The Dashing Miss Fairchild
“And do you know, it does not improve with time?” Clare grumbled. The vehicle hit a rut, and she was most thankful she had braced her foot against the opposite seat.Actually, Mr. McAdam had improved the roads a good bit. The use of small angular broken stone, packed down by the passage of traffic, greatly facilitated the comfort of travel. Something must have caused that rut, she reflected.No cloud of dust rose in the air behind them, witness to the rains that had fallen this past week. Clare wa...s grateful for that as well, knowing that otherwise they would have arrived at Marlborough covered with gray from head to toe, what with the number of vehicles coming and going on the road.The carriage rocked sharply again. Clare grew alarmed. A little curl of fear rose within her, and she wondered if she ought to leave her bonnet in the coach this time should they have to stop. Then she wondered what part of her might be hit if she did. Memories of the previous times they had been forced to halt came back to her.MoreLess
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