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Fouet smiling and accepting a hand up from a footman, who bowed before closing the carriage door. The same footman boosted the maid up to the coachman, and the girl laughed.
    Manu knew what it was like to be left out. He had grown used to it. It didn’t make it easier.
    He rode next to Jacques, his groom and friend, chatting idly for the next two hours, at which point Mademoiselle de Fouet called a halt at a ratty inn instead of at the nice one he had hoped to reach by midday. He announced they were going to change the horses an hour further on, but anyone who needed a rest or something to eat or drink should do so quickly. Very quickly. In fact, anyone who could eat while traveling would do so.
    Mademoiselle de Fouet raised her eyebrows again and called for a table for herself and her maid.
    Manu sighed and told everyone to get dinner while the horses rested.
    ****
    Catherine was bored silly. The carriage’s motion made her queasy, though not ill enough to stop. If she tried to read or write or hem her new chemise while in motion, she would be begging to get out, probably to vomit on the side of the road. The open sides of the coach let dust billow in, but if she closed the heavy curtains she would get even sicker from not looking out and from the oppressive heat. The maid was sweet, but Catherine didn’t long for her company so much as for anyone to talk about absolutely anything. Or someone to sit with in silence.
    She imagined what it would be like to travel with a husband, someone witty and tender. What did happily married couples talk about in a closed coach? She smiled at the empty space beside her, imagining her former fiancé there. She still had a miniature of him somewhere, but his face had faded from her memory.
    If anyone glanced in and saw her smiling at the air, they would stop the coach to check her for fever.
    It didn’t mean she appreciated it when Monsieur Emmanuel climbed into the carriage in the middle of the afternoon and sat across from her with a thump, sighing heavily. “Jacques’ horse is too tired to go on to the next change, so I’ve put him on mine.”
    She blinked at him. She licked her lips and cleared her throat of dust. “And you want to ride in a coach with me without a maid or chaperone?”
    He narrowed his eyes. “Surely you’re not going to lecture me on propriety, especially with all the curtains open. Once we arrive in Paris, you can plead ravishment to my mother and she will make sure we marry.”
    Catherine narrowed her eyes back at him. In spite of the spark in her chest at the idea of marrying Monsieur Emmanuel, she was never going to marry. If she did, her husband would either be a country gentleman with no notion of court life or a titled rich man who would dote on her. Not a fourth son who stank of horses and owned nothing.
    He was handsome enough when he bathed and wore proper clothing. But even rough and dusty he caused a lump in her throat. His plain suede breeches pulled across the powerful muscles in his thighs, and his shoulders seemed to fill up the space above the entire rear-facing bench. She loved horses, even if she never rode one anymore. Perhaps an affaire , though it would be risky. Without family and powerful friends, it was too easy for a dalliance to become the start of a young lady’s slide into life as a mistress. Or exile and poverty.
    So no dalliance, at least not until she had enough saved to live comfortably on her own land. Monsieur Emmanuel tempted her more than any man had since her fiancé’s death. She wondered about the state of her soul if she was so easily tempted.
    She looked out the window, watching the dust rising and wishing she were alone again so she could let cool water dribble into her cleavage as she had been doing all afternoon. She dabbed perfume on her neck and let it run under the edge of her bodice, savoring the intense coldness as the alcohol evaporated.
    Monsieur Emmanuel stared at her neck where a droplet tickled. He