Frances shook her head to stop Mary’s protest and continued on. “I will send some sheets and blankets. You can use them or not as you will. I will feel much better if you allow it, I assure you.”
“It would be a help,” Mary said with a wan smile. She looked at the clock on the mantel. “I really must go.” She stood, pressed Frances’ fingers with her own, and then moved away with a determined squaring of her shoulders. “Thank you for coming. I am sorry we are in such a state here.”
“So am I, but not on my account! You are the one bearing a difficult burden,” Frances said, rising. “But it is too bad, that the single time your watchdog is absent, circumstances have not allowed for any kind of substantial conversation.”
“Yes, I agree. Someday I will elude her and we can talk privately,” Mary said.
“I’d like that.” Frances picked up her hat and gloves. “I apologize for bothering you at such a time, but may I ask for the loan of a groom to see me home? Someone is coming from the Manor at eleven to escort me and the hour is well before that. Halcombe would be furious were I to ride alone.” She puffed her lips into a pout, but there was no real annoyance behind her lament.
“Of course you may use one of the grooms.” Frances had shared a little of her marital difficulties with her friend and now Mary looked at her curiously.
“Things are better between you then?” she said.
“Much better, thank you.” Frances again hugged her troubled friend. “No need to see me out. I know the way and I will walk around to the stable and appropriate a groom myself.” She hesitated at the door. “You will let me know if there is anything at all I can do?”
Mary searched her face and then nodded slowly. “I will, I promise.”
“Good.” Frances left it at that. Mary seemed sincere, but Frances suspected that accepting help was not something Lady Alten did often.
The Cauley stable yard bore subtle signs of neglect. Had Mary also sent some of her outside servants away? Most likely, Frances decided. Nevertheless, those remaining were attentive, and Frances’ horse was quickly brought round. The groom—a young man who named himself Jeremiah—was soon mounted on a leggy hack. While she was sorely tempted to question him, Frances refrained. Any undue curiosity was certain to filter through the household’s servants and then to Mary. The goings-on at the Cauley estate were, in truth, none of her business, and it might even be that her concern was misplaced.
Being quite unsuccessful in fully convincing herself of this, Frances gave her attention to the verdant land around her. Although she sometimes missed the rugged coast, inland Sussex was exceptionally pretty and more hospitable. Frances kept Lacey at a comfortable walk and, inspired by the wild flowers she saw poking from every hedgerow and ditch, thought about her own neglected garden. Now that she had some confidence in the future, she was eager to start planting some roses and a host of other things.
The sight of another rider coming this way on the road ahead was not unexpected, since she had thought to meet the groom from the Manor anytime now. But as the other horse approached, Frances was dismayed to recognize Lady Merton. Her stylish riding habit was unmistakable. Drat! The viscountess was last person she wanted to see. Resisting the impulse to turn her horse and flee—which spectacle no doubt would greatly amuse the woman—Frances allowed Lacey to continue ambling along. Judging from the fast pace of Lady Merton’s horse, the woman had no intention at turning aside at the sight of Frances. The viscountess said something to her companion, who then halted at the crest of the rise, and she continued on alone. Not a good sign. Frances sighed. She had no interest in exchanging false pleasantries with her shrewish and conniving neighbor.
“Lady Halcombe.” The greeting was tinged with cold distain.
Lady Merton reined in her horse just ahead of Frances, giving her no choice but to halt as well. “Lady Merton,” Frances acknowledged. “Good day.” Up until now, it had been a good day.
The viscountess waved a hand at the groom. “You may go. I will accompany Lady Halcombe from here.”
Unsurprisingly, Jeremiah did as he was told, but he had the grace to wait for Frances’ brief nod before he trotted off. She could not fault the man. Not when Lady Merton’s voice was sharp enough to flay one’s skin. Resigned to riding alongside the viscountess for at least a short distance, Frances signaled Lacey to go on.
Lady Merton fell in beside them, gave Lacey a critical glance, and sniffed. “Surely Halcombe has better mounts in his stable.”
“This one suits me well enough,” Frances said mildly.
“Of course, you are not much of a rider, which explains it, I suppose.”
“No, I am not,” Frances agreed. The other woman’s lips tightened with displeasure, and Frances felt a sense of self-satisfaction. She was not going to quarrel if she could avoid it.
“You will never be able to hold him, you know,” Lady Merton said after a short silence. “Halcombe is accustomed to a real woman in his bed—not an ignorant, gauche child.”
“My husband makes his own choices.” Frances kept her tone even, with just a tiny emphasis on ‘husband’. Really, she could not resist.
“We have been lovers for years! He is mine, and if you believe you can use that daughter of yours to lure him away, then you are even more stupid than I first imagined.”
“Hmmmm.” Frances stretched out the sound and shrugged. “You may be right. But since I have no idea precisely how stupid you think I am, it is hard to say whether it is true or not.”
Lady Merton’s face flushed an angry shade of red and her mouth worked in such a way as to resemble a landed fish. Frances eyed her with some concern. She hoped the woman would not expire right here in front of her! The picture of Lady Merton sprawled out on the dusty road, her wild-eyed horse standing overhead, began to take shape in her mind.
Struggling not to smile, Frances pressed her lips together. Lady Merton was clearly not amused and the desperation in the viscountess’ eyes almost made Frances feel sympathy for the woman. Almost.
“Lady Merton, you will make yourself ill with this fruitless pursuit. We both know Richard is not your lover, as you claim, nor will he become so in the future. I suggest you go on about your life, my lady.” Perhaps it was the pity on Frances’ face or the veracity of her words—regardless, the result was the same.
Her features twisted in an ugly snarl, Lady Merton’s crop came down on Lacey’s rump with all her considerable strength before she jerked her mount around and galloped off, a litany of curses streaming behind her. Both Frances and her horse were caught off guard. Lacey reared, probably for the first time in her life, Frances thought absurdly as she tumbled from her horse onto the unforgiving graveled surface of the road.
She was lucky her foot had not caught in the stirrup or she would be in an even worse case. At least the mare had not run away, Frances saw when she had enough breath to push upright. Although Lacey had one wary eye on her mistress, as if Frances was responsible for the mishap, which come to think of it, she supposed she was.
Not quite ready to make any significant movements, Frances sat on the road and took stock of her person. Her left shoulder hurt like the very devil and one wrist was scraped and bleeding. She gingerly touched the side of her head. It was only a little lump, but it ached with the intensity of two devils and she would be lucky not to end up with a black eye. Richard was not going to be pleased.
She was none too happy about it, either. Where was the groom from Holcombe Manor? It must be past eleven. Remaining in the middle of the road until he arrived did not seem a wise choice, however. Moving with care, she managed to get her knees in place and lurched to her feet. The horse was next, and if the blasted animal edged one foot further away—no more apples for her!
Lacey, bless her, did not. Frances clutched the mare’s mane for support, suddenly feeling light-headed. Once the dizzy spell had passed, she fumbled for the reins. Mounting alone would not be possible. She leaned on the mare for a few minutes and then Lacey and her mist
ress began to trudge steadily forward. Mercifully, their labored progress was halted by a horrified shout before too long.
“Lady Halcombe! You are hurt!” The groom all but jumped from his horse and ran to her. “Oh, my lady. What happened? Did Lacey… she threw you?” He looked around. “Where is the Cauley groom? He should have stayed with you! I am sorry I was not here earlier. I had to go back for a fresh horse after Blackie picked up a stone.”
“It is a long story, Mathew,” Frances said, close to tears now that assistance was finally at hand. “Just help me mount so I can get home.”
He looked at the arm she held cradled to her chest and frowned. “You don’t look up to it, ma’am, to be honest. Maybe you should wait here while I fetch a carriage.”
“No! I can do it,” Frances said resolutely. She wanted to get home and crawl into bed, preferably before her husband saw her.
“Lucky it’s your right shoulder,” the groom said. “Just keep it still like you have it. I’m going to lift you into the saddle—if you’ll allow it. You can balance with your left hand and I’ll lead Lacey.”
Frances nodded her agreement, thankful Mathew was a strapping young man. It was no little thing to pick her up, but he did it so smoothly that it hardly jarred her at all. “Thank you.”
He guided her feet into the stirrups, swung himself onto his own horse and took up Lacey’s reins. Once mounted, Frances discovered a fast walk was no more painful than a slow one and they proceeded at a reasonable pace. Her head was aching so badly it was difficult to concentrate. How was she to explain the telltale welt on Lacey’s rump? Mathew had already remarked on it and he did not appear satisfied with her vague “Something hit her.” Everyone in the household knew that she never used a crop.
“You can leave me at the front door, Mathew,” Frances said when at long last they arrived at the Manor. Perhaps she might slip in without seeing anyone but Benson.
The groom stared at her in amazement, undoubtedly convinced that her wits had been addled in the fall.
“No, my lady, I cannot. Lord Halcombe would have my head were I to do such a thing—and rightly so!”
Judging from the stubborn set of his jaw, he was not going to be persuaded. She had guessed as much the moment he mentioned Halcombe. Frances resigned herself to the commotion she’d wanted to avoid. She smiled wanly and they plodded around the house into the stable yard.
“Fetch Lord Halcombe,” Mathew called, as several of the men came toward them.
Now we’re for it, Frances thought wearily. She didn’t dare try to dismount lest she fall flat on her face.
The earl had obviously heard the groom’s shout, since he immediately emerged from one of the buildings and came toward her with rapid strides.
“What happened?” He took one look at her and swore.
“I fell off my horse,” Frances said. “It’s nothing, really. I’ll have a few bruises, I expect.”
“Yes, I expect you will.” Halcombe’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Mathew, send up to the house to tell them there has been an accident. Then have someone go into the village for Mr. Walton.”
“Oh, I am sure that won’t be…” Frances’ protest faded under her husband’s withering glare.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but you have to come off your horse,” Halcombe said as he cautiously eased her feet from the stirrups. He gripped her waist, lowered her to the ground and she was in his arms almost before she knew what he was about.
“I can walk,” she muttered, even though she felt certain he would not pay any heed to her. Nor did he, other than to bark out a curt “Absolutely not.”
Well, she had tried. Her conscience satisfied, Frances closed her eyes and concentrated on ignoring the pain in her head and shoulder. It was not an entirely successful endeavor and a small gasp escaped her.
“I am hurting you,” he said gruffly.
“Just a little.”
That earned her a skeptical “Indeed”, and Frances smiled. The variety of cadence behind each of his ‘indeeds’ continued to amaze her.
Joan was waiting at the door of Frances’ bedchamber. “The bed is ready, my lord,” she said, sounding so frightened that Frances opened her eyes.
“It is nothing serious, Joan,” Frances assured her and was pleased to see the young woman’s expression lighten.
Richard lay Frances down with such care that tears came to her eyes. She hated being the cause of worry for him and the household. “I’m sorry to be so clumsy as to fall off my horse. It is not Lacey’s fault. I was simply not paying attention.” Her comment did not even merit another ‘indeed’, and after one glance at his face, Frances gave herself over to suffering through the removal of most of her clothing.
“I need some warm water and bandages, Joan,” Richard said when he saw the rough abrasions on Frances’ wrist where the sleeve of her habit had ripped.
“Here, sir.” Joan brought over the basin and several clean cloths. Richard dipped a piece of linen in the water and gently dabbed at the scrapes. When he appeared satisfied that they were clean, he applied some basilicum ointment and covered the area with a bandage.
The process was oddly soothing. More comfortable now that she was not being forced to move, Frances drifted in and out of a strange pain-hazed fog.
Richard lightly touched his hand to her face. “Frances, I need to look at your shoulder.”
His request abruptly penetrated her reverie and Frances jerked fully awake. “I’d prefer you did not. I am sure it will be fine after a little rest.”
“If it is dislocated, as I suspect, it will not be fine.” He brushed back the hairs that had come loose from their pins. “It hurts the very devil, I know, but you will feel better once your shoulder is back in place.”
As swift and careful as his preliminary examination was, Frances still cried out. Ashamed at her outburst, she turned her face into the pillow to hide her tears.
“It is dislocated,” he said quietly, “and I don’t care to give you laudanum with that head injury. Walton may decide differently, but I am not going to wait for him to set this shoulder.” He looked at the maid hovering nearby. “Send for Cholly, Joan.”
The young woman hurried away. Frances opened one eye and regarded him warily. “Cholly? Richard, he is a blacksmith!”
“The man is an expert when it comes to setting bones. I trust him to do it right and swiftly.” He wrapped his hand around hers. “You will want it over quickly as it is a very painful procedure.”
Frances clung to him. “It cannot possibly feel worse than it does now.”
“It can.”
“But I am not dressed.” Surely he did not expect her to go through with this half-naked!
“The man is a grandfather five times over and I will be here the entire time.” He turned her onto her back, took all the pillows from under her head, and arranged the blanket so only her shoulder was exposed.
“My lord.”
Halcombe stood and stepped aside to talk to the friendly-faced man standing at the foot of the bed. The earl advised, Cholly listened, and Frances, after a weak smile, tried her best to put the upcoming ordeal from her mind.
And quite an ordeal it was, too. After Cholly conducted his own brief examination, he agreed with the earl’s initial diagnosis and smiled apologetically at Frances. “His lordship has the right of it, my lady. That shoulder needs putting back in place. I’ll be quick with it, if you’ll allow me.”
Frances managed a feeble nod and chose to ignore the grave look that passed between Cholly and her husband. Richard sat on the bed beside her. Shifting his position so that she was partly on his lap, he put an arm around her middle to hold her still. His free hand held hers in a tight grip.
“Now,” he said calmly.
Frances felt an unbelievable spear of pain and then heard a muffled pop as the bone slid back into its socket. She was vaguely aware of Halcombe’s broad fingers against her brow as she slipped into a blessed…soothing… darkness.
>
Chapter Thirty-six
“She’s fainted, sir, that’s all.”
Halcombe listened to the soft but steady breathing of his injured wife for a moment, then looked at Cholly and nodded. “Yes,” he said, trying to quell the cold sickness that had taken root in his stomach.
“It won’t do any harm to let the lady sleep a bit,” Cholly said bracingly. “Her ladyship is pluck to the backbone.” Pride mingled with concern on his ruddy face and Halcombe nodded again.
“Just so.” Even though he did not feel Frances was in any physical danger as a result of her fall, his attempt at a reassuring smile was less than a success.“Thank you, Cholly. It was well done.” He moved her from his lap to the bed, covered her with a blanket, and stood.
“Joan?”
“Here, sir,” the maid said from behind him.
Halcombe turned. “Stay with her. Mr. Walton should be arriving soon. I will return when he does.”
Since Joan did not look like she could be sent from the room even if he tried, Halcombe caught Cholly’s gaze and tipped his chin toward the door.
“What happened out there, Cholly? Do we have any details at all? Why in hell was Lady Halcombe riding alone?”
The blacksmith eyed him warily and Halcombe moderated his tone. “Just tell me what you heard ” He knew the man was not at fault in this. In fact, it was doubtful anyone at the Manor had a part in it.
“Not a lot, sir. Mathew was delayed in meeting Lady Halcombe when his hack picked up a stone and he had to go back for a fresh mount. He hurried, of course, but since the Cauley groom was supposed to be with her he didn’t make too much of it. When he finally met up with her, she was tramping along with Lacey as steady as could be.” His voice grew prideful again. “My lady took a hard tumble, I’m thinking, but got right up and went on.”
“So she did.” Frances was greatly admired by their people, Halcombe knew, and if there was any lingering coolness from her long absence, it would certainly be gone after this. “Does anyone know how it occurred? While it is true that your mistress is not a very experienced rider, it would take something rather extraordinary to actually upset Lacey. That mare is the most placid animal I’ve ever known!”
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