Nicholas weighed the latter possibility. While the chance was there, it was far more likely that the rider had continued up Northgate or ventured out on Eastgate. Unless the others found any other sightings, those two roads should be their primary focus on the morrow.
However, the information on the signpost that Nicholas found most interesting was the distance to the other towns. Judging by the time of the last sighting they’d already found, close by where Nicholas currently sat, the thief wouldn’t have been able to reach any of those other towns before nightfall.
Nicholas was pondering what that meant when the others returned. One glance at their faces as they neared was enough to inform him that their recent inquiries had proved fruitless.
“Nothing,” Dickie confirmed. He paused to lift Adriana to her saddle, then accepted his reins from Nicholas, as did the others.
While they resettled in their saddles, Nicholas glanced at Adriana. “Do the Sommervilles have any acquaintances who live in Sleaford?”
“No.” Puzzled, she blinked at him. “Why?”
He looked at Dickie. “You mentioned that your father had endeavored to keep the fact The Barbarian was on the estate, if not exactly secret, then not widely known. An acquaintance, however, might have visited or caught some reference in passing, and The Barbarian’s paddock was bordered by a right of way. The horse’s presence in that paddock might have been more widely known among locals than your father realized.”
Both siblings grimaced. After a second, Adriana shook her head. “Obviously, circling around as he did, the thief went out of his way to put us off his trail. Yet I really can’t understand why he came this way. There’s no one connected with the family who lives in this direction. No close acquaintance, no one to whom Papa is likely to have mentioned The Barbarian or who visited the Grange in recent times.”
Nicholas nodded. “That supports the notion that our thief may simply be an opportunistic horse thief with no real idea of The Barbarian’s worth.”
Adriana huffed. “And, therefore, also no idea that we might pursue him so doggedly.”
Nicholas tipped his head in agreement. “Indeed.”
After a moment, with their horses growing restive, Dickie asked, “What now?”
Nicholas glanced around. “It’s dusk—the shadows are not just lengthening but darkening. We’re unlikely to find the sort of people we need to ask about our thief still abroad.” He met Adriana’s eyes. “I suggest it’s time that we look for a place to lay our heads for the night. We can resume our search tomorrow.”
Addie grimaced. It was disappointing not to be able to forge on, especially when the sightings they’d found in the town had been so definite and also so frequent. People had noticed the massive bay horse and, despite the several days that had elapsed, hadn’t forgotten. “I suppose if people have remembered The Barbarian so well to this point, they’ll still remember seeing him tomorrow.”
Everyone agreed.
Dickie pointed up Northgate. “The Packhorse Inn is just along there. It’s generally spoken of as the best inn in Sleaford.”
They turned their horses’ heads that way and were soon riding beneath the archway into the inn’s cobbled yard. The innkeeper was glad to welcome them—all eight of them. As well as larger rooms for well-born guests, the inn boasted a dormitory above the stables and rooms in the attic for accompanying staff.
Jed, Mike, Rory, and Young Gillies opted for beds in the dormitory above the horses; it was plain the four preferred to remain near their charges.
Addie wondered if the thief was being equally careful with The Barbarian.
Dickie asked their host, Quilley, if he’d seen or heard any mention of a big bay stallion being led through the town. Quilley hadn’t, but he’d returned from a week-long visit to Boston only that day and promised to ask among his staff.
Having put up with Sally’s snoring for more nights than she liked, Addie grasped the chance to secure the maid her own room in the attic. Although pleased with the arrangement, when a housemaid showed Addie to her chamber, Sally trailed behind and lingered to help Addie out of her riding ensemble and into a gown of magenta twill suitable for dining at a country inn.
“I did hear Mr. Cynster bespeak a private parlor, my lady, so it’s not as if you’ll be dining with the hoi-polloi.” Sally shooed Addie to the dressing-table stool, foraged in Addie’s bag and found a brush, and proceeded to undo and redo Addie’s hair.
Imagining dining with Nicholas and Dickie, Addie permitted Sally’s fussing. Looking her best—or the best that circumstances allowed—seemed like a good idea. If Dickie did as he had in Lincoln and, later, left Nicholas and her alone…
She stared blankly—blindly—at the mirror as all the thoughts she’d held back throughout the day came rushing forward, swirling chaotically through her mind.
“There!” Sally put the final touch on her creation—a twisted chignon—then swooped and picked up Addie’s riding clothes. “I’ll give these a good dusting and bring them back later.”
“Thank you.” On impulse, Addie added, “I can manage on my own tonight. No need for you to wait on me. You’ve been a brick putting up with all our riding. You can take the evening off—you deserve it.”
In the mirror, she watched Sally beam and bob before collecting her own bag and bustling to the door. She opened the door, swished through, and closed it behind her.
Addie refocused on the mirror. On her face, on her eyes. She looked into the bright blue and let her thoughts claim her.
That she would respond to Nicholas’s ultimatum wasn’t in question. Metaphorically, he’d thrown down a gauntlet; of course she would pick it up.
She appreciated why he’d phrased the matter as he had, as an “understanding that marriage is our ultimate destination.” Among their class, dalliance between him, a scion of a ducal dynasty, and her, a still-young lady of impeccable birth and high station, would be the stuff of scandal, but in society’s eyes, an impending betrothal afforded them the license to explore intimacy, at least to a degree.
