Page 45 of Love Lessons for a Lady

“Where can I drop ye?” Gibney adjusted his position on the seat and flicked the reins as he glanced overhead. The trees lining this section of the road provided welcome shade from the heat of the late August day.

Where, indeed?

She had nowhere to go. Not with Mercy on her way to Kelvingrove Park.

“Do you know of a respectable lodging house?” she asked, trying to sound confident and nonchalant. Like such a query was a common thing. “Not too expensive, but clean and in a reputable part of town?”

Gibney gave her an odd look, his severe eyebrows diving together. “Yer not stayin’ with a friend or relative?”

Of course, he’d assume that she would, and his innocent question reminded her just how precarious her situation had become.

Chasity shook her head.

“I haven’t any family, and most of my friends don’t live in London. Unfortunately, the only one that has a home here left for the country this morning.”

Why she was explaining to Gibney, she couldn’t imagine. A simple no would’ve sufficed.

Clucking his tongue in empathy, he nodded.

“Aye, I do know a decent place, Miss Noble. It’s run by the mother of a friend of mine who died in the war. If she has room, she’ll take ye in for me. I was with Dutton when he passed. I brought her his effects and shared his last words with her. He’d said she was the best mum a man could have. I like to think it brought her peace.”

His voice had grown gravelly, and he made a rough sound before clearing his throat.

“War is hell,” he muttered hoarsely.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Gibney.”

What else did one say?

Though words could shred flesh from bone, they did little to comfort in a moment like this.

He raised a beefy shoulder and pulled his cap down farther onto his broad forehead.

“We’d best make haste then. I’m to pick up the weekly supplies instead of Bexon because he was sent to fetch the magistrate.”

The magistrate? Oh, God.

Nodding his head sagely, he whistled. “Some unlucky bloke’s facin’ a stay at Newgate, I’d guess. The magistrate is only called to officiate the most serious cases.”

Was that true?

Chasity’s blood ran cold.

Was she to be arrested after all then?

Wouldn’t they have kept her at Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies if that was the case? Unless Mrs. Crenshaw had contrived another dastardly lie of some sort. Something more dire than theft and embezzlement?

Fisting her hands, Chasity set her jaw. Oh, how she despised that villainous woman.

A shiver scuttled across Chasity’s shoulders, and she couldn’t prevent looking behind them as the wagon rumbled along. Except for the sun’s rays filtering through the trees, the road remained empty as far as she could see in the distance. Still, the sooner they reached London, the sooner she’d be able to breathe with ease.

“Could we hurry, Gibney? I’m not feeling at all well.”

“Aye, miss.” He flicked the reins again, urging the docile team into a cantor. “Get on with ye,” he urged the horses. Dust puffed up from the horses’ hooves and blanketed them in a fine layer of grit.

Twenty minutes later, Gibney steered the wagon before a sturdy three-story house. The place needed a fresh coat of white paint but otherwise appeared tidy. A calico tabby sunned herself across the top stair and made no effort to move when Gibney knocked upon the cheery green door.

In a surprisingly short time, Chasity found herself installed in a small, stark chamber.