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“Let us go,” he told the farmer.
Mr Davies snapped the ribbons and the old horse started moving.
“You make him pay, husband!” Mrs Davies shouted after them.
The old horse pulled the cart past the vegetable garden, colourful with cabbages and kale. Wheat was already planted for the winter crop and a rook swept down and disappeared into the field of swaying stalks. The cart rolled at a slow speed finally reaching a road, leaving the cottage some distance behind.
At the road, Tanner turned to Mr Davies. “Take us to Cemaes.”
The old man’s head jerked in surprise. “Cemaes is north. You’ll be wanting to go south to the ferry to Holyhead.”
“We wish to go north. To Cemaes,” Tanner said.
Mr Davies shook his head. “You want to go to Holyhead, I tell you.”
Tanner felt a shiver crawl up his back. He’d wager the old man had some mishap planned on the road to the ferry. He held up the sovereign, which glittered in the sunlight. “If you wish to earn this coin, you will take us to Cemaes.” He returned the coin to his pocket. “If not, we will walk from here.” Tanner began to stand.
The farmer gestured for him to sit. “I’ll take you to Cemaes,” he grumbled and turned the horse and cart north.
The road, still muddy from the rains, wound past more farmland and other small cottages like the Davies’s. Sometimes Tanner could glimpse the sea, looking calm this day, like a slumbering monster that had devoured its fill. The old man kept the frown on his face and did not speak. Miss Brown gripped the seat to steady herself as the cart rumbled along, but she, too, was silent. The cart jostled her against him, from time to time, keeping Tanner physically aware of her.
Her face was obscured by the hood of the cloak, and Tanner missed watching the play of emotions on her face. He’d seen her angry, earnest, frightened and relieved. He would enjoy hearing her laugh, or seeing passion light her face.
He also wished to discover her real name and the names of the people from whom she had supposedly stolen jewels. If she confided in him, he could help her. Even if she was guilty of the theft, he could make her troubles disappear. Money, power and influence overcame justice most of the time. If he repaid the son for the jewels, he’d wager the theft would be totally forgiven.
Tanner could not gaze at her without being obvious, so he settled for the warmth of the sun on his face, the scent of the fresh sea air and fragrant fields, and the sight of the peaceful countryside. It was not precisely an Arcadian paradise, not with men toiling in the fields and cottages too small for comfort, but it was solid and timeless and vastly preferable to the cold, fickle sea.
As the sun grew higher in the sky, they passed a windmill spinning in the breeze, and a standing stone placed there by Celtic people long erased from history. Tanner guessed the time to be about noon. He dug his fingers into his pocket for his timepiece. It was no longer there.
His head whipped around to the old farmer driving the cart. The old man had gone through his pockets, he’d wager. “I wonder what time it is,” he said.
The old man’s jaw flexed.
Tanner coughed and winced as the pain in his ribs kicked at him again. Miss Brown looked over at him with concern in her eyes. He returned a reassuring smile, before glancing back to the old farmer.
He ought to deprive the man of the sovereign he’d promised, glad he’d had the presence of mind to hang on to his purse after he’d peeled every piece of wet clothing off his body, making a sopping pile on the cottage floor. Miss Brown had been shivering so violently, Tanner had been desperate to make her warm.
Mr Davies flicked the ribbons and glanced at Tanner nervously, fearful, no doubt, that Tanner would challenge him on the theft of his timepiece.
Tanner glanced back to the road. Let the man keep the watch, he said to himself. As payment for his bed. Tanner would have given the man anything for that warm bed. For her. To save her from the killing cold as he had saved her from the killing sea.
Two slow hours passed and Tanner suspected they could have walked faster than the old horse moved on the muddy road. Finally rooftops and a church bell tower came into view.
“Cemaes,” said the old man, lifting his chin towards the town.
Miss Brown leaned forward. What was she thinking? Tanner wondered. What plan was she making for herself?
They came to the first houses, gleaming white, edged with chrysanthemums and marigolds. Up ahead the buildings became thicker and Tanner could see people walking about.
Miss Brown put her hand on Tanner’s arm. “May we stop here?” She gave him that earnest look again.
He drank it in for a moment, then turned to the old man. “Mr Davies, you may leave us off here.”
The old man’s bushy brows shot up. “It is no distance to the inn.”
“Good!” Tanner responded in a jovial voice. “Then it shall be only a short walk for us. Stop, if you please.”
The farmer shrugged and pulled on the ribbons, halting his horse. Tanner climbed down and reached up for Miss Brown. Putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her down to the road and was reluctant to let go of her. He fished in his pocket for the sovereign and handed it up to Mr Davies, who grabbed it quickly, as if fearing Tanner would change his mind. Without a word of farewell, the man flicked the ribbons again, and the old horse clopped its way into town, to the inn and some refreshment for them both, Tanner suspected.
“You gave him a sovereign.” Miss Brown said in a disapproving tone.
Tanner kicked a pebble into the street. “Yes.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Too much?”
“I dare say,” she responded. “Half that amount would have been generous.”
He tilted his head, somewhat chagrined. “Especially since the man also stole my watch and I highly suspect his son was the man you hit over the head.”
Her jaw dropped. “Tell me it is not so.” Outrage filled her face. “How shabby of them to take such advantage.”
This was an odd reaction for a supposed thief, Tanner thought. “Well, it is done…” He glanced around him, at the cobblestones in the street, at the tidy houses. “Why did you wish to be let off here?”
The sun illuminated her features and made her eyes sparkle like sapphires. He felt momentarily deprived of breath.
“I wanted a chance to talk with you.” She gazed at him intently. “To prepare.”
It took a moment for him to respond. “Prepare for what?”
She frowned in concentration. “I cannot enter that inn saying I am Miss Brown off the shipwrecked packet from Dublin, the prisoner escorted by a Bow Street Runner. I must think of some fiction to tell them.”
Tanner nodded. He’d not thought much beyond being rid of Mr Davies and finding an inn with good food and a comfortable bed, but, then, he was not much accustomed to thinking ahead while travelling. The next meal, the next bed and the final destination were all he considered, and half the time they were arranged by his valet or his secretary.
She went on. “And I cannot walk in as the companion of the Marquess of Tannerton.”
He felt a bit like a rejected suitor. “Would that be too scandalous?”
“It would be too foolish.” Her expression turned patient, as if speaking to a dull child. “The Marquess of Tannerton is sure to create a great deal of interest, especially if the marquess almost drowned. If I am seen with you, I will become an object of curiosity as well, and that I cannot have. I must slip away without anyone noticing me.”
This woman must never look at herself in a mirror, Tanner thought. Surely she could not go anywhere and not be noticed.
“I see.” He nodded, trying not to be distracted by his vision of her. “What do you propose?”
Her expression gave the impression of a mind turning like the intricate gears of his stolen watch. The road forked a few paces away and led to a stone bridge over a stream. She gestured for him to walk with her. They strolled to the bridge, where they stood side by side, leaning on the wall, gazing into the stream, swollen and brown from the previous day’s storm.
She turned to him. “I—I must be on my way. The sooner I leave Anglesey, the sooner I will be forgotten. I want it thought that I drowned in the shipwreck. If they think me dead, no one will search for me.”
Tanner disliked hearing her speak of being “on her way.”
“Where will you go?” he asked. “Scotland is a big place.”
She searched his face for a moment before turning her gaze away. “It is best for me not to say.”
He frowned, unused to anyone refusing an answer to his question. Her mistrust wounded him when she so clearly needed a friend.
She turned back to him, her voice low and desperate. “I need some of your money.”
He stared at her.
Nothing would be easier for him than to hand over the entire contents of his purse. He could get more money for himself later, on the mere strength of his name. Even in this remote place someone would extend the Marquess of Tannerton credit, enough to arrange for a post-chaise to carry him back to London. He could return to his townhouse in a matter of days.
He usually solved his difficulties by handing over money and letting someone else take care of it. Ironically, one of the rare times he’d taken it upon himself to solve a problem, three people died.
Perhaps he ought to leave her here in Cemaes.
Suddenly some of the colour drained from her face and her breathing accelerated. “Forgive my foolish request,” she whispered. “You have done more than enough for me. I do not need your money.”
She spun away from him and started to walk away.
He seized her arm. “Wait.”
His conscience could not let her go, even with his purse in her hand. He knew he could help her. His name and influence—and his money as well—could save her from the hangman’s noose or transportation or whatever fate might befall her if she was caught again.
“I have another proposal.” He spoke in a low voice. “Come to London with me. Let me use my influence to help you. Whoever has caused you this trouble is not likely to have friends as highly connected as my friends, nor as much money as I possess. I am certain I can settle this matter for you. My power and influence are considerable.”
She stepped away from him. “No!” She took a deep breath. “No,” she said more quietly. “I thank you, but—but—you are mistaken. My trouble is—” She clamped her mouth shut on whatever it was she had been about to say.
He kept his gaze steady. “No matter what your trouble is, I assure you, I can help.”
She shook her head. “You cannot know—” Again she stopped herself from speaking. “It is safer for me to run. No one will look for me, because they will think me dead. They will forget me, and I may start my life anew.”
She gazed at him with such intensity Tanner felt the impact resonate deep inside him. He moved towards her. What made her think he could forget her? What made her think he could let her be dead to him now when he’d refused to let her die in the sea?
“Surely you cannot travel alone,” he tried.
“Of course I can.” She glanced away, and he could sense her mind at work again. “I might be a governess travelling to a new place of employment. Who would question that?”
He did not like this idea. Some men would consider an unescorted governess fair game. “Someone would ask who employed you, for one thing. They would ask where you were bound.”
“Then I would fashion answers.”
She was slipping away. He remembered that horrible moment when he’d woken up on shore and thought she had slipped from his grasp. He did not want to let go of her now any more than he had wanted to then. True, he might easily return to his comforts, the diversions of London, the hunting parties he and Pomroy planned to attend, but how could he be content now if he thought her adrift, alone?
He glanced away, his mind whirling, as he’d fancied hers had done. All he could think to do was delay.
He gripped her arm, holding on to her like he had done in the sea. “I’ll give you the money.” He made her look into his face. “There is no obligation to pay it back. It is a trifling amount to me, I assure you, but listen to me. I am afraid our taciturn Mr Davies is at the inn this very moment loosening his tongue with a large tankard of ale.” He glanced in the direction of the inn. “He will tell everyone we are husband and wife—that is what he and his wife concluded about us and I did not correct their impression. Did you?”
She shook her head. “I did not.”
He went on, “Davies will tell them we are from the shipwreck, a husband and wife from the shipwreck. If we act as strangers now, we will increase suspicion about you, not reduce it.”
She considered this. “Yes, that would be true.”
His spirits rose. He held on to her still. He took a breath. “In this town we must also be husband and wife.”
“Husband and wife?” She stared at him, a worry line forming between her brows.
Acting as husband and wife meant sharing a room. Tanner longed to hold her again, longed to again wake with her in his arms, to know he had kept her safe.
He looked into her face, suffused with reluctance, and realised she might not be as thrilled at the prospect of sharing a bed with him as he was with her.
“I will not take advantage of you,” he said in as earnest a tone as he could muster, although his body pulsed with desire for her.
She glanced away, and again turned her eyes back to him, eyes as blue as the sky behind her. “Very well. Tonight we are husband and wife.”
He heard the unspoken end to her sentence. Tomorrow they would part. Still, his spirits soared. He would have this brief time with her and maybe wherever they were bound on the morrow would reassure him she’d be safe.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we prepare? We must concoct a story for ourselves, must we not? Names. We need to have names, and, to own the truth, I do not think Brown is a good choice.”
“Why?” she asked.
“It is the sort of name a gentleman gives to an innkeeper when he does not wish his identity known.” He winked.
She gave a light laugh. “Is that so?
“It is.” He smiled. “Select another name.”
“Smith?” A corner of her mouth lifted.
He rolled his eyes, playing along with her jest. “You are not good at this, are you?” He put his mind to the task, but the only names he could think of were ones too connected to him. Adam. Vick. Tanner. “I am hopeless as well.”
“I have an idea,” she said. “How about the name Lir? Lir is the god of the sea in Irish mythology.”
He peered at her. “You know Irish mythology?”
“I lived in Ireland.” She cast her eyes down. “I read about it in a book there.”
“How do you spell it? Like Shakespeare’s King Lear?” he asked. “Because I know how to spell that Lear. The Irish always use—well—Irish spellings.”
She gave him a look that mocked the one he’d given her. “You know Shakespeare?”
He laughed.
Her eyes twinkled. “We can spell it like King Lear.”
He smiled back at her, his heart gladdened at her mirth. Their first night together had been full of terror. This one ought to be peaceful and happy. He vowed he would make it so.
