He stopped, his words trailing, and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly he was very sleepy, and as he mounted the stairs he looked like a drunken man.
Shortly after Travis left the inn, a bewildered Regan returned to her apartment. Farrell was waiting for her.
“Regan, please, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. Has someone harmed your daughter?”
“No,’ she whispered. “I don’t know. I can’t tell.”
“Sit down,” he said, his arm around her, “and tell me everything.”
It didn’t take but minutes before the story was out.
“And Travis left you here to suffer alone?” Farrell asked in astonishment. “You have no idea what is happening about your own daughter but trust him to get her from his ex-mistress?”
“Yes,” she said helplessly. “Travis said—.”
“And since when have you ever let another person run your life? Wouldn’t you rather be with your daughter than here, knowing nothing?”
“Yes!” she said firmly, rising. “Of course I would.”
“Then let’s go. We’ll leave immediately.”
“We?”
“Yes,” Farrell said, taking her hand. “We’re friends, and friends help each other in time of need.”
Only later, as they were in the buggy and headed south toward Travis’s plantation, did Regan realize that she’d told no one where she was going. The thought left her quickly as she was too concerned for her daughter’s safety.
They traveled for hours, the carriage much too slow for Regan’s taste, and once she dozed, her head hitting the side of the buggy. She came awake abruptly when Farrell touched her arm. He was standing on the ground beside her; the carriage had stopped.
“Why are you stopping?” she demanded.
He pulled her from the seat to stand before him. “You need rest, and we need to talk.”
“Talk!” she gasped. “We can talk later, and I don’t need any rest.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firmly.
“Regan, do you know how much I love you? Did you know that I was in love with you long ago in England? Your uncle offered me money and I took it, but I would have married you without the incentive of money. You were so sweet and innocent, so very lovely.”
In her distress Regan lost sight of the fact that she was alone with this man in a remote piece of woods.
Astonished, she pulled back from him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Farrell! What have I ever done to make you think I’m stupid? You never loved me, never have, never will. All you want is my money, which you’re not going to get, so why don’t you be a good sport, go home to your pretty, poor house in England, and leave me alone?”
One minute she was standing, the next she was slammed against the carriage, sliding down, as Farrell’s hand knocked her backward.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” he seethed. “My family comes from kings, while yours are mere merchants. That I have to lower myself to marry a woman like you, who knows more of ledgers than laces, is—.”
While he was speaking, Regan was regaining her wits. Much more important than her own problems with Farrell was her anxiety about her daughter. Still on her knees from the blow, she charged at him, using her head as a battering ram, and caught him directly between the legs.
Farrell doubled over in pain and gave Regan her chance to escape.
One glance at the buggy showed he’d unhitched the horses enough that it would take a long time to be able to use that means of escape. Pulling up her skirts, she started to run back toward the road, just in time to see a dilapidated old wagon disappearing around a curve. It took all her energy to catch the wagon.
An old man, his face bristled with gray whiskers, sat on the seat.
“There’s a man chasing me,” she called up, running with the wagon.
“Should he catch you?” the old man said, obviously amused by the situation.
“He’s trying to force me to marry him—for my money—but I want to marry an American.”