Page 55 of To Follow her Heart

“Kitty!” he said, as soon as his wits returned to him.

A muffled sound reached him, and he felt about the dim interior until he came across something struggling and cursing.

“Oh!” Kitty exclaimed, as she flung her pelisse to one side.

She’d taken it off when the journey began, as the carriage was rather snug and stuffy, and the wretched thing must have fallen on her.

“Kitty, darling? Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said, quite matter-of-fact, as though this was an ordinary occurrence. “I just dislike being smothered, that’s all. I’m not the least bit hurt. Well, perhaps a little bruised on my softer parts, but nothing to signify.”

Luke let out a sigh of relief and forced himself not to consider her softer parts for the time being.

“Oh, but you, Luke? You’re not hurt?” she said, struggling to her knees.

He shook his head. “No, but do keep still, Kitty, there’s glass everywhere.”

“Mr Baxter, sir?” They both looked up to where the carriage window was now above their heads. The postillion peered down at them, worry etching his face. “Are you or the lady hurt?”

“No, we are in one piece, just about. What the devil happened?”

“The wheel broke, Sir. This stretch of road is in a shocking state, been saying it for years, but nowt gets done, and now this. I don’t know what we pay the blasted tolls for, it’s criminal it is. I’m right sorry, sir.”

“Oh, well, never mind that. Get that door open and help my wife climb out.”

It took a bit of effort and manoeuvring but soon enough, they were both on solid ground and the right way up.

To Luke’s relief the horses were unharmed and the postillion—whom they’d picked up in Uxbridge when they changed horses—though shaken, was a pragmatic soul. He’d eyed Luke with a somewhat suspicious air, no doubt surprised that such a well-heeled couple should travel without a footman, but he didn’t seem inclined to dig and had said nothing. He’d charged them a pretty price, mind, and Luke had paid up, too impatient to quibble. Now the man stood, regarding the mangled carriage with an unhappy countenance.

“Where exactly are we?” Luke asked, wondering what the chances were now of reaching Aylesbury before nightfall.

“Tatling End, sir,” the postillion said, his expression sour. “I must go back to Uxbridge to get someone out to fix this pile of matchsticks.”

“I can’t wait for it to be repaired,” Luke exclaimed. “It could be three or four hours before you even return, and then the thing isn’t fit for use with the windows all smashed. You must have another sent out for us at once.”

“Aye, well, normally I would, sir. Except as how there’s nowt available today. A right busy day it’s been. I told you as how you was lucky to get me. You thought I was trying it on and you paid over the odds, I know, but there’s a big race meeting at Newmarket. It’s on three days, and there’s a fair and the like. The world and his wife started out at the crack of dawn this morning. Not to mention this heatwave sending the last of the quality off to the country. Every carriage is hired out, and the horses too.”

Luke muttered an oath and fought the urge to roll his eyes to the heavens just as the sound of voices reached his ear. He turned to find Kitty having an animated conversation with a couple in a horse and cart. Kitty beckoned him over.

“Mr Baxter, such a stroke of luck we’ve had,” she said, her Irish accent far stronger than he’d heard it since their childhood days. “This is Mr and Mrs Scripps, oh, and this adorable creature is Master James,” she added, cooing over what Luke was certain to be the ugliest baby he’d ever seen. “You’ll never guess, but Mrs Scripps was born in Ballymena.”

“Ah,” Luke said, comprehending the accent. “What a coincidence to meet a countrywoman from the Emerald Isle at such a moment.”

“Ach, and it’s fate, ’tis what it is,” Mrs Scripps said with a placid smile.

She was a comfortably rounded woman in her late twenties, with the pink glow of a well-fed new mother, and she was regarding Kitty with the fond warmth of a beloved sister.

“And the both of us having wed Englishmen too!” she added with a peal of laughter as she slapped her husband on the back in a jovial gesture.

Mr Scripps glanced at Luke, or at least Luke thought he did as he turned his head in his general direction. The man had bushy black eyebrows of such luxuriant growth that they appeared to be pulling his broad forehead down to somewhere in the vicinity of his nose. Luke assumed his eyes were beneath them, but they were not immediately visible.

“Where to, lad?” the fellow asked with a sigh, clearly deciding to cut to the heart of the matter.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Scripps,” Luke replied, eyeing the cart with some misgiving. It was serviceable rather than elegant, and certainly not built for the comfort of passengers. It held crates of chickens and ducks, and smelled vile. “We were on our way to Aylesbury, but if you could get us somewhere we might hire another vehicle, that would be most appreciated.”

“Ooooh,” said Mrs Scripps, leaning over to address Kitty as if Luke were not there. “A fine gentleman is he nae?”

Kitty grinned and took his arm. “That he is, Mrs Scripps. We’re going to see his poor mama, sick she is, and not a soul but servants about her. His older brother is the heir, but he’s a bad’un… the bottle,” she said in a whisper from behind her hand that they’d probably heard in Uxbridge. “He cares for nothing but spending his inheritance, and my own dear husband won’t get so much as a farthing, though it’s him his mama loves with all her heart. Obadiah, I said—that’s his name see—Obadiah… we must tend to her ourselves, for ’tis our Christian duty.”