Miss Truelove Beckons (Classic Regency Romances Book 12) by Donna Lea Simpson Page B

upset as they careened toward the steep embankment at the edge of the road, bouncing and jouncing along the rutted surface. Lord Conroy put his arm around True, who clutched at the edge of the open carriage, and she felt some comfort in the steadiness of that gentleman, as Lord Drake did the same for Arabella. The skillful driver brought the carriage to a halt and leaped down with an oath, racing to the horses.
    “Are you ladies all right?” Drake asked, concern etched in the grooves on his forehead.
    True nodded though her heart pounded erratically, and Arabella gamely said, “I think we shall do, presently.” There was a sharp edge of fear in her voice, but no one could ever have accused Arabella of being cowardly, no matter that she liked to pretend to more delicate sensibilities in front of the gentlemen. True was relieved that at that moment Bella had not chosen to follow her mother’s dictates and appear the faint-hearted widgeon.
    The viscount clambered down from the carriage and limped up to where the driver was checking the horses. “What is wrong, Burt? What happened?”
    “Damned rabbit,” True heard the man complain. “Ran right across our path, and Dancer didna like it one bit; shied, she did, and now she’s turned up lame.” The driver swore and spat.
    “Language, Burt. There are ladies present.” Drake’s admonishment was offered in an absentminded fashion as he thrust his hand through his gold-streaked curls.
    True sympathized with his difficulty. They were still over fifteen miles from Lea Park, at least, and the day was darkening alarmingly, with the first few spits of rain leaving spots on the skirt of her dark blue muslin gown and a rumble of thunder in the distance ominously foretelling the immediate future. Even if they could find another horse to carry them onward it would take a while, and night and bad weather could easily catch up with them on the road.
    He limped back to the carriage and with a worried frown said, “I am afraid Dancer is unable to do more than hobble along. Looking at the sky, it appears that we are in for some rain at the very least, and quite possibly a storm. Burt remembers an inn not very far up the road, and I think our best alternative is to put up for the night at the inn and finish our little journey in the morning. What say the rest of you?”
    True was not surprised at his solution and nodded, but Arabella frowned and said, “Surely we could get another horse at this inn and continue.”
    “We could get another horse, yes, but I am concerned about the weather.” He indicated the sky. “It is already starting. Did you not hear that thunder? I would not have you ladies getting a drenching in this open carriage.”
    “Quite right, Drake, I concur. We would best be served by putting up for the night at this inn,” Conroy said. “I am sure you will agree, Miss Swinley, that it is far better to be prudent. It would not do to risk a downpour and have you get a chill.”
    Put in that light, Arabella agreed. There would be no impropriety, she said frostily, with True as her chaperone.
    It was a short walk to the inn. When they entered it was just starting to drizzle. Burt was to follow with the carriage and lame horse, and the groom was dispatched to Lea Park to take a message to the sure-to-be-anxious Ladies Swinley and Leathorne.
    The innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Lincoln, a rotund but neatly garbed woman with a snowy mob cap over equally white curls, welcomed them eagerly. She remembered Lord Drake from some past stop there, and was clearly overjoyed that she was to have the “Quality” staying the night. She showed Arabella and True to a small, clean room and left them with a basin of steaming hot water and towels. Lord Drake, she said, had ordered dinner in a private dining room. It would be served within the hour.
    “This is just too bad,” Arabella said, swishing her hands around in the water. She peered at it. “It does not look very clean. And these