Bother the man, anyway. He could use some confusion in his life.
Chapter 14
nic-tate (verb). To wink.
I have found that nervous situations often cause me to nictate or stutter.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent
An hour later Caroline was feeling quite refreshed—at least in the physical sense. The crisp salty air held remarkable restorative properties for the lungs. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as effective with the heart and the head.
Did she love Blake Ravenscroft? She certainly hoped so. She'd like to think that she wouldn't have behaved in such a wanton manner with a man for whom she didn't feel a deep and abiding affection.
She smiled wryly. What she ought to be considering was whether Blake cared for her. She thought he did, at least a little bit. His concern for her welfare the night before had been obvious, and when he kissed her…well, she didn't know very much about kissing, but she could sense a hunger in him, and she instinctively knew that that hunger was reserved solely for her.
And she could make him laugh. That had to count for something.
Then, just as she was beginning to rationalize her entire situation, she heard a tremendous crash, followed by the sound of splintering wood, followed by some decidedly feminine shrieking.
Caroline's eyebrows shot up. What had happened? She wanted to investigate, but she wasn't supposed to make her presence here in Bournemouth known. It wasn't likely that one of Oliver's friends would be traveling this little-used road, but if she were recognized it would be nothing short of disaster. Still, someone might be in trouble…
Curiosity won out over prudence, and she trotted toward the sound of the crash, slowing her pace as she drew close just in case she changed her mind and wanted to remain hidden.
Concealing herself behind a tree, she peered out at the road. A splendid carriage lay drunkenly in the dirt, one wheel completely splintered. Three men and two ladies were milling about. No one seemed injured, so Caroline decided to remain behind the tree until she could assess the situation.
The scenario quickly became a fascinating puzzle. Who were these people and what had happened? Caroline quickly figured out who was in charge—it was the better dressed of the two ladies. She was quite lovely, with black curls that spilled out from under her bonnet, and was giving orders in a manner that revealed that she had been dealing with servants her entire life. Caroline judged her age to be about thirty, perhaps a bit older.
The other lady was probably her maid, and the gentlemen—Caroline guessed that one was the driver and two were outriders. All three men were dressed in matching dark blue livery. Whoever these people were, they came from an extremely wealthy household.
After a minute of discussion, the lady in charge sent the driver and one of the outriders off to the north, presumably to fetch some help. Then she looked at the trunks which had fallen off the carriage and said, “We might as well use them as seats,” and the three remaining travelers plopped down to wait.
After about a minute of sitting around and doing nothing, the lady turned to her maid and said, “I don't suppose my embroidery is packed anywhere accessible?”
The maid shook her head. “It's in the middle of the largest trunk, my lady.”
“Ah, that would be the one that is miraculously still fastened to the top of the carriage.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The lady let out a long breath. “I suppose we ought to be thankful that it isn't overly hot.”
“Or raining,” the outrider put in.
“Or snowing,” said the maid.
The lady speared her with an annoyed glance. “Really, Sally, that's hardly likely at this time of year.”
The maid shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. After all, who would have thought we'd have lost a wheel the way we did. And this being the most expensive carriage money can buy.”
Caroline smiled and edged away. Clearly these people were unhurt, and the rest of their traveling party would be back soon with help. Better to keep her presence a secret. The fewer people who knew she was here in Bournemouth the better. After all, what if this lady was a friend of Oliver's? It wasn't likely, of course. The lady seemed to have a sense of humor and a modicum of taste, which would immediately eliminate Oliver Prewitt from her circle of friends. Still, one couldn't be too careful.
Ironically, that was exactly what Caroline was saying to herself—still, one couldn't be too careful—when she took a false step, landed on a rather dried-up twig, and broke it in half with an extremely loud snap.
“Who's there?” the lady immediately demanded. Caroline froze.
“Show yourself immediately.”
Could she outrun the outrider? Unlikely. The man was already walking purposefully in her direction, his hand on a bulge in his pocket that Caroline had a sneaking suspicion was a gun.
“It's only me,” she said quickly, stepping out into the clearing.
The lady cocked her head, her gray eyes narrowing slightly. “Good day, ‘me.’ Who are you?”
“Who are you?” Caroline countered.
“I asked you first.”
“Ah, but I am alone, and you are safely among your traveling companions. Therefore, common courtesy would deem that you reveal yourself first.”
The woman drew her head back in a combination of admiration and surprise. “My dear girl, you are speaking the utmost nonsense. I know all there is to know about common courtesy.”
“Hmmm. I was afraid you would.”
“Not to mention,” the lady continued, “that of the two of us, I am the only one accompanied by an armed servant. So perhaps you ought to be the first to reveal her identity.”