She slid out of bed and gasped in pain. Giant pincers grabbed her legs, mercilessly squeezing sore muscles. Stretching toward the ceiling and touching her toes a few times eased their grip enough for her to walk to the door and lock it before she dressed. Wilford might be stubborn enough to offer his assistance again. First the footman walking in, then Sinclair. She’d never again forget to lock the door.
Just as she was ready to head downstairs, a maid delivered her portmanteau and dry clothes. Quincy decided to save the clean clothes for after their ride, but did retrieve the list of local merchants she’d brought from town. She found her way downstairs to the dining room and stopped long enough to grab two scones and a cup of tea, which she drank on her way out the kitchen door.
“The fa
