The five- or six-mile walk in the damp, chilly night had been grueling. Every carriage that had rumbled by on the road to town had sent her fleeing into the brush for cover, leaving her scratched and bruised by thorny branches, and her slippers ruined, worn through and caked with mud.Concentrating on the sound of the rain splashing into puddles, she tried to ignore the scurrying of unseen animals, the presence of which set her teeth on edge. Even when her lungs began to burn and her skirts became sodden and heavy, she pressed on, wondering where to go now that the village rose like a dark giant climbing out of the sea.Several minutes later, Jeannette wiped drops of rain from her face with her sleeve as she passed through the narrow, cobbled streets. Would she have to spend the entire night without shelter? Plymouth was one of His Majesty’s great naval bases and often in the news, but she’d never visited the city before. She’d stayed in London until she met Lord St. Ives. Then he’d brought her, along with her parents and brother, to a quaint but expensive inn outside Liskeard.A drunk man lying amid the garbage in the gutter sat up as she passed by.
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