It would be best, she decided, if no one knew she was leaving or where she was going or with whom—especially with whom. There was no point in courting unnecessary scandal. The story of Sir Benedict’s having been a close friend of Matthew’s would not work here.
She had to wait until her maid had left her room for the night, then, before she could begin packing. The silly girl’s head had been turned by the arrival of so many male servants from Leyland, and she felt impelled to discuss at great length the relative merits of each one with Mrs. McKay and to offer her own opinion on which was the most handsome but which had the most manly physique and which had paid her the most outrageous compliment even if he was not quite the best in either looks or build.
Samantha thought the girl was never going to leave. It was close to midnight when she began packing one large valise and one smaller one. But there was no great problem of room. It was amazing how much she was prepared to leave behind without any qualm of regret. She would leave all her mourning clothes except what she would wear for the first stage of the journey. She had been a dutiful wife to Matthew while he lived. She had mourned him for five months. She had nothing whatsoever with which to reproach herself.
It had been arranged that Sir Benedict Harper would send his valet with a gig at five o’clock in the morning. His man would leave the gig outside the side gate, come into the house through the side door, which Samantha would unlock ahead of time, and carry out her bags. She would accompany him back to Robland Park, where Sir Benedict and his traveling carriage would be waiting.
It seemed too clandestine a scheme to succeed, especially when there was a large, sometimes unruly dog to be smuggled out along with her and her belongings, for of course Tramp could not be left to the mercies of Rudolph and Patience. Besides, Samantha would no more leave him behind than she would her own child, if she had happened to have one. Tramp was family.
The scheme succeeded without mishap, however. At ten minutes past five Samantha waited a moment for an eagerly panting Tramp to finish his business at the side of the lane before shooing him up into the body of the gig with her baggage, and then seated herself beside the large, silent man who had spoken only to introduce himself as Quinn, Sir Benedict’s valet. At a quarter to six she was being handed into an opulent traveling carriage in the stable yard at Robland. The house was still in darkness.
Tramp scrambled inside after her and settled on the seat opposite. He took up the whole space as if by right.
Mr. Quinn and the coachman loaded her bags and others onto the carriage in near silence. There were no grooms in sight. After a few minutes the carriage door opened again to reveal Sir Benedict. He looked about the interior.
“You have not brought your maid?” he asked.
“I am not sure she would have come,” she told him. “I am sure she would have told all the other servants even if I had sworn her to secrecy.”
“This is awkward,” he said, but after another moment of standing there, he climbed inside slowly but with practiced skill and took the seat beside her.
The interior suddenly felt only half its former size. This felt very awkward indeed. Perhaps after all she ought to have escaped alone and traveled by stage or even post-chaise.
“Good morning to you, sir,” she said briskly.
“Good morning, Mrs. McKay,” he said. “I take it Quinn did not have to fight off all those burly servants in order to spirit you away safely from Bramble Hall? There are a couple of servants rousing here, but none of them have voiced any particular consternation over the discovery that I mean to set out on my travels this early and without waiting for breakfast. I do not believe any of them saw you. We will break our fast when we stop for the first change of horses. Will that suit you? Yes, good morning to you too, wretched dog. You do not need to beat the stuffing out of my cushions with your thumping tail. You are perfectly visible. And I notice that you have commandeered a whole seat for your personal use. If your mistress had indeed brought her maid, she would have had to sit up on the box with my valet and coachman.”
He sounded deliberately, artificially cheerful just as she had done when she bade him good morning. He had seemed like a trusted friend yesterday. This morning he seemed like a stranger, which indeed he was.
The fever of excitement in which she had conceived this whole grand escapade yesterday had converted to a quite sick anxiety last night. She had been unable to sleep except in fitful snatches and with bizarre accompanying dreams. This morning she had been consumed by terror, as though she really were a convict making a daring escape under the very noses of a dozen fierce jailers. And now, seated inside the carriage with only a single gentleman for company, she was feeling tongue-tied and self-conscious.
Good heavens, they were going to be alone together for as many days as it took to reach the southwest coast of Wales and her cottage. And the same number of nights. And he had expected that her maid would be with her to lend some sort of respectability. His valet was with him, of course.
She felt physically sick again.
“I am not at all hungry, Sir Benedict,” she assured him, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight and not quite touching the cushions behind her. As if a strictly ladylike posture and demeanor could miraculously make all proper.
The coachman put up the steps and shut the door with a decisive click, climbed up to the box while Mr. Quinn mounted from the other side, and within moments the carriage lurched into motion.
It was one of the single most panic-inducing moments of Samantha’s life. She had to bite her lower lip in order to prevent herself from yelling to the coachman to stop.