by Grace Elliot
“This simply won’t do. Miss Foster has been cooped up for too long and needs fresh air.”
“I asked her to take a break.”
“Then you should have insisted.”
“You talk as if I’m not here,” Eulogy interjected. “The painting needed to be finished.”
“Yes, well now it is nearly done. Farrell, you can fill in the background and such without Miss Foster can’t you?”
“Well, yes.” Farrell stuttered.
“Good, that’s settled then. Tomorrow afternoon, four p.m. sharp. I shall expect Miss Foster to be waiting.”
“For what?” Perplexed by his high handedness, her voice caught.
“To go for a drive in Hyde Park.”
Before she could object, Huntley turned back to Farrell. “Now, you can see the sense can’t you? A faded model is no good to you.”
“Yes, but only if Miss Foster agrees.”
Eulogy found herself nodding.
Huntley departed, as suddenly as he’d arrived and Eulogy sank back down onto the dais. Farrell regarded her, knowingly.
“He cares for you, but doesn’t think you feel the same.”
“I’m content as I am.”
Farrell frowned, regarding her as someone who has missed the obvious. “Why do you think he came here today?”
“To discuss the exhibition.”
“No! He came because he can’t keep away. He came because he had to see you Mauvoreen, sometimes you have to take a chance.”
“Perhaps…perhaps.”
The following afternoon, with Farrell’s encouragement and against her better judgement, Eulogy allowed Jack Huntley to escort her to his high-perch phaeton.
“Is it safe?” Eulogy fingered her pelisse nervously. “I hadn’t thought it would be that high.”
Indeed, the buggy stood taller than she and rocked atop huge wheels as the horses fidgeted in the traces. She glanced at Huntley for reassurance, but in skin tight breeches and polished hessians, he looked every bit as dangerous as the carriage.
Huntley laughed good-naturedly. “The horses need an airing that’s all. They’ll settle once we get going.”
Half-heartedly, Miss Foster inspected the fine craftsmanship and rich paintwork.
“It is a beautiful carriage.”
“Wonderful isn’t she? Once Thor and Odin get used to the new rig, I’ll wager she’ll be the fastest in town.”
“I’m not good with heights.” Eulogy looked doubtfully at the waist high step.
“Nonsense.” Huntley’s strong hands circled her waist, boosting her up like a child. She gripped the rail for dear life and pulled herself onto the bench. The phaeton bucked as Huntley sprang up and the carriage tipped alarmingly.
Huntley’s thigh squeezed against hers on the narrow bench and, proud as a king, he took up the ribbons.
“Oh my.” She stared longingly at the ground below.
“Ready?”
Eulogy nodded weakly.
“Then you are in for a rare treat.” Jack threw her a grin that made her insides melt. “There’s nothing to fear.”
Feeling the tension ease on the bit, the matched greys sprang forward. They took a route to avoid St Giles, Huntley struck north, executing a series of sharp turns to emerge into Oxford Street where the straight road was a merciful relief. Surprisingly, Eulogy found some comfort in being head and shoulders above the traffic as they turned south along Regent Street into Piccadilly, and then Hyde Park hove into sight.
They entered the park; the late blooming roses perfumed the air. Jack sat back, whistling, as they gained the sandy path. Almost overnight the horse chestnut trees seemed autumnal and conker cases lay scattered like thorny confetti. Eulogy drank in a deep breath of cool air and forced the tension fall from her shoulders.
Jack threw her a quick smile. “Now for some fun.”
“We’re so high up,” she repeated, still feeling faintly sick.
“It strange at first, but you’ll soon get used to it.”
Jack’s confidence was infectious and despite being balanced atop what felt like a fairground ride, she managed a smile. The horses stretched out at the trot, their effortless momentum unlike anything she’d experienced before. The light chariot built for speed, just a narrow bench, a thin rail and Jack to hold her in place.
“The park’s not so busy in the little Season.”
Jack acknowledged a passing carriage; it occurred to Eulogy that by escorting her in public, unchaperoned, Huntley would fuel the rumor mill.
“Over there,” Jack nodded to a landau with a gilt insignia. “The Earl of Onslow…and there…” He indicated another high phaeton with a woman, looking every bit as scared as Eulogy. “The new Duke of Hexham and his betrothed.”
“Being seen together like this, don’t you mind?”
“Mind?” Jack’s green-gold eyes searched her face. “When it comes to you, I’m past caring what people think.”
“Oh?” But before she could quiz him further, the greys lilted into a canter. The wind rustling her curls and with Jack warming her side, she started to enjoy herself.
Then the carriage jolted over a pot hole, bouncing Eulogy into the air. With a squeak she grasped Jack’s arm. Throwing his head back he laughed and his arm snaked around her waist.
“Have no fear. I’ve got you.”
Eulogy was beginning to appreciate the benefit of phaeton travel as she snuggled into his reassuring bulk.
“I’m not a ninny you know. It’s just that I’ve never ridden in anything so daring before.”
A lingering smile wavered on his lips. “Well get used to it because now Farrell’s pictures are finished, your excuses have run out.”
Eulogy’s heart skipped a beat. What could he mean?
The end of the sandy track was fast approaching. Jack leant back, reining in the greys, slowing to a trot then a fast walk. Ears pricked forward the horses whinnied, still fresh for more.
“Now. How did you enjoy that Miss Foster?”
She beamed with genuine exhilaration. “Wonderful.”
His grip tightened round her waist, she felt the jerky rise and fall of his chest.
“Let’s walk for a while”
“I would like that.”
“Now Odin and Thor have shaken out the cobwebs, they can wait for their gallop.”
Eulogy’s hand flew to her throat, “I hadn’t imagined galloping.”
“Don’t worry, I’m only joking. It’s not allowed in the park.” Jack’s voice rumbled low and Eulogy melted afresh. But before Eulogy could argue, the horses took matters to their own account, snatched at the bit… and bolted. The phaeton flew forward with such force that Eulogy almost tipped off backwards. Jack clung to her, heaving her into the carriage whilst grappling with the ribbons.
With shocking speed the phaeton swooped and bounced along the track. Eulogy’s bonnet fell across her eyes and the wind ripped it from her throat. Air suffocated her with its smothering weight; she struggled to breath. Thundering hooves filled her senses. Trees passed in a blur. Terrified, she clung to the swaying seat.
Carriages and riders dived for cover. Men shouted and women screamed around them. Jack wrestled, tendons taut as the reins cut into his gloved hands. Braced against the footboard, Huntley hauled on the reins. A glance at Jack’s leaden face left her chilled. His lips pressed in a taut line, a snake of blood coiled from the cut above his eye. Muscles taut with effort he attempted to rein in the bolting horses.
Oiled black hooves ate up the sands, closing the distance to the turn at the end of the track. Silver manes tossed out behind, like foamy crests on a stormy sea. Strong legs pounded relentlessly amidst a chaos of sand and sweat.
Beyond fear, Eulogy closed her eyes and prayed that they would stop before the end of the Row.
With a reverberating crunch, the world swung upside down. Wood splintered. Horses squealed. And Eulogy sailed through nothingness. Time slowed….airborne forever, and then, suddenly, the ground
broke her fall. Jarring, rolling, jolting, a searing pain in her shoulder and back. She bumped along the sandy track like a rag doll.
Briefly, she lost consciousness and when she came too, her lungs burnt with gasping pain. She heard groaning and realized it was her.
“Lie still.”
Eulogy felt disinclined to argue. Her head cradled against a wide chest, she felt strangely safe. The disembodied voice crooned words of comfort as stabbing pains shot through her chest.
“Pant like a dog,” the deep voice commanded, “it helps when you’ve been winded.”
She wanted to protest that she wasn’t winded but dying, but could only manage a splutter. Someone stroked her forehead. She smelt the reassuring scent of musk…of Jack, she realized with a thrill, like waking from a nightmare secure in a lover’s arms.
“Jack,” she whimpered, ribs screaming with the effort.
“I’m here. Lie still” Softly, he touched her cheek, brushing aside a stray curl. “Is anything broken?”
Cautiously, she moved her limbs. “I don’t think so.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “When I saw you lying there I feared the worst…”
She stared, beneath the dust he was ashen, dried blood coating his cheek.
“You are hurt!”
“It’s nothing, but you….”
“Just winded.” Cautiously, she felt her ribs and satisfied nothing was broken she managed a shaky smile.
“Can you sit?” Huntley eased her up. But then the trees started to spin and to her mortification, she vomited on the grass. ‘There, there, sweeting.” One broad hand rubbed her back, whilst the other lifted hair from her face. “Here, use this.” Jack handed her a silk handkerchief.
“I’m sorry,” she moaned and wiped her mouth.
“No, tis me that should apologize. You weren’t happy about the phaeton.”
“What happened?” Eulogy hugged her knees, waiting for the clammy light headedness to pass.
“Something spooked the horses,” the flat tone of his voice made her alert, “…and the axle broke. We were lucky to be thrown clear.”
“Oh.” Eulogy pondered on his use of the word ‘lucky’. At this particular moment, with every part of her body hurting, she didn’t feel particularly fortunate. Then she peered round his shoulder to the splintered wood and exposed underbelly of the ruined carriage, and shuddered at what might have been.
Miraculously, the horses stood quietly grazing, seemingly unhurt after dragging the wreckage of the overturned phaeton to a halt.
He folded her slim hand in his and pressed her fingertips to his lips.
“My darling Eulogy, I’d be lost without you.”
Her thudding heart, having finally slowed, started racing again.
“Mr. Huntley?”
“Jack,” he corrected, “I prefer it when you call me Jack.”
Dimly Eulogy became aware of voices growing louder. Riders arrived, cutting the greys free, people approaching from all corners of the park, intruding on their intimacy.
“Jack?”
“Yes, Eulogy. May I call you, Eulogy?”
“I’d rather walk home, if that’s all right by you.”
“Of course, anything you want. I’ve been such an idiot.”
“It was an accident, you couldn’t help it.”
“I don’t mean the phaeton, I mean you. That’s why I brought you out today, I wanted to tell you how I feel.” Her heart tumbled afresh, but before he could elaborate, a gentleman reined in his hunter and dismounted.
“I say, this looks a pretty pickle. Are you chaps all right?”
Jack replied, curtly, his eyes never leaving Eulogy. “Shaken, but unhurt, thank you.”
“And you madam, are you hurt?”
“I am fine, thank you.”
Jack released her hand and stood to dust down his coat.
A crowd began to gather, riders assembling from all over the park. Eulogy pulled her shaking legs up under her skirts as people eyed her like a zoo exhibit. Jack helped her up.
“My poor Mr. Huntley and Miss Foster. What a spectacle!”
Hearing the whiny voice of Miss Cartwright, Eulogy’s heart sank. Melissa Cartwright with her heart shaped face and perfect manners, simpering beneath a ribboned bonnet, not a hair out of place—the last person in the world she wanted to see at that moment. As if reading her mind, Melissa twirled a sugar pink parasol and smirked.
Eulogy rose onto her knees, attempting to straighten her skew-whiff jacket and mouthed a greeting.
With a flounce and flick of the chin, Melissa ignored Eulogy and turned her attention to Jack.
“Poor Mr. Huntley, you are bleeding!” Melissa clutched her chest. “To think you might have died.”
“Merely a scratch, do not distress yourself. Now, please excuse me, I must attend to Miss Foster.”
Eulogy shot him a grateful look. Really she did feel unaccountably giddy and an intolerable ringing in her ears.
“Oh but Mr. Huntley.” Miss Cartwright placed herself between them. “This is a disaster.”
“Miss Cartwright? Tis only a phaeton and can be replaced.” Jack’s eyes widened as a tear slid down Miss Cartwright’s perfect cheek. She glanced at him through lowered lashes.
“I wasn’t referring to the carriage, but my heart, which is quite broken.”
“Oh?”
With exquisite grace she fumbled for a lace handkerchief and wrung it like a chicken’s neck. “I had no idea you and Miss Foster were, that you and she were, so close.” A sob wracked her ample bosom.
“Miss Cartwright, pray do not distress yourself.”
Miss Cartwright’s wails grew louder. People who had started to drift away, turned back and stared.
“Once I dared to hope.” Miss Cartwright’s fingers tightened on the strangled handkerchief. With red rimmed eyes her gaze hardened. “When Mama learns that you are escorting Miss Foster, she will be livid. We had expectations.”
Jack tensed.
“Miss Cartwright, just because you and I danced and met socially does not amount to an understanding.”
“But engaged to a nobody.” Melissa sneered. “A country chit of no breeding. You do realize that no one of consequence will receive her if you marry?”
Feeling that she’d been overlooked for long enough, Eulogy struggled to stand. But her head still span and it was an effort to focus on Jack’s emotionless voice.
“Firstly, we are not engaged…and secondly, Miss Cartwright, you mistake my purpose. Miss Foster is the friend of a business partner who deserves reward after working very hard.”
That old familiar coldness, the chilling distance, hurt more than her tumble as she realized. Jack’s tenderness was the product of fear, nothing more. To him she was a business asset. He had been concerned about his investment. Everything fell chillingly into place.
She felt nauseous afresh. Now, more than ever, she would keep the secret of her birth. He would accept her as she was, or not at all.
“Mr. Huntley,” she said coolly, “I’d very much like to go home now.”
“Can you walk?”
She gathered her composure. Melissa Cartwright would not have the satisfaction of witnessing her hurt and she couldn’t bare it if Jack felt sorry for her.
“Of course.” She nodded bravely. “Good day, Miss Cartwright. Most fortuitous meeting you again. Thank you.” And she meant it, for unwittingly Miss Cartwright had shown her the painful truth.
Chapter 14
For once, not even the confines of The Gallery could soothe Jack’s ruffled mood. Seated at his desk, through gritted teeth he re-read the letter he’d been staring at for ten minutes, only to push it away in disgust. It was no good, he just couldn’t concentrate.
His mouth set in a hard line. Miss Foster had done this to him with her stand-offish behavior and inexplicable coolness. Then he groaned and balled his fists. No, that was precisely the point, he was at fault, he should have realized she was terrified of height
s, and yet he’d been so determined to make an impression. He laughed bitterly. Oh yes, he’d done that all right and now she never wanted to speak to him again.
He rose, his hooded eyes troubled, as he set to pacing the floor. To make matters worse, it was becoming increasingly clear that the phaeton crash was anything but an accident.
Hands clenched behind his back, Huntley regarded his favorite Reynauld portrait, the one of Emma Hart dressed as a shepherdess, usually guaranteed to calm his mind, but today he saw only a colored blur as the stable lad’s words echoed round his mind.
The boy had found a flint, embedded in the lead grey’s rump, which might not have been so worrying were it not for the fact that there were no stones on the sandy gallops of Hyde Park—so someone had meant the horses to bolt! But it got worse, the axle had been partially sawn through, the phaeton was meant to crash.
The facts seemed clear enough. Someone wished him or Miss Foster harm. The first option made him angry, the second, filled him with dread. And to make matters worse, Miss Foster was blanking him.
“Damn, woman. If only she’d speak to me. Shout even, and we could go back to how we were.”
He resumed pacing. He’d sent her flowers. Not just the odd bunch, but enough bouquets to fill several rooms. Glorious hot house flowers and extravagant blooms: Dahlia’s the size of dinner plates, fragrant roses and exotic camellias. She’d acknowledged them all with the same irritating, distant, politeness. With each perfect drafted note of thanks, Huntley became convinced that he had destroyed her trust in him.
Matters had gone so far astray that he’d even swallowed his pride and called on the pretext of discussing Farrell’s imminent exhibition. She hardly looked at him and left him to talk business with Farrell. Which made the vexing question of how to protect her from harm, even more difficult when she couldn’t bear to be in the same room as him.
A cautious tap on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Come.”
Williams, his clerk hovered nervously on the threshold.
“Well? Spit it out, what is it man?”
The young clerk cleared his throat. “Ahem, it’s just that your appointment with His Grace…you have remembered?”