A Lady of Notoriety. Diane Gaston
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blocked her way. ‘May I assist you in any way? I am at your disposal.’
He could take charge of Westleigh! Would that not be a better situation for everyone?
She glanced at the booth Lord Sanvers had all to himself and to the numbers of people who did not even have a chair.
Would he have extended his offer of help if she had not been the beautiful, wealthy widow of a viscount?
She curtsied to him. ‘My servants have seen to everything, sir, but I thank you.’
She walked past him and through the open door where Monette waited.
Once inside the room, Daphne collapsed onto a chair in relief.
And guilt.
Why should she have this private room and so many others so much less? Was she just as selfish as Lord Sanvers?
She hurriedly changed out of her nightclothes and into the dress Monette had pulled from her trunk. Monette did the same. After quickly eating a breakfast, she handed the innkeeper money and asked him to give the room and some food to those most in need. She and Monette did not stay to see if he honoured her request.
They left the alehouse and returned to the carriage.
Carter waited there with the coachman.
‘Did you find Mr Westleigh’s travelling companions?’ Daphne peeked in the carriage, but saw Westleigh lying against the pillows.
‘I found the innkeeper, m’lady,’ Carter told her. ‘He said that Mr Westleigh travelled alone. Not even with a manservant.’
Who would care for him, then?
‘How is he?’ she asked her coachman.
‘Sleeping,’ he answered. ‘Talking a bit and restless, but sleeping. He did drink the ale, though.’
Daphne glanced around. ‘We must find someone to care for him.’
Carter shook his head. ‘I believe that cannot be done. There were many people injured in the fire and many others displaced. It would be difficult to even find him a room. Or rooms for ourselves.’
‘We should leave today, then, m’lady,’ John Coachman said. ‘If we start soon we can find lodgings on the road and still reach Faville the day after tomorrow.’
It would take three days for them to reach her property in Vadley near Basingstoke. Her husband had left her the unentailed country house and estate instead of consigning her to the dower house in Faville. She’d spent very little time in Vadley, though, only a few weeks past her days of mourning. Now she planned to return and live a retired life. Whether by doing so she could atone for her days of vanity and thoughtlessness, she was not certain.
‘We cannot take him with us,’ she said.
But she could hear the abbess, clucking her tongue. You must find grace to help in time of need.
‘The surgeon said he cannot travel,’ she protested.
‘We don’t have a choice, m’lady,’ Carter said in a low voice.
‘I say we start out and ask at every posting inn until we find someone to care for him,’ her coachman added. ‘It will be a more practicable task once we are out of Ramsgate.’
‘We cannot leave him.’ Monette’s eyes pleaded.
These servants were prepared to take care of a stranger, but she was merely trying to think of a way to abandon him, just because she knew he would hate being cared for by a lady who’d wronged his sister.
Or was she merely thinking of her own discomfort?
You must find grace to help in time of need.
‘Very well.’ She nodded decisively. ‘But let us head towards London. I am certain his family will be in town. When we find a place for his recuperation, we can send for them and they will not have far to travel. Or if we fail to find him care, we will take him the whole way.’ It would mean not even two full days of travel.
* * *
By late afternoon they’d not found any suitable place for Westleigh, nor had they found anyone willing to take responsibility for his care. Worse, it became clear he could not travel another day to reach London.
The ride had been a nightmare. The coach jostled him and he cried out in pain. He woke often, but was feverish and disoriented and difficult to calm.
They managed to reach Thurnfield, a small village on the road to Maidstone. Its one inn could not accommodate them, but the innkeeper knew of a cottage to let nearby. Daphne signed the papers and paid the rent. Before they set out the short distance to the cottage, she spoke to Carter, John Coachman and Monette.
‘I told the leasing agent that I am Mrs Asher, not Lady Faville. I think Mr Westleigh will be more comfortable if he does not know it is me seeing to his care. He only knows me as Lady Faville, you see, and—and his family has reason to dislike me. He would be quite displeased if he knew Lady Faville was caring for him.’ She took a breath and rubbed her forehead. ‘Asher was my maiden name, so we would not really be lying to anyone....’
Who was she fooling? She was lying to herself as well as lying about her true identity.
Had not the abbess said she must break herself of telling falsehoods as a means of avoiding unpleasantness? Even if the lies were little ones.
She would do so, she vowed.
Next time.
She swallowed more guilt. ‘Try to remember to call me Mrs Asher and don’t call me m’lady, if you can help it.’
The three servants nodded agreeably.
Was she wrong to make them go along with her lie? Of course she was.
‘It will be as you wish it, m’lady,’ Carter said. ‘I mean, ma’am.’
‘Let us go, then.’ She allowed Carter to assist her into the carriage. Monette climbed in after her and Carter sat with John Coachman.
They drove the short distance to a white stucco cottage with well-tended shrubbery and a small stable for the horses.
Carter opened the carriage door and put down the step. Daphne and Monette climbed out as the housekeeper and caretaker walked out to greet them.
‘We are Mr and Mrs Pitts, ma’am,’ the caretaker said. ‘At your service.’
‘I am Mrs Asher,’ Daphne shook their hands, feeling only a twinge of guilt. She introduced the others. ‘We have an injured man with us. Mr Westleigh. He will need to be taken to a bedchamber as quickly as possible.’
The housekeeper gestured to the door. ‘Come in, then, Mrs Asher, and tell us which room shall be the gentleman’s.’
Leaving Monette to watch over Westleigh, and Carter and Mr Pitts to unload the trunks, Daphne followed the housekeeper inside. The decor was modest, but luxurious if she compared it to Fahr Abbey. They should do very nicely there. It would only be for a day or two, until Westleigh’s family could come.
‘Let us look at the bedchambers.’ Mrs Pitts started up the stairs. ‘You may pick which one should go to the gentleman.’
Carter and Mr Pitts entered.
‘We have Mr Westleigh’s trunk,’ Carter said.
‘Follow us.’ Daphne walked up the stairs.
She chose the nicest of the bedchambers for Westleigh. It was a corner room with windows on both sides to let in lots of light and fresh air.
‘Does the bed have fresh linens?’ she asked.
‘Indeed,’ responded Mrs Pitts. ‘We readied the rooms when the agent sent a message that you were to arrive right away.’
That was what a good housekeeper should do,