One

No doubt about it, money had its uses. Miss Louisa Crookshank straightened the seam of her new navy blue traveling costume and smiled, careful not to appear smug. She was known in some circles as "the Comely Miss Crookshank," and she knew that appearing satisfied with one's self did not generally serve to enhance one's natural beauty.

But the fact remained, being in possession of a comfortable fortune made all the difference. Since she had achieved her one and twentieth birthday during the final days of winter, she was at last in possession of the fortune she had inherited from her father. True, her uncle Charles still nominally controlled her funds, but her uncle was a dear, and it usually took little effort to coax him into agreement with her latest scheme. Which was how she came to be sitting in her own elegant, newly purchased chaise, on the way to her most cherished goal: London.

At long last!

She had tried last year to have a proper London Season, a coming-out long delayed by the sad fact of her father's death and the resulting year of mourning, then by other family concerns. But when she had arrived in London, nothing had gone according to plan. Remembering the disasters that had brought her brief sojourn in the capital to such an abrupt and unhappy end, Louisa shuddered. But this year, it would be different, this year—

The carriage jolted to a stop. Louisa clutched the seat to avoid being thrown onto the floor. On the other side of the carriage, Miss Pomshack, her hired but very respectable companion, had been dozing. Now, the older lady jerked awake and gave a small shriek. "What is it, Miss Louisa? Are we attacked by brigands?"

"Of course not," Louisa retorted, trying to make out a familiar form through the rain-streaked window, but torrents of liquid obscured her view. She pushed open the door just a little, ignoring the wet gusts that dampened her skirt and the draft of cold air that swept through the carriage. Miss Pomshack screeched again and pulled her shawl closer about her thin shoulders, but Louisa persisted. In a moment, she had found him.

Her fiancé, Sir Lucas Englewood, curly brown hair plastered to his head—the wind must have knocked off his hat again—rode his steed closer to the carriage. He had insisted on riding, and although Louisa had invited him sweetly inside the chaise when the first drops began to fall, he had scoffed at her suggestion. "A little rain never hurt a fellow," he had said gaily.

He didn't look so happy now. "It's no use, Louisa," he told her. "The rain isn't letting up, and the road's turning to soup. The team can barely pull the carriage. There's a decent-looking inn just ahead. We're going to have to stop and wait for the weather to improve."

Louisa bit back a protest. She had so wanted to end the day with her long-awaited arrival in London. But, gazing at the sheets of rain that cloaked any view of the countryside, she nodded reluctantly and shut the door.

In a moment, the carriage moved again, lurching as the team pulled hard against the grasping mud. Bracing herself, Louisa sighed.

Perhaps money couldn't accomplish everything.

When they hurried into the inn, heads bowed against waves of water that drenched them thoroughly, she found they were not the only travelers to take shelter from the storm.

Inside, the innkeeper bowed and smirked and was as obsequious as the most demanding member of the Ton could require, but the fact remained, there was no private parlor to be had. "But the travelers from the stage are a nice, quiet bunch, miss, and I'll make sure that no one bothers you. And me wife is cooking up a grand dinner, which will lift your spirits no end."

Sir Lucas frowned as he escorted Louisa to a seat in the corner of the room and helped her shed her sodden cloak. She would have preferred to be closer to the fire, which Miss Pomshack also eyed with longing, but Lucas was, as usual, more concerned with the proprieties.

The public coach, it seemed, had also had to make an unscheduled stop. Several men crowded around the leaping fire, lifting their coattails and drying rain-soaked coats and broad backsides all at once, talking in loud voices about market shares and the price of wool. The whole room smelt of damp wool, the scent mingling with smoke from the fire, as well as the fumes from one particularly noxious pipe, which an elderly man sitting by the hearth had clamped between thin lips.

Perhaps, all in all, Louisa favored her distant corner.

"At least I was able to obtain a bedchamber for you and Miss Pomshack," Lucas told her.

"We have to share a room?" Louisa protested, though she kept her voice low. Her companion was shaking out her pelisse and didn't seem to notice the quiet complaint.

"It's the last one," Lucas told her. "I'll have to camp out in the parlor with the other men, so count your blessings."

Sighing, she nodded. "Thank you, Lucas, for looking out for me so well." She smiled up at him.

His chest seemed to swell visibly. "I promised your uncle I would see to your safety, didn't I?" he told her, his tone dignified. "You will not come to any harm this year!"

Not wanting to discuss last year's perilous adventures, Louisa frowned. Her near-escapes were now only painful memories, and she had no wish to relive them.

The innkeeper brought them all steaming cups of mulled wine. Glad she had not yet removed her gloves, Louisa held the hot pewter cup carefully and sipped.

A pleasant warmth spread through her, and some of her disappointment ebbed. She was on the way to London; this was only a momentary delay. Very well, not momentary, exactly, but still brief.

Lucas excused himself to check on the carriage and team, to be sure the horses, including his own handsome gelding, were properly rubbed down and fed. Left alone with Miss Pomshack, who seemed interested only in her cup of wine, Louisa glanced around the room. This time, she noticed one lone female sitting a bit apart from the group of men.

What was a woman, who was, Louisa noted, dressed most respectably—if not richly—doing alone on the coach? This woman, who looked not much older than Louisa herself, kept her gaze down and seemed to be doing everything she could to avoid contact with the other passengers. Did she have no one to travel with her?

Louisa's ready curiosity stirred. Besides, she was bored, and there was a long evening ahead with no one to talk to except Miss P, who was not much of a conversationalist, and dear Lucas, who would probably spend hours in the stables until he was sure that all the horses were seen to. Acting on impulse as she often did, Louisa stood, and before her companion could object, marched across the room.

She paused in front of the other woman, who looked up at her in surprise.

"Forgive me," Louisa said, her tone cheerful. "But you seem to be alone. Would you not like to share some wine with us?"

The young woman flushed. She had dark hair tucked beneath a somewhat soggy bonnet and unusual eyes, of a blue so dark and rich that they put one in mind of ocean depths on a sunny day. Her skin was fair, and when she spoke, her voice sounded educated and genteel.

"I would not wish to intrude," she said, looking unsure.

"Not at all. I know this is not precisely a proper introduction, but I am Miss Louisa Crookshank of Bath, but just now on my way to London for the Season."

The stranger still hesitated. "It's very good of you, but are you sure your mother will approve?"

"Oh, Miss Pomshack is my companion; my mother died years ago," Louisa explained matter-of-factly. "I had no female relatives available just now to chaperone. I have aunts, but one has a new baby and isn't interested in the Season"—she shook her head at such madness—"and the other is newly married and taking an extended honeymoon around the world. I get letters from the strangest places, I assure you. She was riding camels and exploring pyramids the last I heard. However, she does send the most delightful gifts. I have a Persian shawl—light as air but very warm, and such colors—that is utterly divine."

The other woman smiled. Louisa was glad to see it; the stranger had been looking rather downcast. Mind you, Louisa's bubbly good spirits usually had that effect on people. "Come along," she coaxed. "A more congenial group is just what you need on such a miserable day. And you can eat dinner with us, instead of with the men on the coach, which would be much more to your liking, I'm sure?"

The light outside the rain-streaked windows was fading, and the group at the fireplace growing noisier.

The young woman seemed to make up her mind. She stood and gave a small curtsy. "Thank you, you're very kind. I am Miss Gemma Smith, for several years a student at Miss Maysham's Academy for Select Young Ladies, just outside of York. I have only recently left."

Louisa led the way back to their corner, where she introduced Miss Pomshack and beckoned to the innkeeper to bring more wine.

Copyright © 2005 by Cheryl Zach.