The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(64)

Swearing beneath his breath, Javan all but ran across the room and out into the yard, where it was beginning to rain. Caroline had emerged from the carriage, leaning on Williams’ arm while Marjorie and Rosa jumped down beside her.

Rosa ran to him, and he caught her in one arm while striding toward Caroline with furious anxiety. His gaze lashed Richard who emerged from the other carriage with their captured assassin.

Refusing to be distracted for long, he searched Caroline’s pale face as he took the final few paces to her.

She smiled at him, melting his heart all over again. “Don’t be angry. I felt perfectly well and I’m afraid I insisted.”

“She slept well all night,” Marjorie added, as proud as if it had been her own achievement. “And had breakfast in bed, though she insisted on rising for luncheon and then felt so well that we gave in and brought her.”

“We thought the journey would do her less harm than continued anxiety,” Richard put in.

Caroline cast him a glance of respect, and suddenly Javan wanted to laugh because they were all trying to manage him and the truth was, despite his fear for her, his heart sang just because she was here in front of him.

He took her good hand from Williams, elbowing his old sergeant aside. “Then you’d better come inside and sit. Let me say at once that Peter is perfectly well. So are your mother and sister. In fact, they are expected here imminently.”

The relief seemed to make her sag slightly. He flung one arm about her waist to support her and swept her inside, barking orders at the innkeeper and his wife as he went.

In no time, Caroline was ensconced in the best armchair before the coffee room fire, a soft cushion under her injured arm, and a cup of tea on the small table at her other side. Javan had pulled one of the large tables nearer her, and the rest of them—including Miller, who was tied to his chair—sat around it, drinking tea and ale and consuming a pleasant repast, tasty morsels of which were passed to Caroline.

Her wound did not appear to have reopened when Javan examined her dressing. In fact, she seemed none the worse for her journey, according to his close and continuous scrutiny. Which allowed him, finally, to concentrate on other things.

“What is he doing here?” he asked, jerking his head across the table to Miller, who was attempting to eat and drink with his hands bound together.

Richard swallowed his cold meat and reached for his ale. “Didn’t know what else to do with him. He seems amiable enough when disarmed. And happy to daub Swayle in it. Expect he wants us to let him go if he does.”

Miller gave what he probably imagined was an engaging smile. “Happy to help. Don’t hold with killing women, certainly not gentlewomen, which anyone can see she is, governess or no.”

“Didn’t stop you, though, did it?” Javan retorted.

“Well, she ain’t dead,” Miller said incontrovertibly. “Is she?”

Whatever Javan might have replied became lost in a furor by the door.

“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed a strident female voice, “but this is a public coffee room and I insist on being allowed inside!”

“But I have quality in there, and a sick guest who needs quiet,” insisted Archie the innkeeper. “Allow me to have your dinner brought to your room. It will be much more pleasant and private.”

“My wife said the coffee room!” roared a male voice. There was a scuffle, as if poor Archie had been thrust aside, and then a man barreled into the coffee room, closely followed by his wife, two daughters, and a slightly stringy young man who might have been their son. The family halted and stared with dislike at Javan’s party.

Miller got to his feet with the chair still tied to him and bared his teeth.

Led by the father, the family fled in silence. Grinning, Miller sat back down again and nodded at Javan. “You’re welcome.”

“Finally,” Javan observed flippantly. “A man more frightening than me.”

*

It was odd, but Caroline found the time at the inn curiously comforting and exciting at the same time. Apart from the pain in her arm, she truly felt well, and quite blissful in Javan’s company. He sat close to her, leaning one elbow on the big table, the other occasionally brushing against her good shoulder. His nearness, of course, was the source of her excitement, adding to the pleasure of the other Benedicts’ company. She was unspeakably touched by the way they all looked after her. That even Marjorie had followed and stayed with her…That Javan had gone to her mother just to relieve her mind of worry…That Rosa was happy to have them all reunited.

When her mother and sister finally arrived, Caroline and her companions were in the midst of an amusing and spirited discussion. She and Marjorie each had a ladylike glass of sherry wine, while the Benedict gentlemen had a bottle of brandy which was almost as good, apparently, as that found in Blackhaven. Rosa was playing cards with Miller.

Warned in advance, the innkeeper merely ushered his newest patrons into the coffee room. Caroline was smiling at Javan’s laughter, because he laughed so much more easily now, when, over Richard’s shoulder, she saw her mother enter.

“Forgive our tardiness, Mr. Benedict,” her mother began. “The only available conveyance was a cart pulled by a very old donkey and it took forever just to—Caroline!”

“Mama!” She tried to rise, but Javan and Marjorie both pressed her back into her seat. As the gentlemen rose to greet the newcomers, Peter flew past everyone and threw himself onto Caroline’s lap.