Page 102 of The Boxing Baroness

He was right about that. The two aristocrats spoke adequate French, but their accents were atrociously British. Elliot, on the other hand, sounded like a native—he’d even managed to absorb the regional accent in the few days they’d been in the small city.

“Guy stocked both caravans with plenty of food and water, and Elliot will find somewhere for us to stay for a few nights—somewhere away from any town.”

As far as Marianne was concerned, they could avoid towns for the rest of their time in France. It was horrifying how quickly people had turned against them in Lille and the speed with which lawlessness had pervaded the erstwhile idyllic town.

Marianne shivered; she had a new appreciation for her safe, predictable life in London.

“Are you cold?”

She looked up from her thoughts to find the duke observing her with a worried frown. “No, I’m just thinking about how hard life must have been in France—for a very long time.”

“Yes, we’ve been fortunate and safe on our little island.” He gave her a grim look. “Let’s hope our luck continues.”

* * *

The farm Elliot found for them was almost Eden-like in its perfection.

“I told the farmer we were a theatrical troupe whose schedule was destroyed by the impending hostilities,” Elliot explained as they sat around their small cookfire and ate the meal that Sonia had prepared.

“How long are we staying?” Cecile asked, blowing on a spoonful of stew to cool it.

Sin couldn’t help noticing how enrapt Guy was by the Frenchwoman’s actions.

“Just tonight,” Elliot said. “We need to be on our way at first light.”

“Do you think there will be fighting soon?” Cecile lowered her unfinished bowl to the stump that was serving as a table. “Perhaps we are worrying for nothing and the tide will turn against Napoleon in Paris?”

“No.” The word was soft but certain.

Everyone turned to Marianne.

“You’ve seen the people on the road—even a small road like this,” she said, looking from face to face.

They all knew what she meant. There’d been a constant trickle of people heading north—mostly men, but some women, too. Almost without fail they’d been vocal in their support of L’Empereur—the first emperor of France in over one thousand years. A man who’d had the audacity to crown himself. The French had had a brief taste of surrender these past months, and it was sour in their mouths. Bonaparte was offering them another chance, no matter how slim.

“Elliot is going to scout ahead and see what he can find out. If it looks good, we’ll stick to our original route,” Sin said.

“And if it doesn’t look good?” Marianne asked.

“We have maps and lots of time before we need to get to Metz—we’ll find a way—a safe way.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Guy asked Elliot.

“No. I can move faster on my own.” He stood and nodded at Sonia before setting down his empty bowl. “Thank you for a delicious meal.”

“You’re leaving now?” Cecile asked. “In the middle of the night?”

Elliot gave her a faint smile. “I shall see you all in three days.” He strode off in the direction of the horses. Within moments they heard hooves disappearing into the night.

Sin glanced around at the grim faces. “We should all get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

Chapter 26

The six days after leaving Lille passed in a blur. They rose before first light and rode through the day and into the night, thanks to the moon, which was waxing gibbous.

The cold, rainy weather that had plagued them on their journey toward Lille moved to the north and the narrow cart track was dry by their third day.

They met up with Elliot not far from the town of Charleville, where they’d planned to stop and resupply.