The Nobody: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix)

by Diane Farr

  “Here! What are you doing?” he demanded indignantly.

  “Sir, we must remove your shirt from this shoulder! It is the strangest thing, for there is no tear whatsoever in the shirt and yet your flesh is torn beneath it. What can it mean?”

  “It only means that I have reinjured a wound I thought was healing nicely.” He sighed, reluctantly helping her to unwrap the cravat and open his shirt. “I am not surprised. I had expected it to ache a bit after such a long drive, but I own I did not allow for the additional stresses involved in fighting a runaway team, ditching my curricle, and pulling my companion out of a shrubbery.”

  When Caitlin saw the gash she was appalled. “My lord you must sit perfectly still,” she urged. “I don’t know what you were about, to run all over the road and offer assistance to me. Why, my hurts are nothing to this!”

  She picked up and discarded his mangled cravat as too dirty, then hunted swiftly through the pockets of his morning coat for a handkerchief. The only one she found was the one she had used to dry her tears at Richmond Park. How long ago that seemed! When she saw there was no other clean cloth anywhere to hand, she unhesitatingly lifted the torn flounce of her gown and began to tear her gauze petticoat into strips. Kilverton was touched, but protested.

  “Miss Campbell! You really must not! Stop that at once!” he ordered, trying to struggle upright. She placed her hand firmly on his chest.

  “I must and shall. If you are not to bleed to death before my eyes, we must staunch the blood somehow.”

  “But you will ruin your petticoat!”

  Caitlin shot him a look of exasperation, then returned to her task. “If you have a better suggestion I will be glad to hear it! If you do not, pray do not hinder me.”

  He did not have a better suggestion, so reluctantly surrendered. She ripped and tore at her expensive petticoat in a very businesslike manner, evidently not stopping to think how she was exposing her shapely ankles to his interested gaze. With some difficulty, for she could not turn her left wrist, she packed the wound with the clean gauze and bound it firmly with his handkerchief. He watched her, a strange little half smile on his face. The sunlight behind her made a nimbus of her hair. She was so beautiful, he thought, she would have looked like a vision from heaven—had it not been for the smudges on her face, and the look of fierce concentration that clenched her soft mouth into a thin line and drew her brows straightly over her worried eyes.

  “You are a heroine, Miss Campbell,” he murmured ruefully. “Now let us tear up something of mine, to fashion a sling for that wrist of yours.”

  She laughed a little, pushing the hair back from her brow. “We will do no such thing.” She stood and walked back to where Mullins still lay. “Thank God!” she cried eagerly. “His color is returning.”

  “Unlucky for Mullins,” observed Kilverton. “The poor fellow must be coming round.”

  As if to prove this, Mullins gave a soft groan and his brows contracted in pain. Caitlin moved swiftly to shield his face from the sun, and bent softly over him. She spoke with a note of gentle authority.

  “You must not try to move, Mr. Mullins. There has been an accident with the curricle. You have only to lie quietly for a few minutes and not trouble yourself.”

  “What happened?” he inquired dazedly.

  Kilverton rose and came to him, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and Caitlin’s minatory frown. “Some fool of a hunter let off a shot too near the road,” he said cheerfully. “The horses bolted, and a wheel came off. That is all.”

  For the first time, it occurred to Caitlin to wonder what did, in fact, happen. She felt a faint prickle of fear as she remembered there were not one, but two shots. Her troubled gaze met Kilverton’s, but he shook his head warningly at her and returned his attention to his groom. Clearly their task at the moment was to bring Mullins whatever ease they could.

  “The horses?” Mullins said faintly.

  “Strained fetlock. Nothing serious,” Kilverton assured him. Caitlin knew he had not had an opportunity to examine the horses, but held her tongue when she saw some of the worry leave Mullins’ face.

  The sound of an approaching carnage heralded the barouche’s arrival and Caitlin turned eagerly to greet its appearance around the last bend in the road. It was coming on as fast as the coachman dared drive it, and all the occupants were leaning anxiously forward, Emily half standing and clinging to the side in her apprehension. Some way back they had come upon Caitlin’s parasol lying in the dust and Kilverton’s curly-brimmed beaver rolling along the side of the road, and for the past half mile they had been fearing a hideous sight round every bend.

  When they arrived at the actual scene of the accident Emily instantly burst into tears of mingled distress and relief. Lord Kilverton and Miss Campbell certainly appeared battered, but both were on their feet, and although the curricle was smashed the horses had survived. Mullins was in a great deal of pain, but clearly not in mortal danger. Both horses were lame, but although they would have to be led there seemed to be no permanent damage done. Everyone was quick to agree that their escape from a worse fate was miraculous.

  Lady Selcroft’s coachman saw to Kilverton’s horses while Emily spread the coachman’s driving coat on the grassy bank to receive Mullins. Mr. Montague and Sir Egbert carried Mullins to the side of the road to dispose him as comfortably as they could on the driving coat. At this point, Captain Talgarth and Serena arrived on the scene, having ridden back to discover what had become of the party. Captain Talgarth immediately rode off to the nearest inn to summon help and a surgeon for Mullins. Serena offered to ride back and retrieve whatever property she could find that had been lost in the horses’ flight, and triumphantly returned with everything except for Caitlin’s missing sandal.

  During all the commotion, Lady Elizabeth maintained a rigid silence and did not budge from her seat in the barouche.

  It was decided that Lady Selcroft’s coachman would stay with Mullins and Lord Kilverton’s horses until Captain Talgarth returned with help, while Lord Kilverton and Miss. Campbell should be conveyed back to town as quickly as possible in the barouche. Kilverton thought he also ought to stay with Mullins, but after a short argument he finally consented to take a place in the barouche next to Miss Campbell. They were seated together so they might both face forward, which Emily insisted would be more comfortable for them. This finally displaced Lady Elizabeth, who now had to sit beside Emily in the backward-facing seats. The barouche was to be driven to London by Mr. Montague, with Sir Egbert riding next to him on the box and Serena keeping Nellie close beside them. And as soon as they were under way Mr. Montague demanded to know what had happened.

  Now that the shock of the accident was over, Caitlin was beginning to feel very stiff, sore, and ill, and Kilverton also looked as though he would be glad to rest instead of talk. She did not wonder at it that he answered his friend in as few words as possible, using much the same language he had used to Mullins.

  “Someone hunting in the woods too close to the road. He let off a round just as we drove past, my bays bolted, and a wheel came off.”

  Mr. Montague slewed round on the box to regard his friend for a moment. Kilverton returned his gaze blandly enough, but Caitlin, her nerves on the stretch, thought there was some message being passed between the two men. Mr. Montague turned to the front again, replying in a gruff tone that sounded to Caitlin as if he was hiding some strong emotion.

  “Oh, aye! Could have happened to anyone!” was all he said. She could make nothing of this, but something was clearly troubling Mr. Montague and she suddenly realized something was troubling her as well.

  “There were two shots,” she said faintly. “And they were fired across the road, my lord. How are we, to account for that?”

  The barouche lurched as Mr. Montague unaccountably dropped his hands. “Mind your team, Neddie,” recommended Kilverton affably. “I’ve no wish to repeat today’s experience.”

  Mr. Montague recovered the reins, mutter
ing something under his breath, but Emily reached out comforting hands to Caitlin. “Oh, Caitie, how dreadful!” she cried. “How frightened you must have been! I would have fainted dead away.”

  Caitlin smiled affectionately at her sister. “I should have fainted, of course, but I did not wish to put Lord Kilverton to additional trouble,” she explained. “He seemed to have quite enough his hands.”

  “Thank you,” said Kilverton with an appreciative grin, and Caitlin bowed politely.

  It was Sir Egbert’s turn to slew round on the box, which he did with difficulty. “Did you say two shots, Miss Campbell?” he inquired, a note of indignation in his voice. Upon her assenting, he faced forward again, continuing in tones of strong disapproval. “Demmed careless! I never heard of such a thing. D’you mean to tell me this fellow made off afterwards with nary a word to you? Never came forward to offer assistance? Bless my soul! These poachers! Something ought to be done about ’em.”

  Caitlin seized gratefully on Sir Egbert’s interpretation of the events. “Yes, it must have been a poacher! That would account for his not coming forward,” she said, relieved. Her brows puckered again. “But surely any game would be in the wood. Why do you suppose he fired across the road?”

  “Trying to bag my horses, perhaps,” murmured Kilverton. “After all, several disinterested persons have complimented me on those bays. I would have thought they were worth more alive than dead—so that trapping them would be preferable to shooting them—but I daresay he was hungry.”

  Caitlin choked, then winced as the laughter hurt her bruised ribs. She regarded Lord Kilverton with a fulminating eye. “Lord Kilverton!” she chided him. “Are you able to find humor in every situation?”

  He appeared to think deeply for a moment. “Only the humorous ones,” he explained. This silly remark caused Caitlin Campbell and Richard Kilverton to smile at each other, and a strange phenomenon immediately occurred. The rest of the party, the events of the day, and the entire world seemed to swiftly recede, leaving them completely alone together in some far-off place. They floated there for a timeless and dangerous moment.

  “Disgraceful!” ejaculated Lady Elizabeth, suddenly recalling them to the planet by breaking her long silence. He voice shook with suppressed passion. She was sitting rigidly upright, averting her eyes to stare determinedly past Kilverton at the road unwinding behind them. Kilverton, Caitlin, and even Emily blinked at her in surprise. She seemed to be laboring under a great deal of emotion.

  Lady Elizabeth had had a trying day. She had spent most of it in fruitless argument with her fiancé, and had been deeply dismayed to discover how completely incompatible their views were on almost every subject. On the return to London, Richard had humiliated her by rejecting her company in favor of Miss Campbell’s. Next she had very nearly witnessed a shocking curricle accident, and had been forced to behold a repulsive scene involving a quantity of blood, which was naturally upsetting to a delicately nurtured female. But the crowning moment of horror had come when the barouche pulled up to the scene of the accident and Lady Elizabeth had had to avert her eyes from the sight of Richard’s bare neck and partially exposed shoulder. Not only was the exhibition of so much male skin extremely embarrassing, it was all too obvious whose shameless hands had bared her fiancé’s shoulder, whose hands had bandaged that wound! Mullins was prostrate on the ground; it positively leaped to the understanding that Miss Campbell had taken it upon herself to minister to Richard’s hurts. Also, that brazen young woman was unblushingly wearing a gown that was practically cut to ribbons in the back—and the sunlight shining through the muslin had made it all too clear that her petticoat was torn off below the knees. One had only to notice the edging of lace fluttering incongruously on Richard’s bandage to instantly perceive what had become of Miss Campbell’s missing petticoat. Every feeling was offended! And even though it was Lady Elizabeth’s very own fiancé who had been injured, no one had stopped to consider her feelings or expressed any sympathy for her at all. The headache she had developed earlier was not improved by riding backward in the barouche, and having to give up her place to Miss Campbell—of all people!—had exacerbated her temper. Fury, chagrin, and outraged modesty had kept Lady Elizabeth silent, though stiff and white-faced, but now it seemed she was going to be treated to the spectacle of her fiancé flirting—yes, flirting!—with Miss Campbell, and she could remain silent no longer.

  “Only a lunatic could find anything to laugh at in this intolerable situation!” Lady Elizabeth announced wrathfully. “What does it matter whether there were two shots or a dozen? The only thing that signifies now is that we are obliged to drive through town in an open carriage, to be gawked at by every fool in London. And the state your clothing is in—! Your appearance is not only bizarre, it is positively indecent. We will be an object of interest to everyone we pass! Under the circumstances, I consider jocularity to be completely uncalled-for. Really, in the worst of bad taste!”

  This aspect of the situation had not occurred to Caitlin. For the first time, she looked down at herself and was appalled. One shoe and both gloves were missing, her frock was ruined, her hair had fallen down, she was hatless, scratched, and bleeding, and she could tell by Lord Kilverton’s disheveled appearance that her own must be as bad or worse. “Merciful heavens!” she said faintly. “Lady Elizabeth is quite right; it is no joking matter. We must stop somewhere and tidy ourselves.”

  Mr. Montague was moved to expostulate. “You cannot be serious!” he exclaimed. “This is no time to consider appearances!”

  “Hear, hear!” cried Serena, perched above them on her mare. “If people stare, what of it? We must get Richard home! Emily, lend Caitlin your parasol so she can hide her face if she wishes.”

  “Oh, of course!” agreed Emily, immediately handing it to her sister while Caitlin attempted to push her hair into some semblance of order. “What a pity your hat is torn. You may wear mine if you like, Caitie. No one will notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Perhaps my mother has a loo-mask hidden somewhere in the barouche,” suggested Kilverton helpfully.

  Caitlin gave a little spurt of laughter. “If so, you must wear it, not I!” she retorted. “Your bandaged shoulder is a far more spectacular sight than all my dirt and disarray. And how we are to hide that, I’m sure I don’t know!”

  “If my spectacular appearance begins to draw a crowd, lend me the parasol and I will engage to duck beneath it.”

  “Oh, do be serious, Richard!” snapped Lady Elizabeth. “If you are all determined to proceed directly to town, we must contrive to cover that shoulder somehow.” She inadvertently glanced at his half-bared shoulder as she spoke and instantly averted her eyes again, turning a little pink with embarrassment.

  Sir Egbert entered unexpectedly into the discussion. “Lady Elizabeth, your concern is justified!” he declared earnestly. “Whatever adventures have befallen us this day, we must contrive, for your sake, to achieve a respectable and unremarkable appearance. We cannot expose you to the comments of the vulgar! We cannot expect you to face with equanimity the rude stares of a plebeian horde! And Miss Campbell, of course. I am sure any female would shrink from such an ordeal.”

  Serena interrupted him impatiently. “Pooh! Caitlin, at least, is not such a paltry creature. And, Richard, you have only to pull the lap robe up over you and pretend you are asleep. No one will see your shoulder.”

  This proposal generally met with favor, as Lord Kilverton was already half-reclined against the squabs and, if the truth be known, feeling unwell enough to be glad of a reason to remain there. Sir Egbert was a trifle dissatisfied, but finally pronounced it to be the best possible solution. “It may seem a bit unusual—ill-bred, you know, with ladies present—but I fancy no one will wonder excessively at it.”

  Kilverton drew the robe up and Caitlin reached over to tuck it round his injured shoulder. Her fingers brushed his neck, and their eyes met. She hastily returned to her seat, blushing vividly, and was careful not to lo
ok in his direction again for the remainder of the journey. She was stunned and appalled at the turn her thoughts were taking, and seized upon the hope that her state of mind was merely a reaction to the curricle accident. She had heard it said that people’s thoughts and feelings often were disordered by shocks of this kind. She devoutly hoped her unruly emotions would return to her control when she recovered.

  Upon returning to Lynwood House, she was very glad to go directly to bed and allow Aunt Harriet and Emily to cosset her for a day or two. Her bruises stiffened painfully overnight, and all efforts to banish thoughts of Richard Kilverton were exhausting—and unavailing. She thought of him frequently. In fact, she thought of him almost continually. And the more she thought, the lower her spirits sank.

  Chapter XI

  The day after the ill-fated Richmond excursion, Mr. Montague arrived on the Earl of Selcroft’s doorstep at what was, for him, an unusually early hour. When ushered into Lord Kilverton’s presence he found his friend lounging more-or-less comfortably in a wing chair in his father’s library, engaged in looking over his morning’s correspondence. At the sight of him, Kilverton glanced at the clock on the library mantelpiece and gave an exaggerated start. Mr. Montague grinned.

  “Yes, you may well stare. A quarter past ten, and here I am! Nothing but the greatest concern for you, old man, could have roused me at this hour.”

  “I assumed, when Bradshaw announced you, that you had not yet been to bed,” said Kilverton. “But as you are not in evening dress, it must be that our clock has stopped.”

  “Wrong on both counts!” Mr. Montague assured him, dropping onto a sofa and giving a prodigious yawn. “Had to see you,” he explained.

  “I perceive you have spent a sleepless night tossing on your pallet, a prey to doubts and fears, and have rushed to Mount Street at the crack of dawn to reassure yourself of my safety. Touching, Neddie! I am deeply moved.”