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down as she did so.
    â€˜Gracious me,’ said the doctor.
    John did not speak, anxious to get closer and see if the stranger was really as lovely as she appeared to be through the glass of the window. Stepping to the door, he pulled the handle down and allowed Dr Hensey to precede him into the carriage.
    The man of medicine handled the situation with great aplomb. ‘Madam.’ He bowed in the doorway. ‘Pray forgive me while I push past you to take my place in the back. It is my companion, Mr Rawlings, who is fortunate enough to be sitting next to you.’
    She turned to the doctor. ‘I do hope I have not taken anyone’s position.’
    â€˜Not at all,’ Florence answered with a smile, and went to the rear seat, a far inferior place, for it faced the back of the front seat, which was positioned so that its two occupants could look out of the large fore window, quite a private way of travelling and certainly not one aimed at general conversation.
    The woman looked straight at John. ‘I must apologise for causing a disturbance. The fact of the matter is that I was travelling on a stage coach that cast a wheel late last night. I decided to stay here and this morning pick up what transport I could to Hastings.’
    Wonderful eyes with flecks of green and brown in them, clear as a brook and almost transparent, were staring into his, and John became tremendously aware of a small heart-shaped face, hair the rich bright shade of amber, and finely curved eyebrows sweeping up over eyelids pale as moonstones. Stuck in the doorway as he was, the Apothecary made a low bow and hit his head on the jamb as he straightened up. The girl smiled and held out her hand.
    â€˜Henrietta Tireman.’
    John fought for dignity. ‘John Rawlings, Madam.’ He kissed the outstretched fingers, then was forced to sit down hurriedly by the arrival of the Squire, who pushed him unceremoniously from the rear. Sir Ambrose hurled himself within, then stopped and gaped at the newcomer.
    â€˜Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Henrietta. What are you doing here, my dear?’
    â€˜Why, Sir Ambrose. What a surprise,’ Miss Tireman replied, her voice just the slightest bit clipped. ‘I have been visiting an aunt in town and was to have returned home last night had there not been an accident with the stagecoach.’
    John opened his mouth to offer the Squire his seat, since he and the lady were acquainted, but a sudden pressure from Miss Tireman’s leg, hardly proper but for all that very pleasant, made the Apothecary shoot her a covert glance. A slight roll of her eye told him everything, so he remained studiously silent.
    â€˜Stagecoach’s loss, our gain,’ answered Sir Ambrose, leering a little.
    â€˜Indeed,’ called Dr Hensey from the back. ‘It seems we two must sit together, Sir. I shall probably join you in a snooze.’
    â€˜You may do as you please,’ answered Squire ungraciously. He took his seat.
    â€˜Thank you,’ breathed Miss Tireman as the postillions cracked their whips and the new team of horses headed off into deepest Kent.
    â€˜Not your ideal travelling companion, I take it?’ asked John, the clatter of the wheels drowning the sound of his voice.
    â€˜I find the man has all the charm of a haystack,’ came the forthright reply. ‘We are neighbours, alas. Part of the social life of Winchelsea, such as it is. I come across him at every gathering and am running out of excuses to escape the amorous advances of the old wretch.’
    John stared at her. ‘Do you live there as well?’
    Henrietta’s crystal eyes once more looked directly into his. ‘Yes. Why ask?’
    â€˜Because I am also on my way to Winchelsea.’
    â€˜What a strange coincidence. Whom are you going to see?’
    â€˜That’s just the point, I’m not really sure.’
    She gazed at him blankly and suddenly, and for no reason, John