Rothhaven rolled to his side and spooned himself around her. “You want to be at your best if you are determined to meet your daughter. Try to get some sleep. The night will be long, and the ride bumpy.”

Another metaphor. Constance closed her eyes, and managed to not sleep at all.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Robert said, sidling up to Lord Stephen in the innyard. “You even smell like a peddler.”

“I smell like my stout four-footed companion of the road, George the Fifth,” Lord Stephen replied, leaning heavily on a plain walking stick. “How is Constance?”

“Anxious, hopeful, determined, braced for heartache.” As was Robert. “The facts in evidence regarding Miss Ivy and Reverend Shaw are discouraging. Have you learned anything?”

Stephen wore blue-tinted spectacles, just the sort of odd touch that made him blend in more effectively than if he’d worn no spectacles at all. Otherwise, his attire was that of a man recently down on his luck. His clothing was worn and wrinkled but fairly clean and well made. His boots matched, and his neckcloth was neatly tied though devoid of starch.

“The market opens at nine,” Stephen said, gaze on the green across the road where vendors were setting up booths and unloading wagons. “The housekeepers descend early in hopes of finding the best produce. Shaw’s housekeeper is a formidable female by the name of Mrs. Hodges. She does not suffer fools.”

“Then you stand no chance with her.”

Stephen tipped his hat to an older woman hustling past with a basket over her arm. “Why don’t you try to charm her, Rothhaven?”

Robert had forgotten to tip his hat to the lady. Remiss of him, and one of a thousand mistakes he regularly made because in a madhouse, nobody wore a hat, much less used it for polite gestures toward passing women.

“All of my charm,” Robert retorted, “is reserved for your sister. She’s waited years for this day.”

“So she has. What’s your plan?” Stephen asked, casually propping himself against a hitching rack. “How do you see the morning unfolding?”

Robert had spent much of the jostling, bouncing night considering that question. “Constance wants to introduce herself to Ivy before any other steps are taken.”

“Con is afraid the girl will be snatched away,” Stephen said. “Afraid this will be their only chance to meet. What do you think?”

“That a mother’s instincts are to be respected, though Constance is taking a great gamble. She doesn’t mean to present herself to Ivy as her mother, though Constance and her daughter bear a close resemblance.”

“The risk being,” Stephen said, shading his eyes against the morning sun, “that if Shaw gets wind of today’s doings, he could be a proper arse about the whole business. Trying to buy him off or flatter him then will only make the situation worse.”