Lenore let out a wry laugh. She wouldn’t sleep well that night for far more reasons than her nap on the train. She glanced out the window, scanning the dots of light scattered through the darkness. They must have been near a city to see any lights at all.
“How far from the city is your family’s home?” she asked, turning back to Phin.
He was still watching her, his eyes bright with thought. “An hour or so by wagon,” he said, shifting in his seat as the train’s whistle sounded and its brakes began to squeal. The heated calculation in his eyes melted away into tired practicality.
“I assume we’ll be staying in a hotel of some sort tonight instead of heading straight to your family estate,” Lenore said, searching for the gloves she’d taken off when she settled into her seat earlier.
Phin laughed. “It’s charming that you think I could afford a night in a hotel, or that my family’s home is an estate.” When Lenore paused her search to raise her eyebrows at him, he went on with, “Hazel, my eldest sister, will likely be waiting for us with the wagon at the station.”
“At this hour?” Lenore asked as the train slowed even more and the city itself slid past the window. His use of the word “wagon” instead of “carriage” caught her attention.
“Hazel is a harridan who believes in punctuality, self-reliance, and frugality,” Phin said, his mouth twitching into a fond grin. “If we so much as thought of staying in the city instead of going straight home, she would march up to our hotel room, grab us by the collars, and drag us home if she had to walk the whole way to do so.”
Lenore blinked. His suggestion that they would have stayed in a single hotel room aside, she was intrigued by the description of his sister. Images of a strapping country girl built like some of the cow pokes she’d known back home came to mind. Phin wasn’t as delicate as his brother, but Lenore found herself wondering with a grin if the girls in the Mercer family had inherited the brawn while the men inherited the refinement.
“We’d better behave, then,” she said, standing when the train came to a full stop in the relatively well-lit station.
“Who said anything about behaving?” Phin stood with her, using the excuse of reaching above her to the rack that held her traveling bag to stand close to her.
As soon as he’d grabbed hold of her bag and brought it down to rest on the seat, he leaned into her, bringing his mouth to within a whisper of hers. Lenore held her breath, parting her lips in anticipation of a kiss. Her body thrummed with expectation and her heart sped up. Her reaction was so potent and so complete that when Phin pulled away, she nearly whimpered in disappointment.
“Behave,” he said in a low voice, though whether as an order or an observation, Lenore couldn’t tell. He pivoted to bring his own suitcase down from its rack, and as soon as the station porter opened the door to their compartment, he stepped out, helping her to the platform as well.
Lenore barely had time to plunk her hat on her head, let alone fasten its ridiculous scarf around her neck and face, before Phin took her hand and led her to the iron stairs that took them over a bridge spanning several tracks and down to the stationhouse. It was past ten at night, so every station shop was closed with only the arriving passengers rushing through the small building. As they stepped out to the curb, facing the ancient wall of the medieval city, Lenore’s eyes nearly scanned right over the simple wagon that waited along with a handful of carriages.
“Hazel,” Phin called out, undisguised joy in his voice, and let go of Lenore’s hand to speed toward the figure standing beside the wagon.
Lenore caught her breath and nearly dropped her traveling bag at the sight of the woman. She wasn’t brawny at all. She was every bit as delicate as Lionel Mercer and bore a strong resemblance to her brothers. Or, at least, she would have if half of her face wasn’t twisted and scarred as though it had melted. The woman’s arm on that same side of her body ended just below her elbow as well, and when she took a few steps forward to throw herself into Phin’s embrace, she moved with a distinct limp. Lenore pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging as her imagination instantly filled in a story of some sort of tragedy that had disfigured the woman so badly.
“Hazel, I’d like you to meet Miss Lenore Garrett, an American Princess from the Wild West of Wyoming,” Phin said, keeping his arm around his sister’s shoulders as he beckoned Lenore to come forward.
Lenore pushed herself into motion, approaching the pair with her heart in her throat and shifting her bag to her left hand so that she could greet Hazel. “How do you do?” she asked. Immediately, she realized her mistake. Hazel’s right hand was the one that was missing. “Oh, dear,” she gulped, no idea at all whether she should withdraw her hand.
“I am quite well,” Hazel answered, seamlessly taking Lenore’s hand with her left hand and squeezing it. “And I’m honored to be in the presence of royalty.”
“I’m not really a princess,” Lenore said, her words stilted. Hazel exchanged a brief look with Phin, and Lenore winced. “You’re joking,” she said.
“Of course, I’m joking,” Hazel laughed. “Phin isn’t nearly handsome or clever enough to win the favors of a princess.” She winked at her brother. “Lionel, maybe. But he’d rather have a queen.” She took Lenore’s traveling bag right out of her hand before Lenore could react and carried it back to the wagon.
