CHAPTER ONE
Summer 1805
A hazy sun threw ripples of shadow through the coach window. Watching the play of shapes across the empty forward seat with an idle gaze, Miss Burloyne lent but half an ear to the droning buzz of her great-aunt’s rambling enumeration of the treats in store. Combined with the rhythmic motion of the vehicle, it made her sleepy.
Besides, she had heard it all already. After four years of failure, she had no expectation that a summer in Weymouth would prove any more fruitful in producing a prospective husband than had the metropolis. Not that Delia for a moment believed in Mama’s spurious reason for persuading her to accompany Lady Matterson on her annual excursion to the seaside.
“In a smaller milieu, dearest, you may attract better notice. It will do you the world of good too. You are looking decidedly peaky.”
That at least was true. Delia felt decidedly peaky. Or piqued might better fit the bill. What would you? When one’s younger sister’s first season disgorged a plethora of eligibles ready to lay their hearts at her feet, just as Delia had foreseen, she might be pardoned a trifle of pique.
“The sea-bathing will do you good. Dear Aunt Gertrude swears by it, you must know, and you may benefit in addition to doing us all the greatest favour by lending her your company.”
Delia was not deceived. Favour? When it served to confirm her relegation to the status of old maid? Henceforth, a round of duty visits would become her life. If it was not a widowed great-aunt, it would be the wife of one of her brothers needing a drudge to help them through a crisis. Or her sister Sophia, once she’d decided which of the rich handkerchiefs to pick up and began popping babies like a manic rabbit. In which regard, Delia had to admit to a preference for Weymouth to being obliged to drool over Jocasta’s infant had she been free to accept the invitation to spend the summer with her friend at Tazewell Manor again — where she must also observe the wedded bliss of the Hetheringtons. She wished Edith, Lady Hetherington well, but it would be too galling. Weymouth was indeed a better prospect, as Mama had insisted.
“Just think how entertained you must be, dearest, what with the balls, the library and the theatre, as well as the bathing and excursions. Why, you will be gay to dissipation!”
“I thought I was supposed to be recuperating.”
Mama had ignored the dry note. “And so you will be. Aunt Gertrude will be glad of the company of a lively young woman in place of her friend.”
Said friend being too ill to go to Weymouth this year, which was why Lady Matterson had demanded her niece’s presence. Lady Burloyne had promptly shuffled off the burden onto the shoulders of her unmarriageable elder daughter.
Delia sighed a little, recalling Edith’s joking assertion last year that her prince would come upon her unexpectedly.No sign of him yet, Edith.And she dared say he would remain firmly entrenched in the fairy tale. Princesses did not come with sandy hair and freckles.
Even as the thought passed through her mind, a sound that had been vaguely intrusive grew louder. Galloping hooves?
Her aunt ceased speaking and looked round at her in mute question. Delia shifted towards the door and leaned her head out of the open window, craning her neck to see behind the coach.
“It’s a rider. No, more than one.”
They were coming up fast. Lady Matterson began to fidget. “Heavens! I do hope it is not footpads!”
Delia brought her head in, though she remained perched forward on the seat. “Surely not? We’re only a few miles out of Dorchester.”
“Well, one of my friends was held up along this stretch of forest last year.”
“Not in broad daylight, Aunt, surely?”
“Well, no, but still.”
The thunder was coming closer. Delia’s pulse quickened, but she maintained her calm. “Perhaps they only mean to pass.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when an explosion shattered on the air.
A yell of fright from the one of the servants on the box was followed immediately by a rattling bump and the coach swerved horribly, throwing Delia off the seat. She landed in a heap in the narrow space between the seats as the coach plunged from side to side and the whinnying of terrified horses mingled with the galloping hooves. A muffled shout came from without.
“Hold, there! Hold!”
Delia grabbed the edge of the seat to steady herself and the rocking world came at last to stillness. For an instant she sat mumchance, getting her breath, but remembrance hit. Aunt Gertrude!
She looked up to find the old lady miraculously still in her place, both hands grasping the leather loop near the door. She caught Delia’s eye and released a hand to put a finger to her lips. Delia nodded.
The silence was broken by rough voices speaking to the coachman or groom.
“Hoy, you! Get down off the box!”
“Leave ’em, Sam! He’s off in the woods.”