She wasn’t acquiescing to the fate laid out for her by others. Instead, she was finding a way still to live a grand life of her own choosing.
Besides, Henry had always said she was lucky. And he wasn’t wrong. It seemed as if no matter what fell in Sophia’s path, she was always able to navigate around it and come out unscathed. This would be no different.
She sat up in bed, so her feet dangled over the edge of the mattress in the chill of the cool morning air and reminded herself again of the plan. Glasgow was approximately a day and a half away. Once there, she could find a guide to lead her into the Highlands. After that, she had to secure lodging and assemble the materials, which she had written down from memory of the conversation with Kendal at the ball. From there, she could procure a guide to instruct her on the distilling methods and, hopefully, begin the process.
It seemed both simple and complicated all at once.
In all actuality, the whole of it felt impossible
A ripple of misgiving shuddered down her back.
And while it was not too late to turn around and return home to England, doing so would result in her marriage to Mongerton. This time, her shudder was one of revulsion.
Better to face the unknown than the devil she knew.
Bolstered, she pushed herself up from the bed and quickly dressed in her black gown and veil. They were heavy, dark things she ordinarily would have detested, except that they held the slightest scent of cinnamon in the rich fabric and reminded her of her aunt. At least such a wonderous sense of familiarity helped assuage Sophia’s devastating loneliness.
Fully dressed, Sophia made her way down the stairs with her jewelry-laden valise clutched in her hands and was promptly greeted by the innkeeper’s overly wide grin.
“Good day, Lady Weatherborne.”
She’d created a story for the widow she played and used the alias at each inn she visited. Lady Weatherborne, an entire work of fiction from Sophia’s mind, was the third and final wife to the Marquis of Weatherborne. She was a woman of exceptional wealth and privilege who had spent her entire life following every rule. Now she was seeking adventure.
Sophia nodded in response to the innkeeper’s greeting, as Lady Weatherborne would most assuredly do.
“I’ve fine news for ye,” he said. “I’ve managed to locate a driver.”
There now. Things truly always did work out for her.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” she drawled in a bored, austere tone. One she’d actually borrowed from Lord Kendal.
Though she genuinely was pleased to hear it and smiled at the man, realizing belatedly that her black veil obscured the display of her appreciation. Some habits were not easily cast aside.
Declining his offer to take her valise, she rushed outside, eager to meet her new driver and make haste toward Glasgow. Now that she was once more resolved in her plan, she didn’t want anything to slow her down lest her wits became rattled again.
A post chaise sat just outside the stables. Presumably, one attached to the driver Sophia would be hiring. A fair-haired man in a simple jacket was crouched by the wall with his back to her.
No doubt, he was her driver. The only other person in the stable was a boy preparing two horses to be ridden.
Sophia slipped on the role of Lady Weatherborne and strode briskly toward the man.
“You are my driver, are you not?” she asked in her most pretentious tone.
“Are ye Lady Weatherborne?” He didn’t even bother to stand or turn to look at her as he asked the question in his rough accent.
She sniffed. “I am. And I should like you to turn around so that I might greet you properly.”
He held a broken bridle aloft. “Fixing this, then we’ll be on our way, my lady.”
Sophia hesitated. What would Lady Weatherborne do in this situation?
“Very well,” she said snappishly. “I’ll have the innkeeper bring out my effects.”
Halfway back to the inn, she belated realized Lady Weatherborne would have instructed him to notify the innkeeper rather than do it herself. She stopped short and returned to the stable just as he was standing. He was far taller than she had expected, and has attire fit improperly as a result, with the hem of his trousers hovering just above his ankles.
She opened her mouth to tell him he needed to go to the inn for her remaining items when he turned toward her. His dark eyes met hers, and her mind went blank in shock.
She knew those eyes. She knew that man. And now she knew why his clothes were such an inadequate fit.
“Did you require further assistance, Lady Weatherborne?” he drawled in his aristocratic voice, dragging out her name with obvious intent.
A dizzying mix of emotions slammed into her. Not only the horror at having been caught, but the heart-aching awareness of seeing someone she knew. A familiar face in a foreign world where she’d been surrounded by strangers and taken by thieves.
Her pulse stumbled. She wanted to laugh and run toward him even as she knew she ought to turn and run from him.
“Lord Kendal.” As she whispered his name, her veil rippled with her exhalation, reminding her that she still wore it.
If she hadn’t been so foolish as to say his name, he might not have recognized her. She had just blown her own disguise.
Or perhaps he knew anyway, or he wouldn’t have said her name as he did.
No doubt her father had sent him to bring her back to England. Back to Mongerton and her unwanted marriage.
She couldn’t allow that. Without thinking too much about what she planned to do next, she ran toward the horse the boy had prepared and leapt into the saddle. It had been ages since she had ridden astride—not since she’d had her first lessons. Once she’d been instructed to use a side-saddle, she’d used one ever since.
With her skirts hitched up to her knees, she grabbed the reins in one hand and clutched her valise to her with the other as she bellowed in a most unladylike manner for the horse to go.
5
Kendal stared in shock at the young woman in widow’s weeds with her veil fluttering behind her and her white stockinged legs visible from the knees down. Of all the things he’d anticipated of their meeting, this was not even on his list of assumed expectations.
The stable lad had been readying another horse and now watched open-mouthed as the wild widow on a stolen steed galloped away at full tilt.
Kendal grabbed the saddle from the boy’s hands and secured it swiftly to the horse. “I’ll see to it both horses are returned posthaste.”
He didn’t wait for the stable lad to respond before leaping onto the beast and tearing off after the woman he would be forced to wed. She rode like the very devil, with her skirts and veil billowing black fury behind her.
This was not how it was supposed to have gone.
It had all been planned out perfectly. He would keep his face hidden while she went to the carriage, which was to be the easiest of the tasks. Only when they were on the road back to London would he confess who he was, followed by his intention shortly thereafter.
It was the latter part that he’d presumed to be the most problematic, convincing a woman he wanted to marry her, when, in fact, he did not.
Rage flared up inside Kendal. It had been his constant companion the entire time he been searching for Lady Sophia. He would not be here if it weren’t for Lord Gullsville’s inability to stop gambling.