Sinclair turned to him in surprise. “Good God, is Framlingbury
so close? I didn’t realize.”
“About twenty mile, Yer Grace. You’d be welcome there.”
“I would indeed. Thank you, Robert.” And he clapped his coachman heartily on the shoulder, nearly toppling him over. It was only when Robert shot him a startled look that he knew he wasn’t behaving like his usual level-headed self. But he couldn’t help it. He didn’t feel like his usual level-headed self. He hadn’t done so since he met Eugenie.
“What is Framlingbury?” the lady in question asked warily.
“It is my uncle’s house. My mother’s brother.” His Bohemian uncle, whom his mother blamed for his interest in painting naked women. He’d always got on well with his uncle, but his mother had avoided such contact for many years now, claiming he was a bad influence.
“Do you think Annabelle might go there?” said Eugenie.
It was a clever idea but regretfully he shook his head. “I doubt it. My uncle would send her home if she did. He knows my mother has set her heart on a society wedding for Annabelle and he’s learned to his cost what it means to cross her.” He looked to Robert. “Is the coach mended?”
“It’s being mended, but it will take some time. I have arranged for another vehicle in the meantime, Yer Grace. That was what I was coming to tell you when I ran into young Georgie here.”
“Then I think we should go to Framlingbury and consider our options. If Annabelle is heading for the border we will still find her in time.”
And even if they didn’t, he thought grimly, they could drag her back to Somerton. He could not imagine the Belmonts refusing cash for silence.
“I have never felt so sick in my entire life.”
Terry had heard Annabelle say those words, or remarkably similar ones, so many times he’d lost count. Now he just clenched his jaws and tried to ignore her. Who would have thought his heroic journey would come to this? They couldn’t reach Scotland soon enough for his liking.
“We will have to stop at the next village.”
He opened his mouth to inform her they weren’t stopping again, but she had her handkerchief to her own mouth and her eyes were begging him over the top of it. Her skin was certainly an interesting shade of green.
At her side, Lizzie gave him a pleading grimace. “She is very ill, Mr. Belmont. I know you are worried about slowing our journey but would a few moments hurt . . . ?”
“We will never reach our destination if we keep stopping,” he said, attempting to stand firm against them. “The duke will catch us and that will be the end of it. The end of me at any rate.”
“And me,” Lizzie added, to his surprise. “I will lose my position and he will send me back to my father in disgrace. I shall never ever hear the end of it. I shall never escape the vicarage again.”
“Then why did you come with us?”
Her blue eyes met his almost shyly. “It just seemed to—to happen! One moment I was standing on the ground arguing with you and the next I was here, in the coach. I suppose I considered it my duty as Annabelle’s chaperone to remain by her side.”
Terry found himself smiling at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Lizzie’s soft mouth curved, too, as if she was on the verge of bursting into laughter. It occurred to him that he had never heard her laugh. Perhaps she didn’t have much to laugh about. He was beginning to feel responsible for her.
“We could set you down at the next town.”
But Lizzie shook her head, her fair hair a bright beacon in the gloomy interior. “I’m rather afraid I have burned my bridges.”
“We have all done that,” he murmured.
“I expect I will find employment in the north,” she went on. “Somewhere.”
Annabelle, feeling the lack of attention, groaned and flopped back against the seat. “I think I will die before we reach Scotland, and I think I will be glad of it.”
“Stop being so melodramatic,” Terry said. “I thought you were courageous? You told me you wanted to live like an ordinary girl.”
“Well, I don’t. I want to live like a duke’s sister.”
They glared at each other.
Terry had only been in the coach a day before he knew that contrary to his hopes and dreams, he could never marry Annabelle. Not even if she’d have him. And a day after that he was sure he would murder her long before they reached the border. She was demanding and selfish and ungrateful. In fact she seemed to blame him for all their misfortunes, even the fact that the coach made her sick.