Elisabeth Fairchild Read Online Free Page B

at all homely, she had not the divine, pink-cheeked, golden fairness that Aurora possessed, and when the two sisters were seen side by side, as they had so often been throughout their young lives, it was to Aurora that all eyes were immediately drawn.
    Nell knew now why Aurora fussed so much with the color and cut of her dresses, and the selection of reticules and ribbons and bonnets. It was most pleasant to be admired. The look she encountered in Mr. Ferd’s eyes, left her feeling their owner regarded a work of art to be studied with interest whenever opportunity allowed. It mattered not to her that he was naught but a coachman who could not speak without stuttering. He found her fascinating. That mattered.
    Nell forced herself to stop thinking in this nonsensical manner, and turned in the seat to wave farewell to Catherine, who had the pony, with its now empty dogcart, rattling along at a smart trot in their wake. Cat grinned and rolled her eyes, but she did not take her attention from her driving. The responsibility of leading a member of the Whip Club through the country lane appeared to weigh heavy on her mind.
    Before Nell faced front again, the black and white dog she had seen earlier at Mr. Ferd’s heels, shot out of the trees along the road beside the dogcart. In a sudden, bounding burst of speed, the dog passed through the dust that the pony raised, and charged straight for them, barking, as if it meant to grapple with the very wheels of the phaeton.
    “Mr. Ferd,” she said. “Your dog!”
    The coachman threw a look over his shoulder and reined in the chestnuts ever so slightly, as he shouted, “Up, Bandit!”
    Aunt Ursula covered her ears. “Drive on man, drive on. We shall never meet the mail if we stop.”
    Mr. Ferd directed an amused look her way.
    It proved unnecessary to stop. Even as they slowed, a ball of black and white fur vaulted into the carriage, and as if accustomed to such gymnastic behavior, Mr. Ferd immediately urged the team on aain.
    Aunt Ursula let out a little exclamation of fearful surprise.
    The dog, grinning as only a thoroughly happy dog can, ignored her screech, and snaked beneath the bench upon which she perched, to plant himself, panting furiously, between his master’s knees. He was, Nell thought, a slightly ragged specimen. Not at all a gentleman’s dog. He was of a breed that was preferred by shepherds for their intelligence and good working habits. His eyes were bright, coat thick and attractively marked, but dulled with road dust. One ear was missing a notch, as if it had been bitten through.
    “Does he bite?” Ursula regarded the beast with approbation. “Bite?” The coachman’s pale blue eyes twinkled. "Not unless you want him to, ma’am.”
    “Is he called Bandit then, for his black eye patches?” Nell asked, in an effort to interrupt what she was sure would be her aunt’s insistence that they put the dog down off the coach again, regardless of delay. She was pleased to see the sign for the White Hart Inn through the trees ahead. They might just catch up to the mail after all.
    “He is called Bandit because he is in the habit of holding up my coach.” The coachman said without trace of his stutter, which surprised Nell, for as he spoke, they were trundling through the Elizabethan gate to the White Hart, at a speed that took her breath away, for fear they should catch a wheel in one of the gateposts.
    The mail stood waiting, in shining red and black glory. In a flurry of movement around the back boot, bags of mail were loaded and unloaded as the team were led out of their traces. A fresh team stood waiting. Passengers leaned down from the roof and out of the coach windows, as baskets and trays, loaded with bread and cheese were distributed, along with flasks of ale and jugs of water.
    “See to the horses,” Beau Ferd addressed the servant, Gates, as he jumped down to help Nell and her aunt to alight.
    He held onto Nell’s hand a moment longer than was strictly