I held Mr Sterne’s Sentimental Journey to my face as we travelled, but my galloping thoughts prevented me from turning little more than three or four pages. While at present I had succeeded in duping Mr Savill, I feared for the ending of my drama. I knew not for how long I may be forced to enact it, nor what pitfalls awaited me. Occasionally, my eyes crept over the top of my book and studied with trepidation the gentleman in whose coach I rode. His blond hair inclined to a reddish hue and seemed dressed with a great deal of orris-scented powder, most inappropriate for the road. Even when at rest, his expression appeared affected. His thin mouth was set in a smug simper at all times, as if he were enjoying some private jest. I was pleased to have Lucy beside me. We exchanged knowing glances as she diligently worked upon her tambour.

As I found Mr Savill inscrutable, so I could not say what he made of me either, for I sat erect with a haughty, priggish demeanour throughout. I refused to speak more than a handful of words to him. This was not because I did not welcome the company, but rather because I did not wish to provoke his enquiries. I feared my brain could not spin fibs as quickly as he would have demanded them. I counted the hours until he delivered me to the embassy, when this ordeal would be brought to a conclusion and Allenham would bid our meddlesome friend adieu. I did not trust him one jot, though I derived some comfort from his incessant bowing and flattery. So long as my deceit remained secure, so long as Mr Savill had no reason to think me anything other than a lady of consequence and breeding, I believed myself safe in his protection. Confirmation of this was offered to me at the Fleur-de-Lys in Noyon, where Mr Savill announced we would pass the night. As I had given up my hired equipage at Saint-Quentin, I was in no position to dispute his determination. Naturally, this suggestion gave me pause. There was but one straw bed at the inn, but not for a moment did the impeccably mannered Andrew Savill suggest we shared it. Rather, he gallantly slumbered upon the benches of his coach and awoke the next morning appearing much the worse for it.