A Wealthy Widow. Anne Herries

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      It was late afternoon when Arabella came out of the inn to find her carriage repaired and waiting. She paused for a moment and then gestured to her maid, who had been attending to something in the baggage coach.

      ‘We are almost ready to leave, Iris. Please make sure that we have my small trunk with us. If we should suffer another accident, I may need it tonight.’

      ‘Yes, my lady, of course. I’ll attend to it immediately.’

      Arabella stopped to speak to her coachman and one of the grooms who was attending to the horses, discussing a change in plans for that night. Because of the delay, it was possible that they might not reach their planned destination. As she did so, a curricle drove into the inn yard and a man got down. He was dressed in the manner of a dandy—his travelling cloak had six capes, and his cravat was ridiculously high and fussy, especially for a journey into the country.

      Arabella tensed as the man threw the reins to his tiger and walked towards the inn. For a moment she wished that she might avoid meeting him, for he was a gentleman she knew and did not much like, but pride came to her rescue. She had no reason to feel embarrassed. Sir Courtney Welch had asked her to marry him a year after Ben’s death. Still raw with grief, she had refused him as politely as she could, but he had taken offence and had later accosted her in a drunken fit. His disgusting behaviour had been one of the reasons she had decided never to marry again. She would rather remain unwed than make the mistake of marrying someone she discovered later that she could not like.

      ‘Madam,’ he said, bowing to her in an exaggerated manner that was almost an insult. ‘Alas, it seems that you are always leaving when I arrive.’

      He could not have failed to notice that Arabella avoided his company whenever possible, but she had always preferred to avoid confrontation with him. She was relieved when Tilda spoke to her, unwittingly saving her from having to reply to his false gallantry.

      ‘They were much quicker mending the wheel than the landlord thought,’ Tilda observed as she touched Arabella’s arm. ‘But we should go, my dear, it will be dark before we reach Richmond.’

      ‘Yes, I imagine it will,’ Arabella agreed and allowed herself to be directed towards the carriage. She did not look back at the man she disliked. Had she done so, she would have seen that he was staring after her, his face stark with anger. ‘I had hoped to arrive earlier, but it cannot be helped. I am not sure we shall manage to complete our journey tonight.’ Because the day was overcast it was already darker than she had thought possible for the hour.

      ‘But we are well protected, Tilda. You need not fear highwaymen. My grooms are all armed and we have several of them. I believe those that make their living from waylaying unwary travellers are more likely to attack unaccompanied carriages.’

      ‘Yes, I am sure you are right,’ Tilda said, but cast an anxious look from the window of their carriage as if she feared that they might be attacked at any moment. ‘But I shall be glad when we reach London and your aunt’s house. Inns are never so comfortable as one’s own bed.’

      Arabella smiled, for she knew that Tilda was of a nervous disposition. She believed herself more than a match for any highwayman and carried a small pistol inside her velvet muff. She did not mention this to her companion—it would only distress her more—but she was glad of it as the light began to fade and the sky grew darker.