This week’s word prompt is town. I’m working on my NaNoWriMo story set in Regency England.
Be sure to check out the other tales here.
As he strolled along looking for a hansom to engage to take him within a few blocks of his father’s house in Belgravia, Briony’s face floated in front of him. How she’d already become such a distraction, he didn’t know.
But as he mulled it over, he thought he might actually have an idea why. She was pretty and witty and someone to think about that wasn’t either evil or dying. Something he needed in his life right now.
Finally coming upon a hackney coach, he rode across town. Disembarking a couple of blocks from his destination, Jemison used his cane and walked as if he had a bad leg. Hunching his back, he hoped he looked like a pitiful elderly man making his way slowly down the street.
Turning toward the mews entrance to his father’s house, he prayed no one would pass by or see him besides Reeves. He was in dangerous territory.
At the back door, Reeves paced back and forth. “Thank goodness you’re here, Milord. I was frantic. I expected you an hour ago.”
Jemison had a moment’s guilt for leaving the man waiting and obviously in distress but he couldn’t really regret his stop at the perfumers. The girl Briony was unlike any he’d ever known and he wouldn’t begrudge himself one moment of her company.
After all, when his father did die—which would be sooner than Jemison wanted—he’d have to take the mantle of dukedom and marry a proper young woman. One who could rise to the task of being his duchess. Of course if he married now, his bride would be a countess and much as he liked the spunk of Briony, he knew what so-called polite society would do to a girl like her. He wouldn’t wish that on even a mutt.
“How is Father?” he asked Reeves.
“His temperature broke. I may have reported it was graver than I thought. I’m so worried about what will happen when he goes, I keep thinking it’s the end. I’m sorry I called for you. It’s dangerous for you to be here so often.”