Page 24 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Yes," she said finally. "But it would be heavy. Too heavy for the inn's boys to manage."

"I'll carry it."

She studied him. Still doubting. Still assessing.

"Alright. When we stop, give me a few minutes with the trunks. I'll reorganise. One trunk comes inside with us. The rest can stay with the carriage. Cobb can take them to the stable, keep them covered."

"And if someone goes through them overnight?"

"They'll find gowns and petticoats and a truly excessive number of shoes. Plus, a few decoys full of newspaper." A thin smile. "Nothing worth stealing. Nothing worth killing for."

So the important things would be in the one trunk. Concentrated. Easier to protect or easier to lose, if something went wrong.

Matthew nodded. "We'll make it work."

The carriage lurched through a rut, and Mrs Archer grabbed the strap to steady herself. Rain streamed down the windows, blurring the world outside into grey smears.

"There," Cobb shouted from above. "Village ahead."

Matthew wiped condensation from the glass and peered out. Shapes emerged from the downpour: a church spire, the dark bulk of buildings.

"How far?" he called back.

"Quarter mile. Maybe less."

"Push through. Don't stop until we're at the inn."

"Aye, sir."

The carriage picked up speed, wheels sliding in the mud. Mrs Archer had gone quiet, her hands folded in her lap, her face composed. But he could see the tension in her shoulders. The way her eyes kept drifting upward, towards the roof, towards the trunks.

They made it.

The inn's yard was chaos: other travellers caught by the storm, horses being led to shelter, servants running with lanterns. Cobb pulled the carriage under an overhang that provided minimal cover, the horses steaming and stamping.

Matthew opened the door and stepped out into the downpour. Cold rain slashed across his face, soaking through his coat in seconds.

"Stay inside," he told Mrs Archer. "I'll get the trunk."

He climbed up to the roof, fingers slipping on wet leather straps. The canvas sacking had held, mostly. The trunks beneath were damp but not drenched. He found the three with brass fittings, grouped together as she always kept them.

Mrs Archer appeared beside the carriage, ignoring his instruction to stay inside. Of course she did.

"That one," she said, pointing.

She climbed back inside. He offered a hand and she took it without comment. Locks opened, contents shifted. He caught glimpses of leather-bound books, bundles of papers tied with cord, a lockbox that clinked when she lifted it. All of it went into the largest trunk with the brass fittings.

"Done," she said.

"No need to come out. I know which one." He hauled it down. Heavy. She hadn't lied about that. The weight of six years, he thought. The weight of a man's ruin.

"I'll carry it in. You go ahead, keep your head down. Don't let anyone get a good look at your face."

She pulled her shawl up, shadowing her features, and slipped down from the carriage. Matthew followed with the trunk hoisted on his shoulder, the weight settling into his muscles with familiar strain.

Cobb was already directing the stable boys towards the remaining luggage. "I'll see them stored proper, sir. Covered and locked."

"Watch them yourself if you can."