The Outrider - A Paranormal Regency Romance ONC 2022

Chapter 6

In which we learn my lord is a bit more than meets the eye

Lord Demoral a changeling? Now that was mind-rattling news, which would explain Brewster's interest in the man.

The emphasis here was on the word might. Since he hadn't shown his hand, Corinna had no inkling what was on the spymaster's mind. Unlike the mildly skylled like herself, who had been accepted into society, their gifts welcome, the changelings would forever be a breed apart, simply because they posed such a risk to all life on Earth.

Thank the heavens, there were but few of them.

Changelings were the topic of many fireplace stories, when the wind howled down the chimney and a cold draft filled the halls. Once exposed, they were ruthlessly hunted, and those that survived would be chained in the deepest dungeons. Or so it was said. Nobody among her circle of acquaintances, family, and friends had ever seen one.

"Which sort would he be? I mean, he can't be a night walker. People have seen him at daytime." She had been one of them. Not that she would recognize a changeling at sight, but that face at the coach's window hadn't been human for sure. Even now, in the safety of her parlor, an icy shiver went down her spine.

"Nobody knows," the widow said. "It's a rumor."

"Which he might have launched himself to frighten the matchmaking mamas," Corinna suggested.

"This is not something to be funning about," Mrs. Tuckles said.

"No, probably not. He can't be one of those who...uh, eat people. Surely, that would have come out long ago."

Mrs. Tuckles gasped. The widow dropped her shawl. "Corinna, I severely deplore your lack of sentiment."

Corinna picked up the shawl and handed it to her mother.

"Sorry, Mother, but you know me. In any case, I shall be cautious, but I can for the life of me not tell you where else I am going to get a position like that."

"Hah," the widow said. "You should ask yourself why that position was still available."

She had asked herself, of course, and none of the answers offered peace to her feverish mind, so she kept a grip on her response.

"I have to try. Can't you understand that?"

The widow sighed. "Of course I can, dear. I so hope things would be different, but I know they aren't, so we mustn't fret ourselves into knots."

She reached across and grabbed Corinna's hand with her long fingers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I would know if you were making a mortal mistake, and I shall do what I can to help you. But the thought of you in that house is...unsettling."

"Just wait. Perhaps, I won't give satisfaction, and in that case I'm returned quicker than you can say boo. As Mrs. Tuckles says, I'm not your model governess."

She wouldn't get out of the snare that easily, she knew that only too well. Brewster would press on until he considered her debt paid, and that might be never.

Corinna rose. "I had better get packing. I'll be leaving on the morrow."

The widow jumped off her chaiselongue with an agility that betrayed her frail frame. The shawl puddled to a hairy pile on the floor. "What, so quickly? Now, that I find even more unsettling. Please, please, think carefully."

"Yes, Mother. But that was the stipulation for the employment. What am I supposed to do?"

The widow hung on to her arm. "You don't have to go. We shall make ends meet somehow."

No, they wouldn't, and robbing the King's highways was off the cards in the future. "You just said I wasn't making a mortal mistake. So what is there to fear?" Corinna swallowed and hoped her mother wouldn't notice.

"Yes, but—"

"Changelings aside, you won't like it when you find yourself confronted with some ill-educated brat," Mrs. Tuckles said. "You don't have the patience for that sort of thing. But you've always gone your way, and you made good headway, I will give you that. Anyone want the last scone?"

When nobody did, she placed it on her plate, cut it up and spread jam over the fluffy surface.

Corinna drew a deep breath. "I hear what you say, and you're probably right, both of you. Now, we mustn't overreact. Fate has given me an opportunity, and the Lord knows only too well how rare those are. Let me try my luck, and we shall soon find out how wise a move that was. And please, cease your fidgets, otherwise I shall never sleep tonight."

It didn't come as a big surprise that she tossed and turned all night, only to drop into the short sleep of exhaustion when the dawn chorus burst into song. From that uneasy slumber, she was catapulted when something heavy thumped along the corridor.

Annoyed at the rude awakening, Corinna shook the cobwebs from her head, tiptoed to the floor, and creaked open the door. What sounded like a plow horse tromping past her door turned out to be only Mrs. Tuckles, dragging along a heavy corded trunk.

Her annoyance was replaced by a sudden warmth around her heart. Bless the old dear. She must have gotten up at dawn, packed her meager belongings, and was now ready to heave them down the stairs. But that wouldn't do.

She pushed past her old nurse. "Here, let me help you."

Mrs. Tuckles shrieked and raised a pudgy hand to her substantial bosom. The trunk slipped from her grasp and thundered down the steps like a runaway stage-coach, only without the horses.

"Oh, oh, how you've scared me." Accusation filled Mrs. Tuckles' moist brown eyes. "What did I always tell you? Your abrupt ways will be the death of me one day."

"Mrs. Tuckles—"

"And now look what you've done. That trunk has turned over and everything will be in a muddle. I spent an hour packing, you know?"

"Mrs. Tuckles—"

The widow's bedroom opened, and a figure in a flowing bathrobe peeked out. "What is this noise? I was trying to get ready to see my only surviving child off, and here she is, on her way already." Her voice was tragic, filled with a tremolo that spoke of looming palpitations. Perhaps leaving this place wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Mrs. Tuckles, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Mother, as you can see, I'm in my night gown. I have every intention of dressing and then taking my breakfast first, so there's no need to fuss."

"I never fuss." The door didn't exactly slam shut, but its closing was audible.

"Oh dear," said Mrs. Tuckles.

"Quite so. Leave the trunk where it is. I hope somebody will pick me up, and that person can then convey my luggage. I still have to pack my brushes and things."

Mrs. Tuckles searched the depths of her apron. "Here, this lay on the stoop this morning."

She handed over a sealed letter and a roll of documents held together with a leather string. There also was a wax seal on it, which would keep it safe from prying eyes other than her own. There was no need to worry here. While Mrs. Tuckles had her letters, she wasn't comfortable reading texts much longer than a recipe.

Whatever secrets the roll contained hadn't been uncovered by her old nurse.

She broke the seal and perused the letter.

"And?" Mrs. Tuckles asked, not exactly hopping up and down, but not far from it either.

"It is as I thought. I'll be picked up at mid-day and be conveyed to the Red Lion in Rye where I shall stay the night. Thereafter I'll board the mail headed for Oxford. Someone will then pick me up at the post station the next day and transfer me to Delmoral Park."

Her heart sank. While Brewster had shown kindness and not put her on the much slower stage coach, a long and uncomfortable journey lay ahead of her.

She could only hope themail would not be held up by highwaymen. 

8730 words - second target met!!!!

This chapter is dedicated to one of my oldest Wattpad friends lyttlejoe. He's written an amazing amount of stories, and is a great person!!