When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  All the same, Adeline, Adelaide, Amelia, Arabella, and Ainsley had been overjoyed to have her in residence.

  “Besides, it is a short three-hour jaunt, at most,” Adeline reassured the girl. “We may be able to outrun the worst of the storm and be settled in our room long before the unrelenting rains begin.”

  “If you say so, miss.”

  “Thankfully, I do say so, Poppy,” Adeline replied with a chuckle. “And we both know what I say holds much power.”

  The girl grinned and turned her gaze to her lap.

  Adeline settled in for the long ride back to Rochester, the halfway point between Canterbury and London.

  Heavens, but Adeline could not fathom her father allowing her to travel to Canterbury alone on the mail coach all those years ago. She shuddered to think of the malefic things that could have happened to her. She’d been barely twelve and without a proper chaperone. What had the late Viscount Melton been thinking?

  However, it took little time to guess exactly what her elderly father had been thinking—ending the war that had raged inside their home for years. Adeline and Alistair had clashed since they were old enough to toddle about the house. Alistair would cut all her hair ribbons, and Adeline would fill his bed with frogs. Her eldest brother would dump a pie from the second-story landing onto her head, and Adeline would retaliate by coating the stairs with soap. Unfortunately, it had been their father, already far past his prime, who’d taken the long fall down the grand staircase, and not Alistair or even Abel, Adeline’s younger brother.

  Alistair had been the heir apparent, and Adeline merely a girl.

  The decision had been simple. She would have made precisely the same choice.

  Adeline had to go in order to restore order to the Melton household—if there had ever been true order within their home.

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, focusing on all that had changed in the last two years. She’d returned to London to make her debut in society. Her dearest friend, Theodora, had wed her brother, Alistair. Georgie had found love with a childhood friend. Her father had died suddenly, though not unexpectedly. And now, two of her four sisters would be embarking on the journey Adeline had taken at Miss Emmeline’s School.

  A year of mourning and Adeline was no longer the nineteen-year-old, innocent debutante she’d once been. Though she was far from a spinster, she was nearing her twenty-first birthday.

  The past year had been difficult, to say the least.

  Her mother rarely left her private chambers, and quite often, Adeline and her siblings appeared drowsy as they moved about their townhouse. No one argued, no one ran, and no one caused any commotion whatsoever, an oddity for the Melton horde. Adeline had been so crestfallen at the dour cloud over her family that she’d jumped at the chance to travel to a place she’d once loathed.

  Alistair, with Theo at his side, was doing his damnedest to support and care for all of his siblings. It weighed heavily on him, and Adeline felt a measure of sorrow. Not enough to heed his every edict, but at least ample pity to undertake the task of seeing her sisters to Canterbury.

  A loud, roaring boom sounded outside, and their carriage was filled with a flash of light.

  Snapping to attention, Poppy squealed, her eyes widening.

  “The storm is intensifying.” True to Adeline’s words, a gust of wind rattled the door, sending a cold rush of air through every crack in the carriage walls. She pulled the cloth back to see rain pelting the window and the dark night beyond. The carriage bounced and jolted as they traveled down the rutted country road, tossing Adeline and Poppy to and fro. “I certainly hope Rochester is not overly far.”

  Adeline was uncertain how long she’d spent pondering the past or how far they’d traveled since departing the school. The tempest had settled upon them far swifter than she’d expected—and with a ferocity she’d never witnessed.

  “Prepare ye self, Miss Adeline,” Maxwell shouted over the pounding rain as a streak of lightning illuminated the coach once more. “Hold steady!”

  The horses neighed into the darkened evening, and the front of the coach dipped, then leapt into the air, and crashed down, sending Adeline and Poppy careening into a heap on the floor between their seats.

  “Miss?” Poppy struggled to her knees and then assisted Adeline up. “Are you injured?”

  “No, I am not seriously harmed.” Her head had bumped the side of the coach, and her knee had scraped along the edge of the seat. Despite that, she was whole. “And you?”

  “Only a might bit scared, miss.”

  The lanterns hanging outside the coach had been extinguished sometime during the last several minutes, casting the interior into near total darkness. The storm raging outside, with its heavy raincloud, blocked any chance of light coming from the moon above.

  Maxwell pulled the coach door open as Adeline and Poppy arranged themselves on their respective seats.

  “The storm done forced me offa the main road.” Maxwell pushed his dripping hair from his forehead as he spoke. “I be think’n we hit a rock and busted somethin’. Though I be need’n ta inspect the damage proper-like.”

  “How far are we from Rochester?”

  “In this storm?” When she nodded, he continued, “I not be know’n for sure, but me best guess would be another two hours, if not longer, miss.”

  “Were are we, Max?” Poppy asked hesitantly.

  “Me best guess is between Goodnestone and Ospringes, but as me be say’n, I canna be sure, Miss Poppy.”

  “Can we turn back and return to Miss Emmeline’s?” Adeline inquired as the rain splattered on the floor from the open carriage door.

  “No.” Maxwell shook his head, flinging more water about. “The roads be team’n with flood water by now.”

  “Then what?” she demanded. “We wait here until the storm passes or we float away?”

  “Or worse yet, Miss Adeline, we are set upon by highwaymen or,”—Poppy gulped—“wild animals.”

  “I do not think any highwayman worth his weight in salt would dare journey out in this gale.” Adeline paused for a moment, pressing her hand to her forehead as she thought through their predicament. The hour was growing increasingly late, the sun already nestled over the far horizon as the clouds continued to develop overhead. Soon, there would be no light left to guide them. “Maxwell, can you take one of the horses and go for help?”

  The wind whipped the carriage door from her driver’s hold, slamming it against the side of the coach and allowing more rain and wind inside.

  “I not be leave’n ye and Miss Poppy unattended,” he shouted over the wailing wind. “Me lord would have me head if’n anythin’ happened ta ye.”

  “Then our best plan would be to fix the bloody carriage and pray we find shelter soon.” Simple enough. Neither she nor Poppy were helpless or useless. “Just instruct us how we can best help you repair the damage to the carriage.”

  The driver forced the door partially closed to keep the worst of the storm from entering the interior. “Not certain there is much ta do, even with ye help, miss.”

  “Oh, horse brattle,” Adeline said. “If there is anything I’ve learned in the last several years, it is that there is always something that can be done. Now, step aside, and I will have a gander at the damage myself.”

  The servant stepped back when Adeline turned her severe stare on him.

  She hopped from the conveyance before Maxwell could collect the steps. Her feet sank into the muck up to her ankles as the heavy rain soaked through her cloak and chilled her skin.

  Her heart plummeted when her gaze settled on the damaged undercarriage.

  As if in response, the rain redoubled its efforts in an unrelenting, ferocious manner, and the wind whipped her skirts about her legs.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Chapter 2

  JASPER BENEDICT, THE Earl of Ailesbury, pulled his heavy woolen cloak tighter around his hulking frame as his carriage leapt and bounded down Spires Road away fr
om his gunpowder plant and toward his home at Faversham Abbey. It had been thoughtful of his servants to notice the growing storm and to send his carriage to bring Jasper home. He’d been so enthralled by the newly presented reports from his production line he hadn’t left his office since before midday.

  Retrieving the stack of papers from his satchel, Jasper scanned the increase in profits once more. He could scarcely believe the surge of revenue. By this time next month, he’d be able to hire a dozen more villagers, spreading his good fortune amongst the people of Faversham and the surrounding countryside.

  He adjusted his position on the padded seat but, as was common, he could not find an angle that did not cause his back to ache unmercifully.

  When the war ended, and the need for gunpowder all but disappeared, Jasper had feared for the people living close to Faversham Abbey. Men would be out of work, children would no longer have the luxury of attending school, and families would either starve or move closer to London to find a means to support themselves.

  He could not stand by and allow such a fate for the place his family had called home for five generations.

  Thunder crashed outside, an outward display of his inner fury at the fate his people had nearly succumbed to all those years ago.

  Jasper slid the papers back into his satchel and held tight to the hanging strap above his head to steady himself on the rutted road. The plans to fill in the deep crevices in the earth was likely to happen sooner rather than later, yet it had been hard to justify the expense when the road was only traveled by men going to and from the village to work at the plant. Many of the men walked or rode a horse, and carriages rarely traversed the area, mainly because Jasper was the only nobility for many miles and the townspeople did not travel in fancy carriages but flat-backed wagons when needed. The sturdy wagons used to deliver supplies to the plant and pick up products to be shipped from the port were well-built and accustomed to the harsh terrain.

  Another bump sent his knee smashing into the seat across from him, the pain traveling up his thigh.

  Bloody hell.

  He should have had the roads repaired long ago.

  The rain hammered against the top of his carriage as they traveled far too slowly for Jasper’s liking. He was tired, aching, and hungry, and hadn’t had a drink in what seemed like days. Hours crouched over a desk in a factory where one could barely hear themselves think could drain every ounce of vigor from a man.

  Twelve hours away from his home at Faversham Abbey, and there were still hours of work left to do.

  Jasper scrubbed at his dirt-streaked face, pulling his hands through his hair. His valet would likely be torn between running for the safety of London and chastising him for staining yet another white linen shirt; all the while holding a pair of shears close to Jasper’s unruly, shoulder-length hair. It had been tied back at the base of his neck with a length of baling twine that morning, but at some point, it had slipped away and was forgotten. Perhaps when he’d gone in search of his foreman to command all the villagers return home early due to the coming storm, or when he and his driver went into the gale to batten down the windows and doors to prevent flooding inside the plant.

  He cared naught, either way.

  No one but his servants would notice his less than proper attire or rakishly long, unbridled hair.

  George, his driver, thumped on the side of the carriage. “Carriage ahead, m’lord. Shall we stop and see who it be?”

  They slowed as they approached the conveyance, obviously stranded at the edge of the road. The approaching night and storm overhead made it impossible for Jasper to tell if the carriage was damaged or if they were only stopped by the increasing mud underfoot.

  “We stop,” Jasper yelled as they pulled alongside it to see a man assisting a woman into the safety of the coach. “I do not recognize the conveyance or the driver.”

  Strangers in this part of Kent? During a tempest? Traveling in such an outdated coach?

  The person had either been taken by surprise by the turn in weather or was completely mad.

  “You, there!” George pulled the horses to a stop and leapt down from his seat. “What business ye have here?”

  Any further conversation was lost in the driving wind and unrelenting rain.

  Finally, George knocked on the carriage door, and Jasper reached to open it.

  “He says he be travel’n from Canterbury ta London and the storm done forced him offa the main road.” His driver glanced over his shoulder at the waiting carriage. “Somethin’ broke underneath, and the driver, a maid, and their mistress are stranded.”

  It was not often that travelers stopped in Faversham on their way to London. The village, though it boasted good, capable people, lacked the draw of entertainment the beau monde was accustomed to. There was no playhouse, no fancy dining establishments, nor a tavern. Only honest, hardworking people trying to survive each day.

  In Jasper’s mind, the area was better for it as there was no place for men to drink late into the night and lose their hard-earned coin at cards.

  “I will have a look.” Jasper pulled the hood of his cloak up to cover his face and climbed from the coach when his driver stood back.

  George’s lips pressed into a firm line, and his eyes widened. “Are you sure that be wise, m’lord?”

  Jasper held back his growl at the man’s question, reminding himself that his servants only sought to look after his best interests. “It is nearing nightfall, and the storm is blocking all light. I will keep my hood raised. Do not fret.”

  With a simple nod, George led Jasper to the damaged carriage. Beyond the wheels being submerged in several inches of muck, something hung loosely under the coach—likely the brake beam or push bar. There was nothing he or his servant could do to send the group on their way until the coach could at least be pulled back to the cover of the Faversham Abbey stables to be repaired.

  “M’lord,” George called over the wind. “We need ta be on our way, or we be likely ta get stuck in the mud.”

  “I agree.” Jasper glanced at the carriage window. Two women stared out at him, their noses pressed to the glass. “But we cannot leave them here. The night will grow cold, and the dawn may very well see temperatures close to frost, and that is if the storm passes.”

  “What do ye think ta do?”

  “Sir,” Jasper called to the other driver, pulling his hood up to better shield his face. “I’m the Earl of Ailesbury. It appears your carriage cannot be repaired here.”

  “There be an inn nearby?”

  “I am afraid it is a fair distance away,” Jasper responded. The man’s dejected look pulled at him. “However, my home is not far, and has plenty of room for your mistress, her maid, and you.”

  The man chewed his bottom lip before glancing toward the carriage. “I will check with Miss Ade—me mistress.”

  “Do hurry.” Another streak of lightning lit the night sky, illuminating the foreboding clouds above. “It is likely the storm will get far worse before it passes.”

  The man hurried to speak with his mistress.

  “Ye think have’n ‘em at the Abbey be wise, m’lord?”

  “Wiser than leaving them here and finding them injured—or worse, dead—on the morrow.”

  “Ver’a true.”

  No matter what Jasper said aloud, the tingling moving through him was similar to the night he’d rushed into his family’s burning stables in an attempt to rescue his parents. Everyone in Faversham was aware how that had turned out—for both him and his family.

  However, leaving the trio here was no more an option than standing by and allowing the fire to rage around his mother and father.

  A spike of pain hit his chest, similar to a lightning bolt hitting a tree. Dredging up the memory was certain to have a lasting effect on him.

  The man stepped lightly through the deepening mud to stand before Jasper as he removed his cap and lowered his head. “Me mistress would meet ye before accept’n ye kindness, m’lord.”


  Jasper glanced sideways to see George’s darkening look. “My master only seeks—“

  “It is fine, George.” Rain had utterly saturated his outer garment and soaked clean through his trousers to chill his skin. Jasper even sensed his Hessians filling with water as they stood in the pouring rain. “Your name, sir?”

  “Max, errr, Maxwell Smithe, m’lord.”

  “Swell to meet you,” Jasper greeted. “Now, please introduce me to your mistress so we can all find safety from the storm with all due haste.”

  He lowered his head to keep the rain from hitting his face and followed Maxwell.

  They halted, and Maxwell opened the door. Jasper peered into the dim interior of the coach to see a woman, her long hair a matted tangle of knots from her time in the storm. She held her cloak wrapped tightly around her as her teeth chattered from the cold.

  She stared back at him, her eyes wide, and Jasper feared she could see past his hood. However, he knew that wasn’t possible. Even if his hood had slipped slightly, the darkness surely hid his scars.

  The woman needed dry clothes and a warm fire—quickly.

  “I am the Earl of Ailesbury,” he called, his words fighting the noise of the storm at his back. “My home is only a short distance away. You may seek shelter there for the night, and I will have your carriage brought round to my stables in the morning for repairs.”

  The woman stared back at him wordlessly.

  Her almond-shaped, hazel eyes inspected him from his hidden face and down the length of his body. Jasper hadn’t felt laid bare before another his entire life. Was she leery enough of him to refuse his offer?

  As if on cue, a wolf howled in the near distance, its call echoing above the whine of the storm. Within moments, several others answered.