The Long Road to Love Read Online Free Page B

Mrs. Greenleaf snapped, “mind your manners, young man. ‘Tis not a proper thing to be speakin’ of to poor Mrs. Ansley.”
    Angelica was thankful when the vicar asked to see Paul’s wooden toy, for she was certain she couldn’t have answered without laughing. She didn’t know what had put her in such a lighthearted mood. Perhaps it was finally being away from her stepbrother’s tyranny.

*   *   *
     
    Richard tooled his curricle at a spanking pace up the turnpike. He knew he was getting close to the York stage, for the tollgate keeper said it had passed barely an hour prior. He was surprised to find himself in such good spirits considering he’d spent the last two days chasing after Angel, but in truth, he’d been rather amused by her ingenuity.
    At Croyden he’d learned that the young lady must have disguised herself as a widow since that was the only person who’d taken the Mail Coach to London the previous evening. But at the Bull and Mouth, the lady had hired a hackney and disappeared into the night. He’d gone at once to the Swan with Two Necks, which was the point where the Mail Coaches going north started, but there he could find no trace of a widow or any other who answered to his vague description of Angel. Half a day had been wasted questioning the inn’s numerous ostlers before he reasoned she might have gone by stagecoach instead.
    At Holburn he’d found her trail again, but night had fallen and he decided to treat himself to a good dinner before making an early start of it in the morning. After all, the young lady wasn’t in any real physical danger traveling by stagecoach; her widow’s disguise would protect her from the slights of a female traveling alone.
    Presently about to run her to ground, he wondered if he’d recognize Angel after all these years. He recollected a plain, thin child with leaves and grass tangled in her black braids, racing across the meadow to the stream where he’d awaited her. Then he remembered she’d had the most amazing eyes--large, inquisitive and the most unusual shade of violet-blue. He would know those eyes anywhere.
    As the curricle raced round the curve, the village of Wansford came into view. Tooling into town, he ignored the stares that his rapid pace drew. Within minutes, he spied the large coaching inn, its yard cluttered with vehicles, but the black and red stagecoach loomed above the smaller carriages. Richard reined his team to a trot, then deftly entered the inn-yard gate where he called for someone to walk his team.
    Within minutes the earl stood in the noisy taproom of the White Rose. The innkeeper, seeing a gentleman of some consequence enter, hurried forward. “Would ye be wantin’ a private parlor, my lord?”
    “Not at present. I wish to be escorted to the room where the stagecoach passengers are dining.”
    The innkeeper merely nodded his balding head and led his guest into the rear of the inn, making no comment on the unusual request. He’d been owner of the White Rose for twenty years, and he’d learned you didn’t question the fits and starts of the Quality and do well in business. He gestured at the door, then left the gentleman to his affairs.
    Richard halted in the arched doorway to the public dining room. He was surprised at how crowded the table was. Only four women were among the boisterous group.His gaze came to rest on the back of a shapely feminine form dressed all in black. She bent over to speak to a small child. Her raven black hair was bound in a neat chignon at the nape of her slender neck. A neck which looked excessively kissable.
    When that last thought popped unbidden into his mind, he was appalled. This was little Angel, not some lightskirt.What was he thinking? But as his gaze swept over her, he realized she was certainly no longer a child.
    One of the men at the table glanced over and spied Richard. Taking in the elegance of his attire, the fellow assumed him to be a gentleman recently down on his luck, reduced to