Page 23 of A Modest Independence

“I don’t see that it makes much difference whether I spend those hours on a train or on a ship.”

“Have you ever crossed the Channel before?”

“No, but I—”

“You’re bound to be seasick. Most people are. The less time spent on the water the better, especially at this time of year.” He withdrew his pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. “We should leave within the next quarter of an hour. Do you need assistance with your trunks?”

“I only have one trunk. It’s already packed. Mr. Jarrow can—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. “Wait. What do you mean we?”

“I’m accompanying you to Dover.”

She took a step back from him. “That’s not at all necessary.”

“On the contrary. You’re an attractive lady traveling alone. It will be safer for you if you have an escort.”

Attractive?

Good gracious.

Warmth suffused Jenny’s veins. She prayed it didn’t make its way to her face. She had enough to worry about without adding maidenly blushes to the mix. “Surely you have more important things to do.”

“Not a one,” he said. “And that’s the honest truth.”

“Tom…”

His expression softened infinitesimally. “Jenny.”

She exhaled. “Very well. If you must.”

Riding on the train to Dover with Tom was no great hardship. He was ever attentive, offering her his arm when she required it, and seeing that she was made comfortable and kept well entertained.

He’d booked a first-class compartment for them. It was paneled in dark wood and boasted carpeted floors, upholstered seats, and brass parcel racks.

Jenny was not unaccustomed to traveling in such luxury. She’d often enjoyed first-class accommodations while companion to Lady Helena. With Tom, however, the experience felt fresh and new.

She expected it had less to do with him and more to do with her own independence. Everything seemed finer somehow. It scarcely mattered that Tom handled the tickets or that the porters deferred to him as if he were the one in charge. Indeed, sitting across from him in their compartment as the train left the station, she had a profound sense of the rightness of it all.

Perhaps this was what it would be like to be the wife of a considerate husband. This feeling of being taken care of, but not stifled. Looked after, but not suffocated or made to feel a burden.

The thought sent a pang through her midsection. It wasn’t longing. Not exactly. It was something else. A bleak sort of hollow feeling. Regret, she suspected. She’d never know what the future might hold for the pair of them. At Dover, they’d part ways, probably forever.

She turned her head to stare out the window. The sash was open, the scenery whipping by at an accelerated rate.

“Is anything the matter?” he asked.

“No. Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About anything in particular?”

She slowly turned back to face him. “I’d better take my tickets. And whatever else I’ll need for the rest of the journey.”

Tom looked at her for a long moment. “Of course.” He withdrew the relevant documents from his pocket book, along with a great many British banknotes. “You’ll want to change some of it for foreign currency when you arrive on the continent. You’ll get a better rate there.”

“Will it be enough?”

“You also have a letter of credit drawn on your bank.”

“Yes, I see.” She rifled through her documents. “And have you directed them to honor it, down to the last penny?”