Once Wicked

London Spring 1812 The boys were wild tonight. Amelia knew her uncle must have had a devil of a time trying to settle them down after she'd gone. Normally, she left Holcomb House well before bedtime. But when the boys had pleaded with her to tell them one more story, she hadn't been able to resist their entreaties. Amelia had a soft spot in her heart for the orphans under her uncle Patrick's care. She could hardly refuse them such an easy indulgence--but the boys needed their rest, so she'd spun a tale that hadn't made them beg for another. Usually, she told of pirates and soldiers, giants and heroes, fodder for the young lads' dreams. Tonight, for her second tale, she'd spun a yarn of a princess being saved from a curse of eternal boredom by a knight on a charging white steed. Princesses? Romance? Her tale was greeted with a universal groan from the lads. She couldn't end it fast enough to suit them, and at last she'd been dismissed to go on her way. But the story she'd told was with her even still. Eternal boredom. As she rattled along in the coach bound for home, she watched the scenery drift by her window--the same scenery she saw every week on her return from the orphanage. She had settled into a regular, predictable routine, but she would not wait for a dashing knight to come and save her. She was well used to taking care of herself. And knights on white horses . . . well, honestly. They made for nice fairy stories, but these days knights simply did not exist in real life as they did in books. If she wanted excitement she would have to go out and find it. It certainly wasn't going to come looking for her. "Oh!" The coach gave a sudden lurch and Amelia tumbled forward, catching herself just in time before she pitched straight across the seat. "Do take care, Foster!" she shouted. Skilled driver though he was, Foster never slowed the horses enough before leaving the smooth, well-traveled road just outside of London for the rougher, less-frequented country lane that led to Briarwood, her beloved estate. The coach pitched again and she went flying into the air, only to land hard on her seat. One would think she was riding on wood planks for all the good her pretty crimson cushions did when Foster traveled at such speed! What had got into the man tonight? "Foster!" she cried at the top of her lungs, but not loud enough to break the din of the rumbling wheels and thundering hooves. "Foster, do slow down!" But Foster only drove faster. Resigned to being tossed about uncomfortably, Amelia stopped fighting to hold her place and allowed her body to be jolted, jarred, and swung to and fro as they rollicked along into the forest. She looked out into the growing darkness but could make no sense of anything except the branches and twigs that whizzed by, occasionally scraping at the window, and a mysterious, shadowy blur that easily kept pace with the carriage. What was that? Who was that, rather? A horseman rode at their side. She could make him out now, though he was difficult to see as he was all in black and the horse was black as well. Suddenly, the coach jolted to a halt. Amelia pitched forward, straiBrowning, Sherri is the author of 'Once Wicked' with ISBN 9780440235286 and ISBN 0440235286.