In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 12

Charlie's hand burrowed deep into her trouser pockets, the smooth chess piece of the onyx queen clutched in her sweating grip, as she contemplated her predicament.

How the devil had things turned to shambles so dashed quickly?

It had been going quite splendidly, her journey. She had arrived at dawn, the Inn coming awake as inhabitants readied to continue their own travels. The post had rambled down the road, a guard blowing the posthorn as the carriage delivered packages and passengers disembarked.

Charlie had dismounted from Sir Rupert in the ensuing chaos, pulling the brim of her hat low over her eyes. Though Charlie's disguise was in place, it was quite another thing entirely for Charlie to overlook that while she may wear the garments of a gentleman, she was distinctly female beneath them. 

What if someone knew her game before the die had been cast?

To her surprise, no one had paid much attention upon her arrival. In fact, she had stood silently in the middle of the yard before she realized that arriving as a lady was an entirely different matter than arriving as a lowborn gentleman. It was her duty to see to her own mount. Stable hands had continued about their business as she brushed down Sir Rupert, choosing a rickety stall at the right end of the stables.

It had been easy to go about seeing to her room, the proprietor caring little as long as her purse was plentiful.

Charlie had been glad for her disguise. It was freeing. She could only imagine the scornful whispers and stares that would have followed if she were dressed as a lady.

The newness of her gender change, however, left her sometime in the middle of the night. She feared that any moment a pounding would be at her door. Her uncle would be standing there with a constable or Lord Simpton...or perhaps, whoever he had met with in his study.

She had worried much of the night, tossing and turning, until the fire had distinguished and she had fallen into a fitful slumber. She had awoken with no one the wiser.

It was all...rather disappointing.

What kind of adventure was this if she got away with nary a misstep?

Charlie had gotten dressed, struggling with the cloth that bound her breasts. She ended up doing a poor job of it, its wrappings unraveling beneath her large shirt. Then she had taken herself to the common room. She had slept through the morning and into the beginnings of evening. She knew she would need to head off soon if she were to continue to make good time on her journey.

Then she had seen him.

The earl of Claymore.

It had shocked her system. Panic, the fear that she had squashed just hours before, returned with a vengeance. What if he recognized her? Would he take her back to her uncle? Was he, perhaps, looking for her on her uncle's behalf? Unlikely, Charlie had known, and yet, her throat had closed, her hands shaking.

The only course of action was to escape as quietly as she could. Or it should have been, if all and sundry hadn't deigned to get in her bloody way.

First had been the lady's skirts she had stepped on as Charlie navigated the scattered tables. She had been maneuvering away from a lady's ostentatious feather-laced cap when it had happened. Mumbling apologies, Charlie had walked backwards into a chair. The man behind her was holding a newspaper,  his black gloves tightening with the disturbance of his evening meal. 

And then the unthinkable. A man had placed his cane on a chair, part of its gleaming wood handle having been out far enough to where Charlie hadn't seen it. She had tripped, falling into a table where a lady's teacup had clattered menacingly in its holder before it gave up its fight. Warmed tea had dumped onto Charlie's one and only cambric shirt.