“The butler and the maid who made up your room and came to feed you vowed not to tell a soul,” Charlotte assured her. “Even if they did know, I have a feeling my mother and father would have helped you regardless and gladly risked the wrath of theton, but that is not the point. This way, they cannot be pressed for information on you. They will have no knowledge of what has happened. Come, now. It’s time.”
Frederica turned to her and moved for an awkward embrace as she carried her bags. Charlotte held tightly onto her, then kissed her friend on the cheek.
“Stay safe now,” Charlotte pleaded.
“And you,” Frederica whispered. “I do not like the idea of you walking home alone this late at night.”
“I’ll be fine. Go,” Charlotte urged, for the driver of the coach was becoming impatient, tutting rather loudly.
Frederica turned, presenting her ticket to him. He nodded, pocketed it, then took her portmanteau and latched it to the back of the coach with the others.
Charlotte stepped back on the road, holding her cloak tightly around her body as she watched Frederica climb into the coach. Through the open door, she saw her friend pressed between an old maid who smiled encouragingly at her, and a young man who was so tired, he was already closing his eyes, eager for sleep.
She will be safe, disappearing into their crowd.
Frederica raised her hand and waved once uncertainly at her, then the door closed. The heavy thud made Charlotte jump.
With the sound, it was as if a chapter was being closed on Frederica’s life. What had once been was gone for good. Charlotte swallowed past a lump in her throat, forgetting to hold onto the hood of her cloak as she watched the driver return to his seat and flick the reins.
The stagecoach veered forward on the cobbled road, moving from the stones to a dirt track where it turned away from view.
“Goodbye, Frederica,” Charlotte whispered into the air.
She turned as the wind bristled her, snatching the cloak hood off her head. Her face and hair were revealed as she inadvertently faced the tavern, just as two men stepped out of the tavern. They were both drunk, leaning against one another, and judging by the almighty bruise on one of their faces, he had recently been in a brawl.
“Who’s this?” he said, leering at Charlotte and pointing at her.
She backed up in alarm, reaching for the hood of her cloak, but the damage had been done. She didn’t know the man’s face, but he had caught a glimpse of her gown in the light coming from the tavern windows and seen her hair in the posh updo.
“A fine girlie like that. Don’t belong in these streets, do you?” He moved toward her, elbowing his friend.
Oh, God’s wounds, what have I done?
She turned to run away when his hand clamped over his arm.
“No!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gerard heard the cry as he stepped out of the tavern.
That voice.
He looked up as he flicked up the collar of his frock coat, seeing a short distance away in the shadows was a lady in a cloak. She was tussling with one of two men who had taken hold of her arm.
“Let go of me,” she demanded, just as the strong wind pulled down the hood of her cloak.
Charlotte.
His mind worked fast. He didn’t have time to wonder why she was here, at this time of night, in this part of town, all he knew was that he had to get her away from that man and this place, as quickly as was humanly possible.
“Hey!” his voice boomed as he marched toward the group of three.
The man who had been standing off to the side looked toward him. He quaked under Gerard’s glare, turned, and fled. The other man hadn’t noticed. He was too busy taking hold of Charlotte’s other arm.
“Fine girlie – missing your home?” He leered at her, trying to back her up toward the nearest wall.
Disgust rose in Gerard’s throat as he neared the pair of them, running at them now.
