Royal Regard

Chapter Twenty-Four, Part 1

"Madame, the carriage is this way."

Michelle led her to a waiting town coach. Not a broken-down hack, but neither the crested landau and horses she had purchased, displaying the brand-new coat of arms the earl had been granted, nor the curricle Myron kept for his personal use or the phaeton for hers. Nor was there a footman to help her into the carriage, and the coachman just sat atop the box facing forward, not even touching the brim of his hat. Focused only on those questions associated with her husband's demise, however, she climbed in the door when Michelle let down the step. Her maid followed, and they were off.

Bella tried, with the quickening pace of her toe tapping, to drive the coach forward faster, to already be home, past this feeling of being in a world separate from any of the people crowding the London streets. The sounds of street sellers and the ever-present smell of city sewage seeped through the padded door and around the edges of the covered window. Bella reached for the oil lamp, not willing to invite sunshine into such a black day, mostly out of guilt that her behavior had turned it so. The lamps, though, were empty: wicks, oil, and glass shades removed. So she sat in the dark.

Myron would be so distressed to think of her closeted with Wellbridge during his last hours. Bella should have been at his bedside offering succor, not a base betrayal. She could never see Wellbridge again. She could never allow anyone to think that she would—

Her actions were unthinkable.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to warm herself against the cold air whipping into the carriage around the ill-fitting doors. Wherever Michelle had acquired the conveyance, it had not been designed for the comfort of a countess.

"Have you brought my black?"

"Non, Madame. I did not stop to think of mourning clothes, only to retrieve you before questions could be asked."

Bella paled. "Yes, quite right. Thank you for that. I can change my dress once we are home." She bent over slightly, trying to relieve the pain in her chest and the upset in her stomach, swaying against the rocking of the coach. "Does anyone—"

"Madame Jemison was to send for Lady Firthley, and the doctor is attending Lord Huntleigh."

Michelle moved to the seat next to Bella and gently turned her. The maid took out a hairbrush and, even with the coach rumbling, managed to arrange Bella's hair in a simple twist.

"I have explained you are shopping, and have brought a selection of items which you may present as your purchases." She indicated a closed basket on the back-facing seat. "As I have only brought them home this morning, they have not been seen by any who might betray you."

She was lucky to have such an astute maid, Bella thought, but continued deception relied on Bella's ability to lie, which had never been her strong suit. Charlotte could make anyone believe anything, but Bella had never learned how.

The coach slowed, then stopped. "We are here already?" Bella asked, voice as small as her sense of honor, wanting more than anything to avoid the censure she would face when everyone found out she had been—

"Oui, Madame, we have reached our destination."

Her hands shook at the thought of preparing her husband's shroud. Surely a countess could order the task carried out by someone else.

Bella stood, head bent to clear the ceiling, and rattled the latch on the door, but it held firm. The blind over the window only opened an inch before it stuck, but that was enough to see it had gone dark, as though they were indoors, and no tiger had appeared from the boot to help her out.