Frederica readily agreed, and with less embarrassment than last night, she managed to give herself a quick sponge bath and put on a fresh shift. She pulled her corset up, but could not manage to tie it from behind. She felt like a cat chasing its tail. Samuel must have seen her struggles and offered his assistance.
Tying the strings, he kissed her bare shoulder. ‘Whoever invented corsets should be awarded a knighthood at the very least.’
Frederica laughed silently, for he had squeezed all the air out of her. She walked over to her trunk and took out a plain grey dress made of coarse material. Pulling it over her head, she returned to Samuel to button up the back buttons. Then she moved to the mirror and combed through her long brown hair, while Samuel finished dressing in a simple dark blue suit, suitable for a merchant. Frederica braided her hair and twisted it into a knot at her neck. Wade would be horrified with her hairstyle. She stuck her tongue out at herself in the mirror.
‘Another face that I recall you giving me as a child,’ he said, peering over her shoulder in the mirror.
She turned to face him and with one gentle finger traced the white scar on his cheek near his jaw. She heard his breath quicken with her touch.
‘You did not have this growing up.’
‘No, you are not responsible for this scar,’ Samuel said with a heart-stopping smile. ‘I did not even get it in a battle. Merely a practice skirmish with a friend.’
‘How ignoble.’
He laughed and added in a mock-serious tone, ‘Please don’t give my secret away.’
‘Never,’ she whispered, realising that they were no longer playing. Samuel’s secrets would always remain safe in her keeping.
‘Rica, we had better hurry and eat our breakfast. We should have been on the road an hour ago.’
‘Yes, of course.’
They breakfasted in a small private parlour and partook heartily of cold ham and pastries.
She picked up a buttery croissant. ‘When did I become Rica?’
‘You said that you didn’t like the nickname Freddie, so I was trying a new one—Rica,’ Samuel said, lifting his glass of juice. ‘I suppose, if you would prefer it, I could call you Your Grace, Lady Frederica Maria Ada Isabella Stringham Corbin, Duchess of Pelford, but it is a bit of a mouthful.’
Frederica’s eyes wandered to his mouth. ‘I do not like either shortened version of my name. They’re juvenile... It is as if you still see me as a child.’
‘Nothing could be further from my thoughts.’
Frederica felt her neck and cheeks suffuse with colour. Samuel grinned in triumph and took a large bite of an apple Danish. The filling squirted out onto his lapel and Frederica laughed. Samuel wiped it off with his napkin and joined in her mirth.
She could not help but wonder how her mother had felt the morning after she had married a stranger. Frederica had wed her childhood nemesis. Her emotions seemed to roll all over inside of her; she felt—excited—embarrassed—eager—unsure.
Returning to their golden room, Frederica donned a plain black riding habit and dowdy straw bonnet. Samuel settled with the landlord, and a groom attached their saddlebags to two horses. Samuel put his hands on her waist and assisted her into her side-saddle. She felt breathless from the brief contact. He gave her a small smile and started his horse into a trot. Frederica followed behind him, and they left the city of Brussels.
They rode for over ten hours until they passed the border between the Netherlands and France. There were no soldiers who policed the border, and Frederica saw several peasants pulling carts of their belongings towards France.
‘Where are they going?’ Frederica asked.
‘They are French loyalists returning to the safety and protection of their emperor,’ Samuel said. ‘Our horses are about spent. We will sleep here tonight and allow the ostlers to attend to the horses.’
Frederica nodded and followed him. She had never ridden so many miles in one day in the saddle. She felt sore and exhausted.
It was early afternoon the following day and the sun was directly above them. The French town they passed through was a small one and boasted no more than fifteen buildings in total—two of which were public houses. Samuel pulled his horse to a stop near the first public house and dismounted. Handing the reins to an ostler, he lifted Frederica out of the saddle and led her into the inn.
Only a handful of customers stood near the bar, and the owner, a round-faced man with a leering grin, met them and asked if they would require a room. Samuel answered in French that they were only stopping for luncheon, but would require a private parlour if one were available. The owner ogled Frederica again, then led them to a cramped room. Samuel ordered the meal and shut the door.
‘Stuffy, isn’t it?’ he said in French, opening the small window. Then he added in a soft tone barely above a whisper, ‘Remember, we must only speak French while in France.’
Frederica nodded and took off her hat. She shook her head and yawned widely. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To Paris perhaps,’ Samuel said. ‘We will ride until we find the army.’
‘You were stationed at Paris with Lord Wellington?’