B006DTZ3FY EBOK

by Farr, Diane

  Derek rounded up Lady, who had confusedly wandered off onto the moor, and led her back to the group. He dismounted and took the reins of all four horses, listening quietly while Cynthia questioned her friend.

  “No,” Hannah was saying as Derek rode up. Her voice was high and gasping with pain. “So stupid of me! I don’t quite know what happened.”

  “’Twas my fault,” declared Mr. Ellsworth, wringing his hands in distress. “I should never have let you try it. Why did you not tell us, dear girl, that you had never ridden at anything faster than a walk?”

  “Well, I didn’t think it mattered. I didn’t know how different it would be,” Hannah confessed. “How could I?”

  “Never mind that now.” Cynthia took Hannah’s hand in hers and bent over her, her eyes anxiously searching her face. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. Where are you hurt?”

  “She slid sideways. Slipped right out of the saddle,” exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth, interrupting. “There was nothing I could do. Happened before I knew it.”

  “Yes, yes, Mr. Ellsworth,” said Cynthia patiently. “We shall discuss how it came about later. Pray let Hannah tell me what is amiss.”

  Hannah looked cautious, as if taking mental inventory of her body. “I landed quite hard,” she admitted. “In a—in a sort of sitting position.” She seemed loath to name the body part she had bruised. “And I did something to my knee when I tried to catch myself. I had hooked it, you know, on the saddle horn.”

  “Can you move your knee? Go slowly,” she warned, as Hannah winced.

  “Not very well. It hurts.”

  Cynthia looked up at Derek. “She can’t ride back. That’s certain.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go.”

  “Go?” Hannah glanced dazedly up at him.

  “Back to the stables,” he said. “I’ll bring back a carriage of some kind.”

  “Oh, dear. How mortifying.” Fresh tears streaked the dust on Hannah’s cheeks. “I am putting you all to so much trouble, and I’ve ruined everyone’s morning. I’m so sorry.”

  “No trouble at all,” said Derek cheerfully. He gave her a wink and a salute. “Be back in a trice.” He tossed the rest of the reins to Ellsworth, jumped lightly onto Max, wheeled the gelding around and set off at a canter. That nincompoop, Ellsworth, was a useless creature, but it was clear that Cynthia had matters well in hand.

  Really, the more of her he saw, the more he found to like. An excellent horsewoman and a cool head in an emergency. She would make some lucky man an excellent wife.

  Chapter 15

  Cynthia was thoroughly annoyed with Mr. Ellsworth. He had been worse than useless; he had actually increased Hannah’s pain by awkwardly trying to help her sit up. Hannah’s knee was swelling rapidly, and Cynthia finally begged Mr. Ellsworth to let her lie. “And, if you know how, pray unsaddle Lady,” she added, hoping to distract him with a task to perform. “We can place the cushioned portion beneath Hannah to elevate the injured limb.”

  Thus adjured, Mr. Ellsworth stopped wringing his hands and blaming himself, over and over, for Hannah’s fall. He took Lady aside and eventually managed to get her saddle off. Cynthia stayed by her friend, shading her face from the sun and talking to her in a soothing, cheerful tone that helped to keep her calm. Hannah was a fearful little thing, and Mr. Ellsworth’s carrying on had all but convinced her she would be crippled for life.

  Cynthia gently helped Hannah raise her legs while Mr. Ellsworth, delicately averting his gaze, shoved the saddle beneath her calves. Hannah soon declared that the elevation of her knee had relieved her pain a bit. Cynthia thought this was probably a brave lie, but squeezed her hand in approval. Hannah’s attempt to be strong would, Cynthia thought, help her more than indulging the fears Mr. Ellsworth seemed all too ready to encourage.

  Unfortunately, the instant that his appointed task was done, Mr. Ellsworth plunged back into his mournful litany of sympathy, remorse and alarm. Hannah bore it very well, seeming to like the attention, but it soon had Cynthia’s teeth on edge. Mr. Ellsworth seemed to enjoy having his chivalry appealed to, so Cynthia finally turned to him with a display of helpless entreaty, begging him to walk the horses. “For I cannot leave Lady Hannah,” she reminded him, a sentiment with which he instantly concurred.

  By the time Derek returned, they seemed to have been stranded there beside the path for hours. The sun was warmer than it had earlier seemed, and Cynthia was exhausted from her efforts to simultaneously support Hannah’s flagging spirits and tactfully keep Mr. Ellsworth at bay. Her heart lifted with relief at the sight of Derek’s tall form appearing at the top of the rise and walking toward them. He was carrying something, but he was on foot.

  “Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth. “The bridle path is too narrow for the carriage. Why did we not foresee this? Oh, dear, oh, dear.”

  “There is no carriage?” cried Hannah, on a rising note of panic. From her vantage point on the ground, she could not see Derek’s arrival. “But I cannot walk. And I cannot possibly ride.”

  Cynthia’s patience was wearing thin. “Hannah, hush. And Mr. Ellsworth, pray be calm! I am certain Mr. Whittaker has thought of something.”

  “Halloa!” called Derek, giving a cheerful wave as he approached. His confident air was balm to Cynthia’s flayed nerves. She rose to her feet and greeted him with relief. He walked up and tossed his burden on the ground. “I’m glad I thought of this,” he remarked, indicating the object he had thrown down. It was two long poles with a length of canvas strung between them. “It’s a litter, for moving an injured person,” he explained. “Mr. Ellsworth and I shall have to do the honors.”

  “Oh, no.” Hannah raised herself on one elbow, her face a study in dismay. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It won’t be as bad as all that,” Derek assured her, smiling. “There’s a two-wheeled trap on the other side of the rise. Couldn’t get it any closer, but at least you shan’t have to loll about like Queen Cleopatra all the way to Oldham Park. Bear with us, my lady; we shall jostle you as little as possible.”

  Hannah looked only marginally reassured. Cynthia felt a twinge of sympathy; it would be, she imagined, extremely embarrassing to be carried on a litter. More so, if one were secretly in love with one of the men doing the carrying. And even more so, if one were sensitive about being plump. Poor Hannah!

  The two men stretched the litter out on the ground beside Hannah, and Cynthia helped her maneuver herself onto the thing. It wasn’t easy. Mr. Ellsworth seemed shocked by Derek’s suggestion that the gentlemen offer their assistance, and Hannah was too embarrassed to contradict him once he had made his feelings known. So, for propriety’s sake, the two females had to manage the task without help. Hannah’s skirts and injuries hampered her movement enough that she had to be half-lifted over the pole and onto the canvas. It was a struggle for Cynthia but she accomplished it at last, and after disposing Hannah’s torn and dirtied clothing appropriately, she announced that they were now as ready as they would ever be.

  Hannah looked frightened. “What must I do?” she asked anxiously.

  “Just lie as still as you can,” Derek told her. His tone indicated that there was nothing extraordinary or difficult in what they were about to do. “We’ll keep you perfectly safe, Lady Hannah. Won’t we, Ellsworth?”

  “Heavens! I hope so.” Mr. Ellsworth looked nearly as nervous as Hannah. “We will certainly do our best.” He leaned over Hannah, where she lay stretched out like a body in a coffin. “Hannah, my dear, we shall try very hard not to drop you. But if you should happen to fall off the litter for any reason, do try to break the fall with your hands,” he begged her earnestly.

  “She will not fall off the litter,” said Derek firmly. “And we most assuredly will not drop her.” He strolled over to help Cynthia re-mount her mare. “What a fellow that Ellsworth chap is,” he muttered disgustedly, for her ears only. “He’ll frighten Lady Hannah to death.”

  Cynthia tried to reply without moving her lips. “I wa
s never more glad to see you then when you arrived just now,” she murmured, placing her boot in his laced hands. “Thank you, Mr. Whittaker,” she added aloud, as Derek tossed her into her saddle and handed her her reins. He threw her a speaking glance before turning back to the others, but the instant he was facing Hannah once more, his air of cheerful confidence returned.

  “Well, Ellsworth, I suggest you relinquish the rest of the reins to Lady Cynthia now,” he said, briskly rubbing his hands together. “Can’t carry her la’ship and lead two horses at the same time. Are we ready? Lady Hannah, are you quite comfortable? Well, well, never mind. Just wait until we get you off the hard, cold ground; you’ll be amazed at how much better you’ll feel. Lady Cynthia, pray bring up the rear. You can supervise from there, and shout out advice and encouragement as we go along.” He caught Cynthia’s eye and she gave him an amused nod. She perceived, of course, what he was doing: maintaining a flow of nonsensical chatter to keep the atmosphere light and prevent Mr. Ellsworth from interjecting any more prophesies of disaster.

  She was even more impressed when they reached the two-wheeled pony cart—without mishap, just as Derek had promised. He had piled the back of the vehicle with pillows and bolsters, anticipating that they would need to shield Hannah from the bouncing of the cart as much as possible. The horse drawing it had been tied to a stout bush, since trees were lacking, and was waiting quietly. The two men laid the litter, with Hannah on it, tenderly in the back of the trap. The bed of the vehicle was narrow, and, unfortunately, the litter poles stuck out on either side of it. Derek deemed this dangerous, so Hannah scrambled off the litter and into the cushions as best she could, and Derek stashed the folded litter in the underboot.

  “I am so glad you thought of pillows,” exclaimed Hannah gratefully.

  “I sent for a surgeon, too,” said Derek. “I hope he’ll be there by the time we return.”

  “Excellent,” exclaimed Cynthia. “Mr. Whittaker, you think of everything.”

  “A surgeon?” Hannah bit her lip. “But I don’t think I need medical attention. A day or two of rest—”

  “Now, Hannah, be brave,” said Cynthia firmly. “We shall all feel better when we know you have been seen by an expert. A surgeon will be able to advise you what’s best to be done, and how to care for your injuries.”

  Hannah looked dubious, but fortunately Mr. Ellsworth chimed in. “My dear Hannah, you cannot be too careful,” he admonished her. “Lady Cynthia is quite right. I, for one, shall not rest until I know you have received the best care available.”

  This evidence of Mr. Ellsworth’s concern seemed to perk Hannah up, so Cynthia bit back the crushing set-down she longed to give him. It was odd, she reflected, how differently Hannah was affected by Mr. Ellsworth’s demeanor; it seemed to strike her in almost the opposite way it struck Cynthia. Hannah seemed to find Mr. Ellsworth’s zealous solicitude comforting, where Cynthia found it exasperating. It would have driven Cynthia mad, had she lain injured while someone fussed about, glumly expected the worst, and made a point of reminding her of every dreadful thing that might occur.

  She stole a glance at Derek Whittaker. Now, there was a model of chivalrous behavior. No nonsense, no fuss, no empty words of sympathy, no unnecessary precautions. Just action. Efficient, decisive action. What an excellent husband Derek would make for some lucky lady. She wished she believed that the lucky lady would be herself.

  She stifled a sigh as she turned her attention back to her own appointed task: leading Mr. Ellsworth’s horse. Mr. Ellsworth was insisting on riding in the back of the cart with Hannah, supposedly to catch her if she started to slide. So Cynthia, on her mare, was to lead his horse while Derek drove the pony trap, with Lady tied to the back of the vehicle.

  The strange little procession, rumbling along at a snail’s pace, would have made an interesting sight had anyone seen it. They did not encounter a soul, however, until actually approaching Oldham Park. Derek pointed with his whip at a shiny black gig being led toward the stable yard.

  “Is that the surgeon’s gig, Lady Hannah?”

  She barely had time to crane her neck and reply, “I believe so,” when two stableboys came flying toward them, followed by the head groom. The massive doors to the ducal palace were thrown open, as well, and Cummings emerged, two stout footmen with him. All was bustle and confusion for a few moments as Hannah was unloaded and carefully carried up the steps and into the front hall, Cynthia was handed down and the animals and equipage were transferred to the stable hands. Mr. Ellsworth stayed at Hannah’s side, hovering and exclaiming and warning the footmen at every step. She heard his voice recede into the distance—“Take care! Do not jostle her. Mind the furniture!”—as the footmen carried Hannah into the library.

  Cynthia was the last to climb the steps to the entrance. As she entered the hall, stripping off her gloves, she saw Cummings pull Derek aside and whisper something to him that made his face go taut with excitement and tension. Derek immediately left Cummings and came to her. She could not help noticing, with a pang compounded of joy and regret, that his instinct was to include her in whatever was important to him.

  “That was the surgeon’s gig,” he told her in a lowered tone. “But he did not come for Lady Hannah. He was already on his way when I sent for him—and he has brought the midwife.”

  “Oh! I am so glad. Lady Malcolm’s time has come upon her?”

  Derek nodded, then gave a short laugh. “I’m glad as well, if it means her ordeal will soon be over. Can’t help feeling a bit anxious, though.”

  “Of course. But I’m sure all will be well. Will the surgeon have an opportunity to look at Hannah, too?”

  “Oh, aye, babies take a great deal of time—from what I hear—and, of course, the midwife will be with Natalie. Malcolm, too.”

  Cynthia was startled. “Lord Malcolm! Oh, you must be mistaken. No man would stay with his wife at such a time.”

  Derek laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t know Malcolm. He’ll refuse to leave her side. When Pippa was born, he was nearly as exhausted as Natalie by the end of it.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Cynthia stared at him, amazed. “Most men won’t stay in the same house while their children are being born, let alone in the same room. And I imagine most wives would prefer they go off to their clubs or their stables or wherever they go, rather than hang about. Why does the surgeon permit it? I would think a husband would be very much in the way.”

  “Not Malcolm. He evidently makes himself useful. Talking to Natalie, rooting her on and so forth. Wiping her face. Fanning her. Whatever she needs.”

  “Gracious.” Cynthia bit her lip. She could not imagine wanting her husband near her during the ordeal of childbirth. From what she understood, which was not much, a woman neither looked nor felt her best at such a time. And everything she knew about men—which, again, was probably not much—had led her to believe that, to them, a woman’s appearance and demeanor were so important, it would be impossible for a man’s love to survive the sight of his wife in labor.

  But as the day wore on, she found herself wondering if this was yet another long-held belief she must question. The list, she reflected bitterly, was growing rather long.

  An expectant hush permeated Oldham Park, punctuated with the occasional sound of running feet and doors slamming overhead. Housemaids carrying towels and basins hurried up and down the stairs, their young faces shining with a sense of their own importance. The surgeon did come in to take a look at Hannah’s knee, in company with Lady Grafton, but his examination was fairly perfunctory and neither he nor Hannah’s mother stayed long. He recommended elevation, which was already being done, and cold cloths—“ice, if you have it; fifteen minutes on, then fifteen minutes off”—to take down the swelling. He promised to look at her again in twenty-four hours or so, but apologetically bowed himself out in record time. Mr. Ellsworth was indignant at the surgeon’s evident haste, but Hannah seemed relieved. She confessed that she had been terrif
ied that he would recommend cupping, a procedure she dreaded.

  Cynthia remained with Hannah and Mr. Ellsworth in the library, making sporadic conversation and feeling herself very much a third wheel. Derek had, understandably, disappeared for the afternoon. He came down to the library near teatime, looking drawn and rather pale.

  Cynthia rose to her feet, wishing she could smooth the worry from his brow. “Mr. Whittaker, we are so glad to see you. Is there any news?”

  He shook his head ruefully and took the cup of tea she handed him. “Thanks very much,” he said absently, sinking onto a chair. “No, no real news. I’m told that Natalie’s pains began near daybreak, but she said nothing until she was certain—and by then, you know, we had left for the moor.”

  “It does seem to take a frightful amount of time,” said Hannah sympathetically. “But, as I suppose you are aware, that’s not unusual.”

  “Right.” He stared down at the teacup in his hands. He did not drink it. “I’ve been hanging about in the second floor passage—near her room, you know, but not too near.” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “It’s bad enough, even at a distance.”

  Mr. Ellsworth looked horrified. “I should think so, dear chap. A frightful business! Why not wait here, with us? Daresay they’ll send up a shout the instant the child is born.”

  He shook his head. “I must be there. In case Natalie needs me.”

  “Pho!” snorted Ellsworth, looking simultaneously sympathetic and nauseated. “Nothing you can do, Whittaker. You’re only her brother, you know.”

  “I know.” Derek’s lips tightened. He set his tea down, untasted, and rose to his feet. “I’ve no appetite, I’m afraid. Sorry. I’ll come back when I’m feeling more human.” He gave Cynthia a strained smile, sketched a brief bow, and was gone.

  Ellsworth folded his arms across his chest. “Bless me, what good does it do for Whittaker to lurk about in the passage?” he exclaimed. “He’ll drive himself distracted.”