Dillie raised her chin in indignation. “But it’s true.”
“John,” her mother said softly, “perhaps Rupert can escort Dillie most of the way. Didn’t you just tell me that he must go to Carlisle on family business?”
He nodded. “An important meeting on Wednesday. He won’t have time to drop her off and still make the meeting.”
“He would if we went straight to Carlisle and dropped him there first,” Dillie said. “Abner can then take me down to Coniston. It’s an easy day’s ride from Carlisle, and even if we’re delayed, we know the area well. If we have any difficulty, I’ll take a room at the Black Sail Inn in Penrith. It’s a respectable establishment. You’ve often said so yourself.”
“What do you think, John?” Her mother was still at his side, soothing him as no one else ever could. “It sounds like a workable plan.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I think,” he said, sighing again, “that I ought to have thrown each of my daughters into a dark dungeon and not let them out until I had betrothal contracts firmly in hand.”
Her mother reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Your daughters managed quite well on their own. Even Dillie. She has an offer of marriage from a duke. A young and handsome one at that.”
But one who doesn’t love me.
“Very well. I’ll give you a week. Abner brings you back to London by the following Wednesday.”
Which was an enormous concession, and Dillie knew better than to press her luck, but she tried anyway. “I need two weeks. Not a day less.”
Her father now had a stubborn set to his jaw. “One.”
They settled on two weeks, but her father would spend the second week with her in Coniston. It was a workable compromise. By late morning, she and Uncle Rupert were passing through the Farthingale gate in the carriage, drawn by a pair of sturdy horses in the capable hands of Abner Mayhew, their longtime coachman.
Abner was a most pleasant fellow, older than her father by a good ten years. He had a full cap of white hair and round, ruddy cheeks. The Mayhews had worked for the Farthingales for generations. Mrs. Mayhew was their long-time cook. Abner was their coachman. Amos, the youngest, who was about Dillie’s age, was one of their footmen. Various Mayhew nieces had worked in the Farthingale household in the positions of nanny, maid, and governess.
Which was perhaps why Abner felt it was his place to comment on her situation when they stopped near Northampton. The carriage clattered to a halt in the courtyard of the Hawkshead Inn just as the sun faded over the glistening rooftops. Rupert descended and strode ahead to arrange for their quarters while Abner grabbed his step stool and set it in front of the carriage door. “Let me help you down, Miss Dillie.”
She smiled her thanks.
She could see that he was simply bursting to tell her what was on his mind. “Are ye sure ye want ta be runnin’ from a duke, Miss Dillie?”
“No, Abner. I’m not sure at all.”
“Then why are ye runnin’? Is it because of them ugly rumors?” he asked, releasing her hand and taking a step back.
“My supposed scandal? It’s utterly ridiculous. The duke always behaved as a gentleman—”
“Ech! I never believed that stuff and nonsense about you and him. Ye’re a good girl. We all know that.” He nodded to emphasize his point. “I meant those other nasty rumors. The ones about him.”
Her heart suddenly beat a little faster. “Tell me, Abner. Please. No one else will talk to me about his past. What have you heard? Is it something important?”
“I think so, Miss Dillie.” He paused and swallowed hard. “They say he murdered his own brother.”
***
Ian rode for Swineshead the morning after the disastrous Cummerfield ball. Of course, he hadn’t actually attended the ball, just been tossed into a Farthingale carriage and beaten into submission by his own best friends. He supposed he deserved it. After all, he’d run down Chipping Way the night he was attacked, ignoring the Chipping Way curse, and now he was suffering the consequences.
The sky was overcast and threatening rain, but he hoped to get in several hours of hard riding before the skies opened up. No matter the weather, he needed to leave town. It wasn’t for his sake, but for Dillie’s. She needed time to calm down and think, time to realize that her prospects were dim unless she married him. She would come around in time. He just needed to keep away and give her that time alone to consider all the possibilities.
In this, he was a patient man.
He wasn’t in any hurry to be leg shackled. Truth be told, he hadn’t planned on ever taking a wife. He certainly wasn’t about to offer for anyone other than Dillie, for he wasn’t fit husband material for any woman. He’d try his best for Dillie’s sake, though. It might work. She had a way of easing the pain he carried in his heart, of making him laugh, and she never bored him.