She sucked in a breath. “Oh no! It’s the Royal Mail.”

Chapter 3

In a panic, Natalie picked up Leo and shoved him at Mr. Clayton. The startled look on his face made her aware she’d just assumed he’d be her ally. But any reluctance on his part couldn’t be helped. “It’ll be faster if you carry him. I’ll run ahead to the inn. Hurry, there’s no time to waste!”

She picked up her skirts and dashed down the narrow street. The distant blow of the horn announced the arrival of the mail coach. It would stop at the inn for only a scant few minutes; the post waited for no one. And she still had to fetch their belongings from the room and settle her bill. Why, oh, why had Leo chosen this morning to run away?

Hurtling past the shops, she tried to reassure herself that the mail was running ahead of schedule. That might buy her some time. With any luck, the driver would decide to make a longer stop to change horses, to use the facilities, or even to grab a quick bite to eat.

All was not yet lost.

But when she arrived panting at the inn, it was to see several passengers entering the coach and the guard shutting the door. She ran up to him just as he was jumping onto the running board at the rear.

“Wait, sir, I have a ticket. My little boy and I must be on this coach! If I might just fetch my bags—”

“Sorry, miss. We’re full. Lots of stranded people, ye see.”

As the whiskered guard tipped his tall hat to her, the driver sprung the horses. The Royal Mail coach took off with a drumming of hoofbeats and a clatter of wheels. In a matter of moments, the sleek black-and-maroon vehicle disappeared around a bend in the road.

Natalie stood staring after it, her mind awhirl. Now what was she to do? She had sufficient funds to spend an extra night here, but she needed to stick to a strict budget until her return voyage to America.

“Bad luck,” Mr. Clayton said from behind her.

Turning to see him bend down to deposit Leo back on the ground, she seized the chance to vent her frustrations. “The mail came early! It wasn’t supposed to arrive until nine o’clock.” Reaching into the pocket of her gown, Natalie drew out the silver pocket watch that had once belonged to her father. “See, it’s only eight forty-three!”

“Your watch appears to be slow.”

“That can’t be. It’s always kept perfect time.”

Mr. Clayton consulted his own watch, a fine gold filigreed specimen which he opened to display the face to her. The hands pointed to three minutes past nine. “This is the correct time. It’s set in accordance with the Royal Observatory at Greenwich.”

“But … I wind mine every night…”

Biting her lip, Natalie tried to ascertain if she had done so at bedtime the previous evening. With sinking awareness, she acknowledged having no such recollection. She had been preoccupied with getting Leo bathed and tucked in bed. Afterward, all she could remember was blowing out the candle and lying in the darkness, listening to the tapping of sleet against the window and trying to keep her thoughts from straying to a certain handsome stranger.