Alexandra on the floor once again.
“Trenton, let Tiny drive,” he called, and the carriage swayed dramatically as Tiny hefted himself up top.
A tall, stringy man Alexandra hadn’t seen before climbed inside. Fair-complexioned, with strawberry-blond hair and brown eyes, he looked almost as out of place amid the other ruffians as Nathaniel did.
“Do you think we can make it before nightfall?” Nathaniel asked him.
“Not by a long shot. These old nags aren’t quite the animals your sister had pulling her around”—Trenton cast Alexandra a sideways glance—”but hers are lathered and need to rest. I’m not sure it would be wise to wait.”
“They’re not my horses. And that’s not my carriage.” Alexandra took a deep breath, hoping a simple, rational explanation might finally convince them. “I told you, my name is Alexandra Cogsworth. I’m simply a seamstress who put on this dress to escape my stepfather. And I have to make it to London in four days, or I’ll miss my boat to India.”
Nathaniel looked quizzically at her while Trenton stifled a laugh. “Perhaps we’re doing the Indians a favor, then.”
Alexandra shook her head in exasperation. “If I could, I’d show you my hands. I’ll wager that you’ve not seen a lady born to the nobility with calluses like mine. They come from hard work, not the kind of idle stitchery performed in drawing rooms after an eight-course meal.”
Nathaniel reached behind Alexandra and turned up her palms. He studied them for a moment, then looked to Trenton.
“I don’t know how she got those,” Trenton admitted, “but I told you, she’s Anne all right.”
Alexandra groaned. It didn’t help that she and the duke’s daughter had similar builds and coloring. “When was the last time any of you saw Lady Anne?”
“What was it, four or five years ago?” Nathaniel asked.
“It had to have been at least four. I saw her with your father in London,” Trenton said. “Remember?” He turned to Alexandra. “But I’ll never forget your face.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Do you realize what you’re saying? You’ve kidnapped a woman based on someone you saw four years ago.”
“And I suppose Greystone’s carriage sitting outside that dressmaker’s doesn’t count for anything?” Trenton replied. “We saw you go in, remember?”
“I can explain that,” Alexandra said, and she tried to do so. But they purposefully ignored her. Talking amongst themselves, they left her to stew in her frustration.
“Let’s try and make it to Liverpool tonight,” Nathaniel said. “If the horses need a break, we can stop at a posting station.”
Alexandra finally fell silent and listened to every word that followed, trying to learn why she had been captured and what Nathaniel and his men had planned for her. If they wouldn’t let her go, she’d have to escape somehow.
But they said little to illuminate the mystery. Besides a few references to a ship docked at Liverpool, they spoke only of cargo and auctions and supplies. Still, the farther they took her from Manchester, the more frightened she became. If she missed Aunt Pauline, she’d be on her own.
What would they do when they eventually learned her true identity? she wondered. What would they do if they didn’t? Alexandra worried and fumed until, finally, the incessant rocking of the carriage made her too tired to keep up her vigil, and she slept.
* * *
Alexandra woke suddenly. She had been dreaming. Willy was beating her again. She had to get away. But as her eyes blinked open, moonlight filtering through the small window above her head illuminated the five gruff men who had abducted her. Willy was nowhere around. Only the pain was real. Her hands and feet were numb below the ropes that held them fast. They were beginning to swell, and her back ached terribly, as if she’d been sitting on the same hard floor for a week.
“Untie me.”
Nathaniel glanced up at the sound of her voice. The
“Trenton, let Tiny drive,” he called, and the carriage swayed dramatically as Tiny hefted himself up top.
A tall, stringy man Alexandra hadn’t seen before climbed inside. Fair-complexioned, with strawberry-blond hair and brown eyes, he looked almost as out of place amid the other ruffians as Nathaniel did.
“Do you think we can make it before nightfall?” Nathaniel asked him.
“Not by a long shot. These old nags aren’t quite the animals your sister had pulling her around”—Trenton cast Alexandra a sideways glance—”but hers are lathered and need to rest. I’m not sure it would be wise to wait.”
“They’re not my horses. And that’s not my carriage.” Alexandra took a deep breath, hoping a simple, rational explanation might finally convince them. “I told you, my name is Alexandra Cogsworth. I’m simply a seamstress who put on this dress to escape my stepfather. And I have to make it to London in four days, or I’ll miss my boat to India.”
Nathaniel looked quizzically at her while Trenton stifled a laugh. “Perhaps we’re doing the Indians a favor, then.”
Alexandra shook her head in exasperation. “If I could, I’d show you my hands. I’ll wager that you’ve not seen a lady born to the nobility with calluses like mine. They come from hard work, not the kind of idle stitchery performed in drawing rooms after an eight-course meal.”
Nathaniel reached behind Alexandra and turned up her palms. He studied them for a moment, then looked to Trenton.
“I don’t know how she got those,” Trenton admitted, “but I told you, she’s Anne all right.”
Alexandra groaned. It didn’t help that she and the duke’s daughter had similar builds and coloring. “When was the last time any of you saw Lady Anne?”
“What was it, four or five years ago?” Nathaniel asked.
“It had to have been at least four. I saw her with your father in London,” Trenton said. “Remember?” He turned to Alexandra. “But I’ll never forget your face.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Do you realize what you’re saying? You’ve kidnapped a woman based on someone you saw four years ago.”
“And I suppose Greystone’s carriage sitting outside that dressmaker’s doesn’t count for anything?” Trenton replied. “We saw you go in, remember?”
“I can explain that,” Alexandra said, and she tried to do so. But they purposefully ignored her. Talking amongst themselves, they left her to stew in her frustration.
“Let’s try and make it to Liverpool tonight,” Nathaniel said. “If the horses need a break, we can stop at a posting station.”
Alexandra finally fell silent and listened to every word that followed, trying to learn why she had been captured and what Nathaniel and his men had planned for her. If they wouldn’t let her go, she’d have to escape somehow.
But they said little to illuminate the mystery. Besides a few references to a ship docked at Liverpool, they spoke only of cargo and auctions and supplies. Still, the farther they took her from Manchester, the more frightened she became. If she missed Aunt Pauline, she’d be on her own.
What would they do when they eventually learned her true identity? she wondered. What would they do if they didn’t? Alexandra worried and fumed until, finally, the incessant rocking of the carriage made her too tired to keep up her vigil, and she slept.
* * *
Alexandra woke suddenly. She had been dreaming. Willy was beating her again. She had to get away. But as her eyes blinked open, moonlight filtering through the small window above her head illuminated the five gruff men who had abducted her. Willy was nowhere around. Only the pain was real. Her hands and feet were numb below the ropes that held them fast. They were beginning to swell, and her back ached terribly, as if she’d been sitting on the same hard floor for a week.
“Untie me.”
Nathaniel glanced up at the sound of her voice. The
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