Page 23 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Twelve

As the mail coach rattled and swayed along the road on a cloudy day in mid-August, Flora wondered if Lawrence’s accidental dye had changed her character, as well as her hair. She’d finally escaped Fortuneswell…after telling the Daniells she was going to spend a few weeks with Frank Mullen’s family on the outskirts of Dorchester. She told the same story to the servants, Adam and Jenny, as she gave them their instructions and the cottage keys.

But her story was a lie, and she hated herself for telling it.

However, she also hated her hair being the color of a new copper kettle, and only one man she knew could reverse the damage. She’d given herself three weeks to track him down. If it took any longer, or she needed to travel any farther than the fair in Dorchester, her savings would be so severely eroded she could forget about buying a share in a hat shop.

Admittedly, she could have genuinely arranged to stay with Frank’s parents. However, Josiah Mullen and his wife would never permit her the freedom she needed to pursue Lawrence. They’d have accompanied her everywhere, which wouldn’t do, at all.

The shock of finding him gone without a word that day still made her feel sick. She’d trusted him. What a fool! She should know by now not to believe in anyone whose only goal was to squeeze money out of the gullible. So what if his nerve tonic had made her feel bolder? So what if his remedy for sleeplessness had actually worked? She was too cross to care.

Fortunate enough to have a seat by the coach window, she stared moodily at the passing hedgerows, the nascent green berries on the hawthorns hinting at the approach of harvest time. An idea for a hat decoration popped into her head, but it was impossible to scribble it down in the crowded, moving stagecoach.

She must never give up on her dream! Not that Sally Matthews was ever likely to welcome her proposal. Not after witnessing that kiss. But there were other towns, other milliners. And maybe going off to live miles away from Fortuneswell might be for the best. Escape the disappointments of the past, and the stifling influence of her sister. Make a fresh start for herself somewhere new, where she could make her dreams come true.

The rutted road gave way to noisy cobblestones. They must have reached Dorchester. As the coach clattered into the town, it passed an ancient, grass-covered amphitheater currently being used to host the town’s fair. The land around it was dappled with tents, marquees, pavilions, wagons, carts, and tinkers’ caravans, not to mention temporary pens full of geese, sheep, and snorting swine. Flora had never seen anywhere so big and so busy. The place swarmed like a disturbed ant nest.

Thank goodness she’d sent word ahead of her journey and bespoken a room at The King’s Arms. It wasn’t the most high-class establishment but was considered respectable. It would have to serve.

There was a great deal of confused bustle as the coach disgorged its passengers, but within the space of half an hour, Flora was unpacked, refreshed, and walking down the road toward the amphitheater.

Her quarry could have gone anywhere, but as Dorchester was holding the biggest fair in the area, it made sense he’d come here first. It was likely he’d remain all week—which gave him plenty of time to concoct a dye to restore her hair to its natural color.

The fair, however, was harder to navigate than anticipated, and searching for Lawrence felt like looking for a needle in a particularly noisy and active haystack. Until she saw an elderly lady tucking a bottle with a distinctive label into her basket.

“Excuse me!” Flora called, hastening after the woman, who stopped and eyed her suspiciously.

“What do you want, miss?”

“I’d just like to know where I can find the traveling doctor. I’ve been hunting for an age, and now I’m completely lost.”

Her—somewhat feigned—pathetic demeanor won her a smile and a clear set of directions to the fair’s main stage, where various acts were performing throughout the day.

It was impossible to walk through the fair without being accosted by people—so frustrating when she was so close to her quarry! She was forced to run the gauntlet of a persuasive pottage seller, a man with a camera obscura, and an enormous woman stirring a steaming vat of pig trotters, before she heard a familiar voice proclaiming, “Marie Antoinette herself sipped it from a silver teaspoon—”

Thank goodness!She’d found him!

After edging forward for a better view, she drank in the sight of Lawrence…and waited for her heart to stop cartwheeling around her chest.

He had made more effort in his dress for the Dorchester crowd. He might almost pass for a gentleman in his broad-brimmed hat, frock coat, and embroidered waistcoat. His muscular chest pushed subtly against the tight fabric. That combination, along with the come-hither look in his earnest brown eyes, was enough to melt even the best-protected female heart.

One kiss and a few confidences were all Flora had ever shared with him—and the kiss had been purely for Sally’s benefit. So why did she feel such a sense of ownership as she looked at him? Had Sally once experienced the same feeling? How many other women in Wessex had been made to feel the center of Lawrence Campaign’s world? To whom did he pay his addresses when he was in Dorchester?

Flora bit hard on her lip. To let herself be taken in by him again was folly. The man was a confirmed rake.

Shaking the uncomfortable thoughts from her head, she reminded herself sternly that she’d come to get her hair put back to rights, nothing more. All she need do was wait until the show finished so she could catch him and demand he either fix it, or make reparation.

However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the performance. Charley’s antics as he chased his tail and walked on his hind legs were hilarious. Everyone was amused by the way the animal ran back and forth, looking important with packets of pills and powders in his mouth, collecting money from the crowd in a purse tied around his neck.

“And just in case anyone should think of untying Charley’s purse,” Lawrence told his audience, “I should warn you, he has a nasty bite. And my remedy for dog bites is extortionately expensive.”

There was a burst of ragged laughter, followed by a peculiar silence.

Why had he stopped speaking?

She looked away from Charley, and found Lawrence watching her. As their gazes locked, it felt as if the earth simply crumbled out from beneath her feet, forcing her to take several tottering steps forward until she felt sure of her balance again.

It wasn’t until he released her from the spell of his gaze that the ground stopped moving. He pulled out his watch with a dramatic flourish and told the crowd, “Alas! Since the only remedy for an empty stomach is to fill it, I’ll conclude this morning’s show and let you depart in search of your lunches. Be sure to return in an hour’s time, when I’ll be revealing my very latest remedy for the banishment of melancholy. No matter how the four humors may be mixed in you, you can be assured that my exclusive tonic will balance them out again. I only have a limited number of bottles of this astounding pick-me-up, so be sure you’re at the front of the line!”