The Earl's Runaway Governess. Catherine Tinley

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       Chapter Three

      The inn at Netherton was similar in some ways to the Hawk and Hound. There was a stone archway off to one side, and Marianne had barely a moment to register the swinging metal sign before the coach swung into the yard.

      See? Marianne told herself. It is just an inn. The people here are no different from the people at home. I can do this.

      It was a refrain she had repeated numerous times in the few days since she had slipped away from the only home she could remember. Today she had survived the indignity of travelling on the public mail coach for only the second time in her life, sandwiched between a buxom farmer’s wife and a youth travelling to visit his relations in Reading. The farmer’s wife had talked incessantly, which had been both vexing and a relief, since no one could ask her any questions.

      Grateful that the jolting coach was finally arrived at Netherton, Marianne descended, and pointed out her bandboxes to the coachman. He untied them from the top of the coach and passed them down to her, then he jumped down again, making for the warmth of the inn and its refreshments.

      Marianne looked around the yard. The only other vehicle was a dashing high-perch phaeton, painted in an elegant shade of green, with green and black wheels. She had seen carriages like it before. They were all the crack among the London sporting gentlemen. Henry, of course, owned one—though his was a little smaller and painted red.

      So where was the cart or the gig that would convey her to Ledbury House? Mrs Gray had said only that she would inform the family of her arrival. She had no idea who would be meeting her.

      The other passengers had also dismounted and were going inside. Those who were travelling on would have a few moments here to relieve themselves, or quickly buy refreshments from the landlord.

      Hesitantly, Marianne followed them into the inn.

      The interior was dark, cosy and well-maintained. A fire burned in the grate, for the January day was chilly.

      Marianne made her way towards the wooden counter at the far end of the room, where a woman who must be the landlady was busy pouring ale. As she walked Marianne found herself warily assessing the strangers in the room. Since the day and the hour she had left home she had not felt truly safe for even a minute. She had no experience with which to assess where danger might lurk, so found herself constantly on edge.

      Her fellow passengers were already seating themselves in various parts of the taproom, and there were also two men who looked as if they might be farmers, each with a mug of beer in front of him.

      Then she saw him. Her heart briefly thumped furiously in her chest and the hairs at the back of her neck stood to attention.

      He was seated with his back to her, at the table closest to the counter. She could see his dark hair, swept forward in fashionable style. He wore a driving cloak with numerous capes. She could also see long legs encased in tight-fitting pantaloons and gleaming black boots. He looked like any one of a dozen London bucks.

      Except this time, she reminded herself, you have no reason to fear him.

      She kept walking, soothing herself with calm thoughts. As she reached his table she turned her head, compelled to confirm that it was no one she knew.

      This man was a few years older than Henry—perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties. His hair was similar—thick, dark and luxuriant. But the face was totally different. This man was handsome—or at least he would be if he were not scowling so fiercely. His strong bones and lean features contrasted with Henry’s slight pudginess and rather weak jawline. And now that she could see all of him she realised that his body shape was totally different from Henry’s. He was lean and muscular, with no sign of a paunch. His clothing was similar to that favoured by Henry—and indeed by all the young bucks of London. But there the resemblance ended.

      Sensing her standing there, he looked up from his mug and their eyes met. Stormy blue bored into her and Marianne felt a slow flush rise. My, but he was attractive! And she realised his gaze was doing strange things to her.

      Breaking away from that endless, compelling contact, she bit her lip and took the final four steps to the counter.

      ‘Yes, miss?’

      Marianne summoned a polite smile. She felt slightly lost and shaky, and she could feel the man’s gaze boring into her back.

      Still, she managed to reply to the landlady. ‘I am expecting someone to meet me here. I have travelled from London on the mail coach.’

      ‘Who is it you are expecting, miss?’

      Marianne’s brow creased. ‘I am not exactly sure.’

      Inside, panic was rising. What if there has been some mistake? What if there is no governess position?

      ‘I am to take up a position as governess at a place called Ledbury House. I was told to travel here by mail coach today.’

      ‘Ledbury House? This gentleman—’ the landlady indicated the fashionable buck ‘—is also travelling there. Perhaps you are expected to travel with him?’

      Heart sinking, Marianne swung round to face him. His scowl had deepened as he’d listened to their exchange, and he now raised a quizzical eyebrow.

      ‘Curious...’ he mused. ‘And to think I was unaware of the delights this day would hold.’

      Marianne was taken aback. She was unsure how to take this. The man’s words had been perfectly polite, but something about the tone suggested the possibility that he was not, in fact, delighted. Accustomed as she was to straightforward politeness, his words and tone felt disconcerting.

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