Prelude to Love by Joan Smith

to do honor to both personas.
    She was answered by a half-swallowed gurgle of laughter from the man.
    Leaving without breakfast seemed an unnecessary savagery, as Kiley was already assured of being on their trail, but as it had been settled, there was no food ready, so they went out the door, the ladies in a state of great discomfort and ire.
    "Why did he laugh?" Elleri enquired of her niece. "I made sure I had hit on the best greeting. Ought I to have said Mr. Landon instead?"
    Carlisle walked off toward his smart yellow curricle, and Kiley waited for the ladies. Miss Simons, displeased with his lack of manners, took two steps away and stared into the distance, to show her disgust.
    "News for you," he said to Vanessa. "You'll never guess the first fellow to pull into the inn after you yesterday. Mr. Carlisle. Or a fellow driving such a rig as his, in any case, and the description of the driver, too, sounded like him. A jack dandy with a smirking face was the description, verbatim. A very apt one, don't you agree?"
    "What is your own rig like?" she asked.
    "Why—a yellow curricle, in fact, with also a team of grays, but …” Carlisle's grays were dancing with impatience to be off.
    "The smirking face and dandified appearance, too, so very apt!" Vanessa pointed out. "It was yourself he spoke of, depend upon it. He was pulling your leg." She strode off to her carriage, with Miss Simons following close behind.
    "So Mr. Landon is the spy who is after our letter. A pity," Miss Simons said, glancing out the window at him. "One has such a strong feeling he would make an excellent guard, that it is a pity he is not to be trusted. Carlisle, on the other hand, looks extremely innocent, and ineffectual."
    "We dare not trust either of them," Vanessa answered, worried at Landon's last comment. "We must devise some way to be rid of both of them. Oh, how I rue the day I ever met Kiley."
    "There is no need to rue Carlisle, at least," Elleri consoled herself, till her niece disillusioned her with Landon's tale that he had been at the inn. She then looked out the window, to see if she could tell by the cut of their jackets which was to be abhorred. They both looked so remarkably handsome and elegant she wished she could trust them. It was very nice to have a male escort for a trip. It made stopping at the inns much more dignified, with someone to see to hiring parlors and tipping waiters and ordering wine.
    "Do you know, Nessa, I have just had an idea! You were alone with Carlisle last night downstairs— very improper of you, by the by. Be sure you don't breathe a word to Henry or he'll snap my head off for not going with you. But what I meant is, Carlisle would have tapped you on the head and stolen the letter then, for you had it in your stocking."
    "He didn't know that. He would be in an awkward position, having revealed himself without getting what he was after. He knew he would have better opportunities, traveling right along with us. I'm sorry I asked him."
    "Yes, love, but on the other hand, if Kiley is a spy—you recall that French newspaper—we will be ever so glad to have someone to protect us, even if it is only Carlisle. Is the letter back in your stocking?"
    "Yes," was the despondent answer. She wished she could think of a better hiding place, but was soon diverted to wishing she could have a cup of coffee instead. She tried to find some way to solve her puzzle. She had only Kiley's word for it that Carlisle had been at the inn, and she had certainly no reason to trust him. He only wanted her to turn Carlisle off so she would be unprotected. Carlisle knew Edward Rafferty—it could not have been arranged in any underhanded way.
    Of course if Carlisle had been at the inn, he could have learned not only where Oakdene was, but that the family boasted a son, who was not at home at that particular time. Would anyone be so bold? Really it was rather odd he should have offered his help on such short acquaintance, and his arrival at