smugglers and pirates were romantic.”
Amy’s eyes lit up as she warmed to her task. “Some, mayhap. When I was a wee mite, I saw Black Bart hisself. It was dark at night, and me da had gone out, ’cause the lantern on the bluff had blinked three times.” Amy leaned closer. “That’s the signal that a ship has hit the shoals in the cove. The alehouse cleared out and I was left alone. I couldn’t even see out the window, it was that thick with fog.
“Anyways, the door banged open and a tall man appeared dressed all in black. His cape swirled about him and his hat covered his face. Even though I was a child, I knew who he was right off. I lowered my eyes like I was taught, but he jus’ laughed and pinched my cheek. Right here.” Amy pointed to a place on her left cheek. Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of hero worship.
Helena felt an excitement she lacked only moments before. She might put her journal to good use after all and try to write a tale about free traders. Perhaps she would become a famous author like Caroline Lamb. Her spirits rose.
“What happened then?”
Amy leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “And then…”
She was so engrossed in Amy’s tale, she gave a start when their carriage drew to a halt at a small inn in Reading on the road to Bristol.
“Change of horses, ma’am,” said Waverley when he opened her door. “We’ll stop once more to change horses, this time in Swindon, before we reach Bristol, but there we shall remain for the night. I’ve ordered a light repast here to sustain us until then.”
She had no choice but to take his outstretched hand. “Thank you, sir.” She stepped down and followed him inside to the dining room of a rustic tavern, for the inn lacked a private parlor. “My servants?”
“They’ll eat in the taproom. Be easy, ma’am. I won’t do you harm.”
He held out a chair for her and she took it, while a waiter served them wine, cold meats, cheese and fruit, but she could not find a word to say. Thus they ate in uncomfortable silence.
“I don’t bite, you know,” Waverley said in an attempt at humor.
“Forgive me, sir. I’m not the best of company, but it has nothing to do with you. I…I’m sorry I’m such a poor companion.”
“You’re forgiven, ma’am. Let us try for easier terms, shall we? It will make the journey less tiresome.” He sipped his wine. “You have a lovely smile, Lady Helena. I recall seeing it once. Do try to exercise it more often lest you lose the knack.”
She laughed at this, and relaxed. “You’ve scored a well-deserved hit, sir. I’ll try, I promise.”
Helena slept once they were under way again, the wine having calmed her ruffled nerves. She woke three hours later, when they reached Swindon to change horses again, but she didn’t leave her carriage, for the ostlers did their work quickly and they were back on the road within ten minutes.
By the time they reached Bristol, it was dusk. The courtyard of Arnos Manor, where they were to put up for the night, was lit by a full moon. The twin turrets of the baroque manor hinted of a Gothic past. No such thing, Helena learned when Casper helped her down. To the right of the front door, a bronze plaque read: “Arnos Manor, former home of the Hon. William Reeve, Bristol Merchant. Erected 1760.”
Waverley threw his bridle to the stable boy and dismounted. His boots landed hard on the cobblestones, sending pins and needles through his feet. Bloody hell, it would take at least a week before he would recover from the bruising jolts of the rutted road, one of the better ones in England.
The marquis observed Helena, already at the door of the inn. My lady’s abigail, a pert little thing, had her hands on her hips and was surveying her surroundings.
That lass is full of self-importance, he noted with amusement as he watched her accost the landlord. “My mistress needs your best rooms and a private parlor as well, my good man.”
The landlord gave her
Amy’s eyes lit up as she warmed to her task. “Some, mayhap. When I was a wee mite, I saw Black Bart hisself. It was dark at night, and me da had gone out, ’cause the lantern on the bluff had blinked three times.” Amy leaned closer. “That’s the signal that a ship has hit the shoals in the cove. The alehouse cleared out and I was left alone. I couldn’t even see out the window, it was that thick with fog.
“Anyways, the door banged open and a tall man appeared dressed all in black. His cape swirled about him and his hat covered his face. Even though I was a child, I knew who he was right off. I lowered my eyes like I was taught, but he jus’ laughed and pinched my cheek. Right here.” Amy pointed to a place on her left cheek. Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of hero worship.
Helena felt an excitement she lacked only moments before. She might put her journal to good use after all and try to write a tale about free traders. Perhaps she would become a famous author like Caroline Lamb. Her spirits rose.
“What happened then?”
Amy leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “And then…”
She was so engrossed in Amy’s tale, she gave a start when their carriage drew to a halt at a small inn in Reading on the road to Bristol.
“Change of horses, ma’am,” said Waverley when he opened her door. “We’ll stop once more to change horses, this time in Swindon, before we reach Bristol, but there we shall remain for the night. I’ve ordered a light repast here to sustain us until then.”
She had no choice but to take his outstretched hand. “Thank you, sir.” She stepped down and followed him inside to the dining room of a rustic tavern, for the inn lacked a private parlor. “My servants?”
“They’ll eat in the taproom. Be easy, ma’am. I won’t do you harm.”
He held out a chair for her and she took it, while a waiter served them wine, cold meats, cheese and fruit, but she could not find a word to say. Thus they ate in uncomfortable silence.
“I don’t bite, you know,” Waverley said in an attempt at humor.
“Forgive me, sir. I’m not the best of company, but it has nothing to do with you. I…I’m sorry I’m such a poor companion.”
“You’re forgiven, ma’am. Let us try for easier terms, shall we? It will make the journey less tiresome.” He sipped his wine. “You have a lovely smile, Lady Helena. I recall seeing it once. Do try to exercise it more often lest you lose the knack.”
She laughed at this, and relaxed. “You’ve scored a well-deserved hit, sir. I’ll try, I promise.”
Helena slept once they were under way again, the wine having calmed her ruffled nerves. She woke three hours later, when they reached Swindon to change horses again, but she didn’t leave her carriage, for the ostlers did their work quickly and they were back on the road within ten minutes.
By the time they reached Bristol, it was dusk. The courtyard of Arnos Manor, where they were to put up for the night, was lit by a full moon. The twin turrets of the baroque manor hinted of a Gothic past. No such thing, Helena learned when Casper helped her down. To the right of the front door, a bronze plaque read: “Arnos Manor, former home of the Hon. William Reeve, Bristol Merchant. Erected 1760.”
Waverley threw his bridle to the stable boy and dismounted. His boots landed hard on the cobblestones, sending pins and needles through his feet. Bloody hell, it would take at least a week before he would recover from the bruising jolts of the rutted road, one of the better ones in England.
The marquis observed Helena, already at the door of the inn. My lady’s abigail, a pert little thing, had her hands on her hips and was surveying her surroundings.
That lass is full of self-importance, he noted with amusement as he watched her accost the landlord. “My mistress needs your best rooms and a private parlor as well, my good man.”
The landlord gave her
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