,’ remarked Eve cheerfully as she climbed into the carriage.

      Her maid sniffed as she settled herself beside her mistress. ‘Mr Granby was only trying to save you unnecessary worry, Miss Eve.’

      ‘Is that what he has told you, Martha?’

      ‘No, madam, but I know he’s a good man.’

      ‘Is he?’ Eve looked closely at her maid. ‘You seem to be uncommon friendly with Richard Granby.’

      Martha flushed, but she said stiffly, ‘Given his position and mine, it is only natural that we should talk.’

      Eve forbore to tease her. ‘Of course it is,’ she said, turning her mind back to her own worries. ‘And if Mr Granby has passed on anything concerning my husband’s death, I would like you to tell me, Martha. I shall not be easy until I know what sort of business it was that took my husband away from Makerham in such haste. I hope we may find some answers at Hastings.’ She leaned back against the thickly padded seat. ‘And I confess I want to see where Nick spent his last days,’ she murmured to herself.

      

      The wind howled around them, rocking the carriage while the heavy rain drummed on the roof and pattered against the windows. The pace was necessarily slow. The storm grew worse as they neared the coast and it was a relief to drive through Rye, for although the cobbles shook the coach until Eve’s teeth rattled in her head, at least the houses gave them some shelter from the buffeting winds. The carriage slowed to a stop and Eve leaned forwards to peer out of the window. A horseman had stopped beside them and was shouting something at the coachman.

      Eve let down the window. ‘What is it, is there a problem?’

      The rider turned to look at her, touching his hand to his sodden hat.

      ‘Aye, ma’am. The Winchelsea road is closed. They wanted to take advantage of the dry weather to repair the road, but the dam—dashed fools didn’t start it until yesterday. Now the grass verge is too wet to take the weight of a carriage and there’s only room for a horse to squeeze by.’

      ‘Is there another route?’ asked Eve.

      The rider nodded. ‘Aye, you can go via Broad Oak Cross and then south through Battle.’

      Granby leaned down from the box, shaking his head at her. ‘That’s a long journey, Mrs Wylder. Dan says he must proceed slowly if we are not to be overturned by the high winds on the open road.’

      ‘Then that is what we shall do,’ said Eve decisively. ‘Tell him to drive on!’

      ‘Very well, madam.’

      Martha sniffed. ‘The poor man will very likely catch his death sitting up on the box in this weather.’

      ‘Very likely,’ replied Eve, unmoved.

      ‘We should turn back,’ said her forthright handmaiden. ‘No good can come of this, Miss Eve, you mark my words. What do you want to go traipsing all the way to Hasting for? What if you hears things you didn’t want to know about the master?’

      Eve did not answer. Martha had voiced the fear that had been nagging at her, that Nick was involved in some villainous activity, but it was no good. She had to know the truth, however bad. Besides, illogical as it was, she wanted to visit the place where he had died.

      To say goodbye.

      Tears filled her eyes again and she blinked them away, angry at herself. Why should she feel such sorrow for a man she had known for less than a month? Yet the tug of attraction had been so strong, she could not resist it. He still haunted her dreams. Nick had wound his way so effectively into her heart that now his loss threatened to break it.

      ‘You are a fool, Evelina,’ she told herself angrily. ‘You let yourself believe that Grandpapa had brought you a knight in shining armour!’

      The sudden stopping of the carriage dragged her away from her depressing thoughts.

      ‘Oh, Heavens, what is it now?’ cried Martha.

      The cab rocked as someone climbed down from the box and Eve pressed her nose to the window, trying to see out. It was impossible; inside, the glass misted with her breath and outside the raindrops distorted her view. She let down the window and immediately the driving rain slapped at her face. There was another carriage stopped in front of them, and Granby was talking in earnest conversation with the driver, one hand clamped over his hat to prevent the wind from whipping it away.

      ‘There is some sort of hold up,’ she said to her maid as she put up the window once more. ‘Granby is looking into it now.’

      Moments later the valet yanked open the door. Even though he was standing on the most sheltered side of the carriage the wind swirled around and threatened to drag the coach door out of his hands.

      ‘The road is under water, ma’am. A culvert has collapsed. One wagon has already tried to drive through and has broken an axle. No one is hurt,’ he hastened to assure them, ‘but we must turn back.’

      Reluctantly Eve agreed. She glanced past him at the rain, still sheeting down. The thought of spending another couple of hours returning to Monkhurst was not a pleasant one.

      ‘Very well, Granby. Tell Dan to drive back to the nearest village. We will put up for the night.’

      

      But when they drove into Udimore, Eve took one look at the rundown hostelry and quickly changed her mind. She ordered Dan to drive back to Rye.

      ‘What I saw of the slatternly maids and greasy landlord convinced me we should not be comfortable there,’ she said to her maid as the carriage set off once more. ‘Granby tells me we passed several well-appointed inns at Rye. We shall do better there.’

      ‘I do hope so, madam,’ replied Martha in a failing voice. ‘I fear if I don’t get out o’ this jarring, jolting cab soon I shall have to ask you for your smelling salts!’

      Eve laughed. ‘Then I would have to disappoint you, Martha, for I do not carry such a thing!

      ‘Well then, it’s a good job I put a bottle of Glass’s Magnesia in your dressing case! With your permission, Miss Eve, I shall take some as soon as I can lay my hands on it.’

      ‘You would be better advised to take a little walk and get some fresh air,’ replied Eve, ‘but as you wish.’

      She looked out of the window. The rain had eased a little and looking up she saw the squat tower of Rye church, secure on its hill, a black outline against the lowering sky. The clatter of hooves on the cobbles told Eve that they