‘Pathetic? What nonsense,’ she said briskly. ‘You were fighting back against ridiculous odds at the alehouse—and those louts were armed. And that door opening just then was a complete accident, anyone might have been struck by it. You are not going to make me feel sorry for you with such tactics, Ivo.’
* * *
‘Sorry for me?’ Ivo demanded, indignant. The little witch! And then he closed his mouth with a snap. It was true, he had been within inches of feeling very hard done by. Not that he would ever want Jane Newnham, or anyone else, to pity him.
Not that I haven’t got good reason for being in a foul temper, he thought.
He missed his regiment; he hurt all over, including in places he’d hardly been aware of before, even after battle; he had failed to carry out Charles’s dying wish; the girl he loved and had expected to marry had run off with a rakehell in preference to him and had ordered him to be beaten for objecting. On top of that, a new life he did not relish was waiting for him in Somerset and he had his hands full with an argumentative, awkward female.
So far, so bad. Now pull yourself together, Major, you have been in worse fixes. You’ve got food, shelter and no one is shooting at you. Yet.
For all he knew Jane’s father, armed with a shotgun, would be setting out from London when that sour-
faced maid returned.
‘If you have finished your dinner, I suggest we retire to our rooms as I proposed fifteen minutes ago,’ he said with what dignity he could muster in the face of Jane cheerfully scraping the last drop of apple sauce out of her bowl. She knew she had the upper hand—and the money tightly clenched in it. If she would not see reason then his duty was clear—he must escort her safely to her relative in Batheaston and do his best to discourage her from this insane scheme of earning her own living.
Goodness knew, he was grateful for her help back in Kensington, but if she went around helping complete strangers on an impulse like that, he shuddered to think who or what she might pick up next.
‘Very well, I confess to feeling quite weary. I cannot imagine why—I am usually wide awake after dinner,’ she admitted.
‘That,’ Ivo said grimly, ‘is the wine.’ Which was yet another thing to keep in mind on the journey. By the time they arrived he was going to be fully qualified to write a handbook: The Care and Safeguarding of Wilful Young Ladies. In two volumes, price three shillings each, to be had of any reputable stationers... The country must be full of fathers who would pay good money for that.
‘What are you smiling about?’ she asked as she got to her feet. ‘Not plotting to kidnap me and return me to my parents, I trust?’
‘No, I admit defeat on that head. I was merely recovering my sense of humour from the dark corner where it was cowering, whimpering.’
Jane laughed. ‘I must be a sad trial to you, Ivo. Never mind, the day after tomorrow you can be rid of me.’
‘A cause for cheerfulness indeed,’ he said, answering her smile as he held the door for her. ‘The rooms have keys, I believe. Please lock your door and wedge a chair under the handle as well.’
‘That seems a little dramatic,’ Jane protested as they reached the landing.
‘Humour me. I have no wish to have to leap out of bed in the small hours to rescue you from some drunken buck who has discovered by chance that every key in this place fits all the doors.’
He was still smiling at her wicked chuckle as he stripped off his clothes and climbed between the sheets to lay his throbbing head on the pillow.
* * *
Jane had a headache. To be more accurate, as she was informed by Ivo, she was suffering from a well-deserved hangover.
‘You are a novice drinker, no wonder it has affected you. I would advise one glass in future and plenty of water with it,’ he added with a marked lack of sympathy as they climbed into the post chaise at eight the next morning.
He was clearly stiff and sore to the point of gritted teeth and she had a thick enough head to resolve never to touch another drop of alcohol again, so they were silent for the first few miles as the coach travelled towards Brentford. She tried to find enthusiasm for the view of Kew Bridge, then closed her eyes in silent anguish as they were jolted over the town’s notoriously stony main street.
* * *
‘This is Hounslow,’ Ivo said, waking her from an uneasy doze some time later.
Jane roused herself to peer out of the window at the bustling street. ‘Is it the Heath next?’ She squinted at the road book, half expecting to see Here Be Highwaymen inscribed along the edges of the strip map in the manner of ancient charts with their dragons and strange sea monsters.
‘It is.’ Ivo was looking out on to Hounslow High Street as they rattled through without stopping, passing a London-bound stage drawn up outside the George Inn. ‘We will change horses at Colnbrook on the far side. You sound apprehensive—there are very few highwaymen to worry about nowadays.’
‘That is like saying that there are very few crocodiles in a stretch of river—it only takes one to eat you,’ Jane said. ‘And I do not believe any of those tales about gallant gentlemen of the road like Claude du Val offering to dance with the ladies he held up.’
‘I am sure all of them are nasty, dirty, uncivilised louts,’ Ivo agreed. ‘And I am equally certain that our postilion will be able to outdrive them, even if one did appear.’
‘A pity.’ Jane scrabbled in the depths of her reticule and produced the little muff pistol that was stretching the fabric. ‘I was rather hoping to try this out. I quite failed to disentangle it in Kensington in the heat of the moment, which was very remiss of me. It would surely have given those bullies pause when they saw it.’