The Matchmaker by Rexanne Becnel

Author:Rexanne Becnel
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

It rained the last two hours of their journey that day. Roused by the storm, Neville rejoined Bart and the horses, while Sarah and Mrs. McCaffery returned to the shelter of the carriage. As was her wont, the housekeeper swiftly dozed off, as did Sarah.

But Olivia did not sleep. She peered glumly past the tied-down curtain, out into the gray slashing rainstorm. As the team of horses labored down the uneven highway, and the rumble of the wheels sloshed accompaniment to the irregular rumble of thunder, she told herself that the poor animals and the drenched coachman and guard had more troubles than she, for there seemed no relief in sight from the storm’s violent onslaught.

Sympathy for the others did nothing to dispel her own dreary thoughts. She was behaving like an idiot where Neville Hawke was concerned, but she could not manage to stop herself.

The lowering clouds brought an early dusk, and though the rain relented to only a miserable drizzle, they were late arriving at the Bull’s Manger alongside the Tyne River in Prudhoe. It was a place similar to last night’s accommodations, and as before, the three women dined in a small private room. When Sarah and Mrs. McCaffery went up to make their nightly ablutions, however, Olivia remained behind. She wished only to check on John Coachman. But it was another she sought, and as she approached the low-ceilinged taproom, she could not deny it.

They sat at a scarred plank table, five men with Neville Hawke at the head. When he spied her he pushed at once to his feet. The others, following the direction of his gaze, turned toward her. There were a few other women there, but Olivia nonetheless felt intensely out of place. John Coachman rose also and hurried to her side.

“Is everything a’right, miss?” Without a hat his bald pate gleamed in the smoky light.

“We are fine,” she answered, focusing with an effort on him. “I simply wanted to reassure myself that you have not taken a chill or... or anything.”

He beamed at her. “Not a’tall, miss. Not a’tall. We saw to the horses—gave ‘em an extra portion just like you said. Then we shed our wet duds and had us a good hot dinner.”

“Yes. Well.” Olivia glanced past him to the table where Neville had reseated himself. But he still stared at her. She looked away. “Yes. Well, good night, then. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Once upstairs she prepared for bed and read a short while by candlelight, alone in one moss-filled mattress while Mrs. McCaffery and Sarah shared the other. She was tired. Exhausted. Yet sleep remained elusive. She lay in the dark staring up at the ceiling. Was this how Neville Hawke spent his nights, his body weary but his mind churning with thoughts he could not escape?

She repositioned the coarse bed linens across her chest, then folded one arm under her head. Was that why he drank, to deaden his mind? Certainly he did not overimbibe during the day, or any other time he was in mixed company.

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