“’Tis lucky we are alive, that’s what I say!” the stout woman asserted. “We were travellin’ too fast and nobody’s goin’ to tell me that we weren’t.”

“You are undoubtedly correct, madam,” the gentleman in the curricle agreed. “And I beg of you to say so when you reach London. Your coachman was entirely at fault.”

“And how am I to be sure that you were not to blame as well, sir?” the lady asked, obviously determined not to be browbeaten and have other people’s opinions thrust upon her.

“We had best introduce ourselves,” the young gallant who had assisted her from the coach said with his eyes on the vision. “I am Sir Harry Carrington at your service, ladies, and this is the Marquis of Stade, one of the most noted whips in the country.”

The stout lady dropped a curtsey.

“I’m sure, my Lord, no offence was meant.”

“And your name?” the young gallant asked the vision eagerly.

“My name is Gretna – ” she began, only to be interrupted by the stout woman.

“My name is Merryweather, if it pleases your Lordship. Mrs. Merryweather of Brambridge Farm near Winchester and this is my niece who is travellin’ to London with me. And now, if you gentlemen will excuse us, we had best find our way to the nearest village and wait there until the wheel of the coach is repaired.”

“Oh, but you cannot do that,” Sir Harry exclaimed. “We must find you somewhere more congenial to rest must we not, Julien?”

He turned to the Marquis, an eager look on his face, and the Marquis, still with that cynical twist of his lips, replied suavely,

“Indubitably. If the ladies will permit me to drive them to Stade Hall, which is only a few miles from here, I will instruct my own blacksmith to see to the repair of the wheel.”

“That’s ever so kind of your Lordship,” Mrs. Merryweather said, “but my niece and I will manage well enough in the inn.”

“Oh, but – why?” her niece asked. “I think we should accept such a kind invitation. It may be some hours before the coach is ready to proceed.”

“That is very sensible of you,” Sir Harry approved.

The Marquis waved his whip in the direction of the two other travellers who had been listening to this exchange of pleasantries.

“If you gentlemen care to walk half a mile down the road, you will find a small hostelry. Tell the landlord I sent you and he will do his best for you.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

The elderly Schoolmaster and the thin man in spectacles accepted the suggestion, although they looked a little enviously at the two ladies being helped up into the curricle.

It was hard to think that the two could be in any way related.