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Authors: Lynne Connolly
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After the first day’s excitement and the first night’s uncomfortable lodging, when she shared a sagging rope-bed with her maid, Connie spent most of the next day’s travel catching up on her sleep. The days passed until they had only two more nights on the road before they reached London.
By the time they reached Leicester, she was heartily sick of travelling. When the coach stopped for a meal and a change of horses, she took the air with Saxton in tow. Better than eating food she didn’t really want in the stuffy taproom of the inn.
“Come, Saxton.”
The maid accompanied Connie, grumbling under her breath, her stout figure wobbling on the uneven cobbles of the coaching inn yard.
They strolled along the street, Connie relishing the fresh air and the lack of tedious gossip.
She paused in front of the window of a print shop, looking for amusement in the caricatures. She scanned the images on display then her attention returned to one in particular. Her heart missed a beat.
In the center of the window, larger than the other offerings was hung a print of Alex and his cousins in their imperial finery. They appeared incongruous in the center of London society because the printmaker had dressed them in the style of their namesakes. So Alex had a breastplate and Roman kilt and his cousin Julius a purple-edged toga.
Alex’s family was an important one. Even someone in a provincial town like Leicester would know who they were. They didn’t need the joke explaining to them.
Finally the death knell tolled on her hopes. She had no chance of attracting such exalted figures and no right to expect it.
The man she’d met and dallied with wasn’t for her. She didn’t move in his circles, wouldn’t know how to conduct a dinner discussing events of the day, events the guests would have direct involvement in. She couldn’t swan around a ballroom pretending to be one of the great and the good. Alex would marry a woman who could do all these things and she’d be a credit to him. Not for Connie the fate of being caricatured for the amusement of the nation. Few people knew who she was, or would, once she married Jasper. Mrs. Dankworth, even Lady Downholland couldn’t evoke that kind of attention.
Her mood plummeted. She was going to London to marry Jasper then she’d retire with him to Yorkshire, or her home in Cumbria, and take her place in local society. She’d never see Alex again.
The prospect filled her with a numb sorrow. Until now, she hadn’t realized what Alex had done to her. He’d spoiled her for other men.
Saxton tugged her shawl. “They won’t wait for us, missus. We have to go now.”
She’d turned, slightly dazed, and headed back to the inn and the hated coach.
That she’d met him seemed a dream. That she’d kissed him seemed impossible. Alexander Vernon, Baron Ripley, heir to the Earldom of Leverton. No, not her, not him.
She’d put him behind her with all the strength of will she could muster.
When they reached London, she assumed it wouldn’t take long to reach the Belle Sauvage on Ludgate Hill, where they were disembarking.
However London proved much larger than she’d supposed and it took an hour for the unwieldy coach, weighed down with travelers inside and on the roof, to reach the center of the city. The travelers separated into two groups, the ones who had been before and took it all in with an air of weary cynicism and the ones, like her, who watched, fascinated, as the city passed the windows in all its variety.
They passed through a couple of hamlets first, villages with a prosperous air and modern, well-constructed houses, any of which would have provided a suitable dwelling for a lady of her style and circumstance. The road led into the main part of the city, past dilapidated buildings of disreputable appearance, half falling down and propped up with beams and then rows of neat houses, small but with an air of comfort and well-being. Every building bore streaks of
After the first day’s excitement and the first night’s uncomfortable lodging, when she shared a sagging rope-bed with her maid, Connie spent most of the next day’s travel catching up on her sleep. The days passed until they had only two more nights on the road before they reached London.
By the time they reached Leicester, she was heartily sick of travelling. When the coach stopped for a meal and a change of horses, she took the air with Saxton in tow. Better than eating food she didn’t really want in the stuffy taproom of the inn.
“Come, Saxton.”
The maid accompanied Connie, grumbling under her breath, her stout figure wobbling on the uneven cobbles of the coaching inn yard.
They strolled along the street, Connie relishing the fresh air and the lack of tedious gossip.
She paused in front of the window of a print shop, looking for amusement in the caricatures. She scanned the images on display then her attention returned to one in particular. Her heart missed a beat.
In the center of the window, larger than the other offerings was hung a print of Alex and his cousins in their imperial finery. They appeared incongruous in the center of London society because the printmaker had dressed them in the style of their namesakes. So Alex had a breastplate and Roman kilt and his cousin Julius a purple-edged toga.
Alex’s family was an important one. Even someone in a provincial town like Leicester would know who they were. They didn’t need the joke explaining to them.
Finally the death knell tolled on her hopes. She had no chance of attracting such exalted figures and no right to expect it.
The man she’d met and dallied with wasn’t for her. She didn’t move in his circles, wouldn’t know how to conduct a dinner discussing events of the day, events the guests would have direct involvement in. She couldn’t swan around a ballroom pretending to be one of the great and the good. Alex would marry a woman who could do all these things and she’d be a credit to him. Not for Connie the fate of being caricatured for the amusement of the nation. Few people knew who she was, or would, once she married Jasper. Mrs. Dankworth, even Lady Downholland couldn’t evoke that kind of attention.
Her mood plummeted. She was going to London to marry Jasper then she’d retire with him to Yorkshire, or her home in Cumbria, and take her place in local society. She’d never see Alex again.
The prospect filled her with a numb sorrow. Until now, she hadn’t realized what Alex had done to her. He’d spoiled her for other men.
Saxton tugged her shawl. “They won’t wait for us, missus. We have to go now.”
She’d turned, slightly dazed, and headed back to the inn and the hated coach.
That she’d met him seemed a dream. That she’d kissed him seemed impossible. Alexander Vernon, Baron Ripley, heir to the Earldom of Leverton. No, not her, not him.
She’d put him behind her with all the strength of will she could muster.
When they reached London, she assumed it wouldn’t take long to reach the Belle Sauvage on Ludgate Hill, where they were disembarking.
However London proved much larger than she’d supposed and it took an hour for the unwieldy coach, weighed down with travelers inside and on the roof, to reach the center of the city. The travelers separated into two groups, the ones who had been before and took it all in with an air of weary cynicism and the ones, like her, who watched, fascinated, as the city passed the windows in all its variety.
They passed through a couple of hamlets first, villages with a prosperous air and modern, well-constructed houses, any of which would have provided a suitable dwelling for a lady of her style and circumstance. The road led into the main part of the city, past dilapidated buildings of disreputable appearance, half falling down and propped up with beams and then rows of neat houses, small but with an air of comfort and well-being. Every building bore streaks of
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