Page 6 of Much Ado about a Widow

“Or I could tell him to shoot you.”

Odd Fellow jerked his head back to her, eyes wide, a snarl on his lips. “What?”

Georgie smiled serenely. “I think that would be simpler for him in the long run. Dead men tell no tales.”

A snarl on his lips, Odd Fellow gripped his pistol tighter and motioned her toward the carriage. “Get in.”

“I’ll wait until my maid returns, thank you.” Gathering Lulu into her arms, Georgie faced the ruffian. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get left behind.”

As if to punctuate her mistress’s words, Lulu growled at Odd Fellow and bared her teeth.

Odd Fellow drew back. “Keep that mongrel away from me.”

“Mongrel?” How dare he disparage Lulu’s ancestry? “We have traced Lulu’s lineage back to the original spaniels bred by King Charles I. I daresay her pedigree is much more illustrious than your own.”

Red-faced, Odd Fellow dipped his brows down in a frown. He had started to raise the pistol at Georgie when Clara stumbled from behind the bushes, and he swung it around, training it on her instead. “About time.” He shoved the gun into the waist of his rough breeches and grabbed Georgie’s shoulder, making her wince. “Now get in that carriage before I make you wish you had.”

Shoving Lulu in before her, Georgie climbed in and settled in the forward-facing seat. When Clara followed her, she patted the seat next to her. Odd Fellow slammed the door, and moments later there was the clinking of harness as the horses started.

“What are we going to do, my lady?” Clara whispered despite their relative seclusion.

Her bravado ebbing as soon as the door shut, Georgie slumped against the seat, blinking back tears of fear and outrage. How could this be happening to her?

More in need of comfort than ever before, she grasped the maid’s hands, trying to draw strength from the simple human contact. She couldn’t admit to Clara she didn’t know what to do. She had to be strong for both of them. “Give me some time, and I’ll come up with a plan. I always do.” Forcing a smile, she patted the servant’s hands. “I helped my brother escape from my father’s castle when he’d locked us both in. Surely I can devise a way to get us out of this scrape.”

Inns flashed past at intervals, but they had no hope of stopping and so no possibility of rescue. They’d obviously have to wait until they reached journey’s end—and her true kidnapper—to put a plan into action. But what plan?

In the event the kidnappers took them to a private estate, their options were grim. The only people likely present at such an establishment would be servants or tenants of the “master.” Not the sort of folk who would put themselves out to rescue a woman their master had kidnapped.

Georgie clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. If that were the case, they would have to split up and simply run for it, back up the road they had come down, and pray they found either a village or a passerby who would assist them.

If their destination turned out to be an inn and if she, Clara, and Lulu could get free, they could shriek, run, and take refuge in the inn and pour out the story to the innkeeper or any other kind soul who would listen. Georgie could mention her father and a sizeable reward for helping them. Getting free from the kidnappers was the sticking point. Unless . . .

“Clara.” She leaned toward her maid and spoke low. “I’ve come up with a plan.”

“Saints be praised!”

“Shhh. Listen.”

After Georgie had explained everything twice, Clara wrung her hands and said, “I don’t know that I can run fast enough, my lady.”

“You’ll be fine.” Georgie squeezed Clara’s cold hands. The maid must try, or they would be lost. “I have every confidence in you.”

“I’ll try my best.” Clara nodded, though her puckered brow said she was still unconvinced.

The carriage rolled on until at last Georgie spied clusters of small houses, as if they were on the edge of a town or city. Scattered cottages gave way to larger dwellings, although they too were spaced well apart. Not a very large town, then. Despite the closed carriage, Georgie detected a bit of salt and fish on the air. Were they being taken to a seaside town? Brighton came first to mind, but there would have been more houses by now. She must think of a smaller town.

Summoning to mind a map of England, Georgie tried to recall all the cities and towns near the seacoast, but gave up. There must be hundreds of small or middling ones. They could be anywhere on the southern coast of England.

The thought of Brighton, however, took her back several years, to the days immediately after her marriage to Isaac. They had managed a brief wedding trip to Brighton, less than a week, yet she had very vivid memories of that time. Her throat thickened with tears as it often did when she thought of her late husband. Oh, how she wished he were here.

No, she could not be weak now. If anyone was going to rescue her, it would have to be her. Pulling her mind away from the sweet thoughts of her husband, Georgie recalled her plan. At least the destination seemed to be a town rather than an estate. That would make escape easier, though not by much.

“My lady.” Clara leaned over to her. “Do you smell that?”

“What?” Georgie sniffed again. The smell of fish had gotten stronger.

“That fishy smell. We’re near the water, I’ll be bound.” The wide blue eyes had a panicked look about them, like those of a horse about to buck its rider.