Chapter Seven
September 14th, 1814
Portwrinkle, Cornwall
From Eype to Torquay had been a grueling sixty miles. Today, they went only fifty miles, passing through the busy naval port of Plymouth to end their day’s journey at Portwrinkle. Portwrinkle was the merest speck of a fishing village, but it possessed something that Plymouth, with all its bustle, didn’t: a cliff with fossils.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Lord Dalrymple asked. “I know the inn’s rustic, but—”
“It’s a charming inn,” Georgiana said firmly. “I’m glad to be staying here.” Her eyes sought Alexander’s.
He responded to that silent plea. “It’s a hundred times better than Plymouth, so I beg you don’t make us go back there, sir.”
Alexander didn’t care how rustic the inn was. He didn’t even care if he had to sleep on the floo
