Now, having rounded a bend in the road no more than a mile or two from where he’d left those horses, he could see the wreckage of a carriage in the distance and the figures of two woman walking toward him.
It was obvious from their body language that they were frightened. Given the circumstances, it was easy enough to understand why. Two women alone, following a carriage accident, on a rarely traveled road—by its very nature, the situation was a recipe for either disaster or tragedy. Hoping to allay their fears, he called out, “Hello… I’ve come from Seffington Park! Our hostess was quite concerned for you!”
He was too far away to see their faces clearly, but he saw the taller woman stiffen immediately. Her shoulders went back and her chin came up. There was something hauntingly familiar in the way she moved, in the haughty and dignified way she carried herself.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Even as the denial sprung to his lips, he knew that it was her. She moved like a queen, or perhaps a general. When she stopped at the sound of his voice, clearly stunned, there was no question. He was, regardless of his role as rescuer, the last person in the world she would wish to see. It might also be true to say that she was the last person in the world that he’d wish to face. There was nothing so terrifying as looking into the eyes of the one you had most wronged and being confronted with his own cowardice was an ugly and bitter thing.
Against every instinct he possessed, he continued forward, forcing himself to confront a past he’d thought long buried. The nearer he drew to the pair of them, the more evident her distaste for the situation became. She kept her gaze averted, refusing to even look at him. He could not blame her. Had their situations been reversed, had she destroyed his life as he had done to her, then he’d have little enough to say to her, as well.
To the woman whom he did not know, Hugh introduced himself. “Forgive me, madam. I am Fitzhugh Elliott, Lord Elwynn. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance and to offer what assistance I may.”
The woman, pretty enough though appearing slightly vapid, smiled and tittered. “Thank you, Lord Elwynn. I am Mrs. Rachel Wilmont. My husband was Mr. Drummond Wilmont of Derbyshire. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord, and we are ever so grateful for your assistance! Aren’t we, Augusta? I believe you know companion, Lord Elwynn? Miss Augusta Penworth?”
“We’ve met.” Her reply had been snapped, each word bitten off and clipped before he could even form an answer. “But that was all a very, very long time ago,” she finished.
“Not so very long,” he corrected. “You’ve hardly changed at all.”
“The most profound changes are not discernible by a simple glance, my lord,” she answered smoothly.
There was a coolness in her tone, a hardness that while he deserved it, its presence pained him. It pained him because he knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that he was entirely responsible for its presence. His carelessness and the machinations of marriage minded mamas and malleable young women had dramatically altered the courses of both their lives. His, while not ideal, had been manageable at least. Hers, based on their means of transport and the obvious age of her gown, had been something else altogether.
“We can become reacquainted better once we are warm and dry at Seffington Park,” he offered.
“We had intended to go to Seffington Park, my lord, but our plans have changed… we have leased a small cottage on the estate and wish to go there instead.”
“But Augusta,” Rachel protested, “Cousin Daisy is expecting us! I cannot think of hurting her feelings by being so callous now!”
Hugh could see the protest forming on her lips. It was there in her stormy grey eyes and in the firm set of her chin. But in the end, she simply sighed and capitulated to her friend. “Naturally, Rachel. We could not possibly rescind our acceptance of the invitation now. It would be quite rude and your cousin has been kind and very generous to us both.”
Rachel clapped her hands with the delight of a child, or a woman just entering her first Season. She had the manners of a young girl fresh from the schoolroom, though she was well past it. But it wasn’t artifice. Hugh sensed that in her—that she was truly delighted at such small things.
“I will take one of you up with me and the other may ride,” he offered.
“I’ll ride,” Mrs. Wilmont said, though any delight had faded from her pretty features. She looked positively terrified at the prospect.
“Nonsense,” Augusta stated firmly. “You’ve little experience riding and a horse can sense your fear. I will take the mount while you ride pillion with Lord Elwynn.”
It was tempting to let the other woman have her way. It would put Augusta in his arms again, prickly though she might be. But his conscience forbade it, Mrs. Wilmont was clearly terrified and she would likely injure herself if not worse. “She’s quite right, Mrs. Wilmont. If you’re not an experienced equestrienne, given these weather conditions and the fright you’ve already had, I would advise against it.”
Her soft, pretty features screwed into a frown as she tried to find a way out of it, a way to throw Augusta more firmly in his path. She wasn’t subtle in the least but he’d certainly award her points for determination.
“Miss Penworth and I will have ample time to reacquaint ourselves while at Seffington Park,” he assured her.
She smiled in capitulation. “You’ll need to help Augusta since there is no mounting block. And she’s not been on horseback in years herself!”
Hugh dismounted easily and patted his horse in a silent command for it to stay put. It didn’t always work, but often enough that he didn’t fear making too much a fool of himself. Augusta stood stiffly next to the horse, eyeing the side saddle with cool disdain. She’d preferred to ride astride, he recalled. And it had been a thing of glory to behold, scandalous as it was.
“Had I known it was you, I would have requested a regular saddle,” he said softly.
“Had I known it was you, I’d have walked back to that broken down coach and taken my chances… Let us not pretend to be friends, Lord Elwynn.”
“If not friends, what are we?” Hugh asked, as he cupped his hands to offer her a leg up.
“You are a man who cannot keep his word, and I am a woman who knows your measure. That is all,” she said emphatically and then, with all the dignity of a queen, despite her muddy gown and disheveled hair, she placed her muddy left knee into his clasped hands so that he could boost her into the saddle.
Hugh could feel the tension in her, her body all but quivered with it. And when she had to place her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. It took only that simple touch and something arced between them that he could not deny and she would never admit. Their eyes met for the briefest moment. She looked away first, eyes forward, expression implacable and her facade shored up by reserves he, at that moment, did not possess.
“That is a very simplistic version of our truth, Augusta,” he admonished softly.
“The truth is always simple, my lord. Only lies become complicated… We should go. It’s becoming quite chilly.”
That it was, he thought. That it most certainly was.
Chapter 4
As her mount pranced forward, it was all Augusta could do to stay in the saddle. It wasn’t the horse or even her rusty equestrian skills. The trembling of every muscle in her body with shock coupled with a rage she’d thought long buried were more to blame for her poor seat than anything else. She had never thought to actually set eyes on him again. With her social status so lowered, the likelihood of ever crossing paths with the man she’d once loved, the man she’d once thought to marry, had seemed unlikely at best.
Augusta didn’t know precisely what was afoot, but she could not believe for a single moment that it was mere happenstance that had brought them together on the road. Had Rachel known he would be in attendance? Had her friend deceived her so thoroughly or was she simply twisted up in some plot by her cousin to provide dramatic entertainment at her house party? Or hea
ven forbid, there was some plot afoot to restore their romantic connection and allow true love, if such a fable existed, to triumph. Was this all at his behest, in an attempt to regain her affections? Surely not, as he’d seemed genuinely stunned to see her. Also, he had to know that regardless of her lowered status, regardless of all the time that had passed, he would not be forgiven so easily and her own morals would not be so easily cast aside. Love didn’t conquer the sin of infidelity and she might be damned for the anger she carried in her heart, but she would not be damned for that.
“We are not far from Seffington Park,” he said easily, his manner completely indifferent to the tension between them and the fact that he had carelessly and recklessly destroyed her life while breaking her heart. “It is but two miles ahead.”
“Thank you for keeping us informed, my lord,” she answered coolly. She would not be baited by him, nor would she let his seemingly innocent attitude toward whatever scheme was afoot fool her. He might not have had a hand in it, because she couldn’t fathom that his shock at seeing her had not been genuine, but that did not mean he would not use it to his advantage. She’d had many years to consider the way he’d treated her, to ponder exactly where things had gone wrong. It still puzzled her, but some puzzles were not meant to be solved and her own curiosity would not be her downfall, she vowed.
Rachel chattered animatedly, asking questions about Seffington Park and about how near his own estate was. The flow of conversation between them was easy and marked just how long she’d been out of society. Those sorts of aimless conversations eluded her now. She could haggle the price of beef with the butcher, shout angry curses at reckless cab drivers who nearly ran them down, and she could spot a pickpocket a mile away. But small talk had become a foreign thing.
“It’s only a few more miles past Seffington Park,” he answered. “There’s a lovely vista on the edge of the property where, on a clear day, you can see the roofline of Wynn House beyond the treetops.”
“If we have nice weather, we should certainly go and see it. Don’t you agree, Augusta?”
“It is winter time, Rachel. I daresay, lovely a view as it may be, it is hardly worth taking a chill.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Never fear, Miss Penworth… There’s a road that leads right to it and it can be enjoyed from the confines of a comfortable carriage.”
“Then I wish you both joy of it,” she replied with a cool smile. It was a mistake to talk to him, a mistake to let him goad into her conversation. “Do forgive me, my lord, but tired as I am, I cannot attend to the nearly forgotten task of riding and maintain adequate conversation.”
He glanced back at her with an odd expression on his face, something that appeared to be concern, and perhaps even tenderness. “Then we shall ride in companionable silence, Miss Penworth. Your well being is naturally my utmost concern.”
Augusta didn’t snort, but the urge to do so was difficult to ignore. He turned ahead again, leaving her to study him from behind. His shoulders were broader and his skin was darker, as if he’d spent a great deal of time in the sun. Otherwise, he was unchanged from a decade earlier—handsome, wealthy, with an engaging manner and a charming smile that made women melt. In other words, he was a danger to her well being whether he was concerned with it or not.
She would need to steel herself against any resurgence of tender feelings for him and in order to do that, she would have to avoid him as much as possible. There would, she thought, be an inordinate number of megrims in her future. If she had to spend the whole of the house party taking to her bed, she’d do whatever was necessary.
The remainder of their short ride was passed in blessed silence, except for the whirling of her own mind. As they dismounted, he spoke to the butler, no doubt arranging for someone to go and retrieve their things. Prior to setting out on foot, they’d collected what they could reach safely and stowed them in the carriage. The driver had stirred himself just long enough to stumble off back toward the village, cursing them as he went, as if it was their presence and not his drunkenness that had resulted in the ruin of his carriage.
Within seconds they were ushered into the entrance hall of Seffington Park. She didn’t goggle at it, though it had been ages since she’d entered any home so fine. The frescoed ceilings and intricately carved furniture reminded her of the lovely balls and musicales she’d attended during her only Season, before things had changed so dramatically.
It was one thing to lose one’s fortune. It was quite another for all of society to witness the merchants and moneylenders carting your possessions out the front door. When the depth of her grandfather’s financial ruin had been revealed, she’d been labeled the one thing that was unforgivable in the eyes of the Ton. They branded her a fortune hunter and there was simply no escaping the social tarnish associated with such a title.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she refused to give in to tears. It was exhaustion that had her overwrought, exhaustion and shock. Once she’d had a moment to catch her breath and regain her equilibrium, all would be well.
A well dressed woman with perfect curls to rival Rachel and a bosom that defied all reason rushed out of one of the many rooms lining the entrance hall. She immediately grasped Rachel in a fierce hug. “Oh, you poor dears! I just knew something awful had happened!” She turned back to the man who had followed her to wag a finger at him knowingly. “I told you, Simon! Didn’t I tell him, Lord Elwynn? Something awful has happened, I said! But oh, thank heavens! Thank heavens you’re here now, safe and soon to be warm in your welcome at Seffington Park! I cannot imagine what you’ve been through and how awful this surely must have been for you! Two women alone on the road! It fair gives me palpitations to think on it!”
Augusta blinked. The woman had surely not drawn a breath during the entire soliloquy. Beside her, Lord Elwynn made a noise that might have been muffled laughter. She spared a sidelong glance at him only to have it confirmed. His lips were quirked upward at the corners, but he was bravely trying to hold in his mirth.
“Mrs. Atwell is a very animated person,” he intoned seriously.
“So I see,” she answered. “Excuse me, Lord Elwynn.” She needed to put distance between them, she needed to settle both her mind and her racing heart.
Mrs. Atwell finally pried her gaze from Rachel and settled it upon Augusta. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an ‘o’ of alarm. It was no doubt a singular instance for there appeared to be very little that could render such a woman speechless.
“Dear heavens, child! What on earth has happened to you? You look as if you’ve wallowed in the mud with animals!”
“I did… wallow in the mud. Not so much with the animals but because of them. The horses were startled and somewhat uncooperative,” Augusta offered with a rueful smile. “If you’d be so kind as to have someone show me to a room where I might attempt to repair some of the damage?”
“Of course, of course! Come with me,” she urged, holding out a hand to Augusta. “We will get you both settled in your rooms. Since your bags were damaged, I’ll have my maid fetch some things that might fit you all for tonight and our laundresses—they work wonders, my dear—will tackle the mess that was made of your bags and have your wardrobes right as rain come tomorrow! Just you wait and see!”
It wasn’t simply that Mrs. Atwell said so many words, it was that she uttered them all at a volume and pace that left the senses feeling utterly assaulted. But she was also warm, friendly and appeared to be a genuinely kind person so any uncharitable thought toward her only put Augusta further on edge because it tweaked her conscience.
Ushered up the stairs and shown to neighboring rooms, Augusta finally had a moment to simply sit. She sank onto the chair before the fire and tried to comprehend the magnitude of what had happened and to ferret out whatever it was that Rachel and her kind but meddlesome cousin were hoping to accomplish.
Her moment of peace was short lived. A maid entered after a soft knock bearing a pitcher of warm
water and a selection of gowns.
“The mistress asked that I bring you these, ma’am,” the girl said, bobbing a curtsy. “The footmen will be bringing up water to fill the tub proper, but I thought you might like to tidy up a bit first while waiting.”
A rather polite way of saying she was too dirty to get in the bath as is, Augusta surmised. “Thank you. What is your name?”
“Alice, ma’am. I’ll be attending you and Mrs. Wilmont during your stay here at Seffington Park,” she answered and ducked her head shyly.
It had been ages since she’d had a maid, ages since anyone had drawn a bath for her other than herself. The very idea of having someone else to dress her hair had become foreign to her when at one time it had been commonplace.
Crossing to the small washstand and the drying cloths that had been placed there for her, Augusta began washing the mud from her face and hands. It was lowering to think of just how awful she must have looked when facing her hostess, even more lowering to consider that she’d had to face him in such a state of disarray.
“We’ll not have time to wash your hair and get it dried before dinner, but I think a good brushing will get the mud out and then I can pin it up, if you like, miss,” the maid offered.
“That will be quite all right, Alice.” Augusta said nothing further as a bevy of footmen entered under the watchful eye of the housekeeper, each of them hauling steaming buckets of water for the large tub concealed behind a chinoiserie screen.
Once they’d all left and only Alice remained, Augusta began the arduous process of removing her mud encrusted clothing. It had become heavy and stiff with dirt. Finally free of it, she realized just how horrific the damage had been.
“I must have looked like an urchin,” she said grimly.
“More like a farmer,” Alice blurted out. Immediately realizing that she’d been far cheekier than her position permitted, the girl clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, miss, do forgive me… my tongue runs away sometimes, it does!”
Worth the Wait Page 3