‘Is it not a lovely day, Ianthe?’ Anne Gardiner enthused as Ianthe stepped into the second carriage, a more stately barouche, helped by Lord Robert who was an interesting shade of grey.
‘Indeed. The sun is very bright though, perhaps a trifle too much so for Lord Robert here?’ Ianthe couldn’t resist teasing the young man. It was very obvious that he’d had a late night and was suffering the consequences.
He tried to smile, although it looked more like a grimace. ‘No doubt some fresh air will do me good. All these ballrooms and um … other establishments are so stuffy, you know.’
He didn’t add much to the conversation on the way, however, but sat and stared fixedly at the road through the window, as if he was willing his breakfast to stay down. Ianthe almost felt sorry for him, but remembered Wyckeham’s words – the young man had to learn things the hard way.
They had a pleasant enough afternoon and Gervaise could be entertaining when he set himself out to be. He regaled them with stories of his travels and mishaps on the Continent and the Misses Gardiner never stopped giggling. Even Lord Robert perked up after some lunch and a few glasses of champagne and Ianthe found that she didn’t have time to dwell on any distracting thoughts.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Ianthe?’ Gervaise had come up behind her as she stood by the edge of a pond later, throwing left over pieces of bread to some ducks.
‘Indeed, sir, it’s nice to be away from the hustle and bustle of London.’
‘I take it you are not a social butterfly like your sister?’
Ianthe shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid we don’t have much in common, as is probably obvious to most people.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He looked her up and down in a disconcerting way. ‘You are both beautiful young ladies, albeit slightly different. One cannot help one’s disposition and if you prefer the company of books, then I’m sure that is not a crime. A lady as lovely as yourself should surely be allowed to spend her time doing whatever she wishes.’
Ianthe felt uncomfortable with his fulsome compliments and wasn’t quite sure how to answer. In the end, she merely said, ‘Thank you, but I fear not everyone thinks that way.’
They were interrupted by Serena, who as usual couldn’t bear to be excluded from any conversation, and Ianthe was happy to go back to the others. There was something about Gervaise Warwycke that made her uneasy and she now wished she hadn’t come.
‘I suppose we had better set out for home,’ Serena sighed. ‘We ladies will need time to make ourselves beautiful for tonight’s ball.’ Ianthe saw her glance flirtatiously at both Lord Robert and Gervaise, but Gervaise was the first to reply to this unsubtle fishing for a compliment.
‘Surely it won’t take you more than a few moments, Miss Templeton,’ he said. ‘Nature cannot be improved upon, you know.’
Ianthe turned her head away in disgust.
On their way back to the carriages, Serena suddenly stumbled and fell with a little shriek of pain. Gervaise and Lord Robert rushed to her side, as did the Misses Gardiner, before Ianthe had a chance to reach her.
‘Oh, my ankle! There was a rabbit hole, I didn’t see it,’ wailed Serena. ‘Stupid animals, must they be forever digging? Ah, no, don’t touch it!’ She batted away Lord Robert’s questing hands.
‘Please, Miss Templeton, let me have a look. I have some experience of these things,’ Gervaise said calmly.
Serena nodded. ‘Oh, very well, if you must.’ Her bottom lip wobbled slightly and a tear trickled out of the corner of one eye. He felt her ankle under her skirts, obviously trying to probe as gently as he could, but she still winced.
‘Hmm, yes, it’s a bit swollen, but nothing broken I think. Probably just sprained. Allow me to carry you to the barouche. You mustn’t put any weight on it.’
‘If you say so.’ Serena held up her arms and he lifted her, staggering slightly under her weight, but refusing Lord Robert’s offer of help.
It wasn’t until Serena was ensconced in the carriage with Lord Robert and the Misses Gardiner that Ianthe realised what this meant. She began to smell a rat.
‘You must ride with Mr Warwycke in his phaeton, Ianthe,’ Serena said imperiously. ‘I need my friends here with me, and dear Lord Robert will be a tower of strength.’
Serena was playing the wounded martyr to the hilt, but Ianthe recognised it for what it was now – playacting. ‘I really don’t think—’
‘For heaven’s sake, Ianthe, we will be right behind you. There will be no impropriety. Please, I just want to go home.’ Serena managed to squeeze out a few more convincing tears and after sending her sister a narrowed glance, Ianthe gave up.
‘Oh, very well.’
She allowed Gervaise to help her up on to the high seat of the phaeton, but tried to put as much distance between them as she could. He sent her an amused glance.
‘I don’t bite, you know, and I’m accounted quite a good whip.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Ianthe replied, then stared straight ahead while he set the horses in motion.
They rode in silence for a while and Ianthe glanced back towards the barouche from time to time, to make sure it was keeping up with them. It was a slower conveyance, however, and with four passengers it wasn’t able to travel as fast as the phaeton, which began to draw ahead. After they rounded a sharp bend, Gervaise suddenly whipped his team into a gallop and they set off at a cracking pace. His tiger, the diminutive groom who perched on the back of the phaeton and usually jumped down to hold the horses’ heads whenever they stopped, had to hang on for dear life.
‘No, stop! What are you doing?’ Ianthe cried out, but he just threw her a triumphant smile and encouraged the horses to run even faster.
‘One should always travel quickly in a carriage such as this,’ he shouted, but she could barely hear him over the din of the horses’ hooves and the whooshing noise of the wind. She had to hold on to the side with both hands so the swaying motion didn’t throw her out altogether.
Gervaise kept up this crazy pace for quite some time, until Ianthe thought the poor horses were going to expire, but then he suddenly turned sharply on to a smaller road, and soon a dilapidated inn came into view. There was no sign of the barouche, but then Ianthe hadn’t expected there to be. As they came to a halt outside the inn, Ianthe felt her stomach muscles clench in fear. There was no doubt Gervaise was up to something, and she was sure that whatever it was, she wasn’t going to like it.
She swore to herself that if she ever set eyes on her sister again, she would make her pay for this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Come down from the carriage. We are going to have some refreshment before we continue our journey.’
Ianthe gazed down at Gervaise’s outstretched hand and shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’d rather stay where I am.’
‘It wasn’t a request,’ he said, his tone of voice menacing now. ‘Either you jump down by yourself or I’ll pull you. And I won’t be gentle, I can promise you that.’
Ianthe glared at him but realised she had no choice. He wasn’t as big as the marquess by any means, but he was certainly stronger than her and she had no doubt he’d carry out his threat without any hesitation. A quick glance around showed her that there was no one in the vicinity whom she could call on for help, and perforce she must do his bidding. She gritted her teeth and jumped.
Before she had time to remonstrate, he grabbed her hand in an iron grip and dragged her into the taproom of the inn. Ianthe recoiled at the musty smell inside, a combination of tobacco smoke, stale ale and food, and overwhelming body odour. Half a dozen men were lounging about, but no one paid much attention to them apart from the landlord, who came sidling up looking anxious to please.
‘A private parlour and be quick about it,’ Gervaise ordered.
‘Of course, sir, straight away. If you would follow me, please?’
The slovenly man led them down a narrow corridor and into a tiny room at the back of the inn. It was shabbily furni
shed and smelled as if the window hadn’t been opened for years. Ianthe almost gagged and tried to turn in the doorway, but Gervaise didn’t let go of her arm and pulled her through with a vicious tug at her wrist.
‘Bring some victuals, please, landlord, and ale for myself and wine for the lady.’
‘I don’t want …’ Ianthe began, but Gervaise turned on her and the words died in her throat. There was such menace in his eyes, she physically recoiled from him and stumbled backwards. The back of her legs collided with a chair and she sat down abruptly.
‘That’s better,’ Gervaise muttered and slammed the door shut after the obsequious man.
‘What do you want with me?’ Ianthe whispered, although she feared she knew only too well. She couldn’t believe her own sister had colluded with such a man to engineer her downfall. There could be no doubt about it; she’d seen the triumphant glint in her sister’s eyes.
‘You’ll find out in due course. We’ll be staying here until it’s dark, but for now all you have to do is sit quietly and not make a fuss. Is that understood? If I hear so much as a tiny protest out of you or a cry for help, you’ll be very sorry.’
Ianthe nodded. She understood exactly what he was saying and, for the moment, it behoved her to follow his orders. Meanwhile, she must try to find a way to escape. She simply couldn’t let this happen to her, not now there was so much at stake.
‘I’m going to the taproom for a while. You’re to stay in this room and not budge so much as an inch,’ Gervaise told her after they’d partaken of the tasteless meat pie and soggy vegetables brought by the landlord. Gervaise had grumbled about the fare but ate heartily nonetheless, whereas Ianthe only picked at it and left most of her portion on the plate.
She didn’t reply, since she had every intention of trying to escape the minute he left the room, but he didn’t seem to notice. She soon found out why he had so carelessly left her on her own. When she opened the door a crack, she came face to face with Gervaise’s tiger, a small youth who nevertheless looked strong enough to catch her should she try to dart past. He grinned at her in a leering way that didn’t bode well.
‘Goin’ somewhere, are ye?’ he asked, and chuckled when Ianthe retreated back into the shabby parlour and slammed the door in his face.
She paced the room, which was only about ten steps in either direction, muttering to herself. ‘Think, woman, think, there must be some way.’
While she walked, she took stock of the room’s contents and her eyes alighted on the bottle of wine on the table which remained largely untouched. It didn’t look like the sort of wine she normally drank and was no doubt vinegary, but an idea came to her and she began to smile to herself. Grabbing the bottle, she poured most of the contents on to the meagre fire, which was only spluttering anyway, and the rest into Gervaise’s empty ale tankard. That done, she went over to the door and opened it a crack once again.
‘Um, excuse me, but could you come and help me with the fire, please? It seems to have gone out,’ she said to the tiger, trying to look meek and downcast.
‘Fire? It’s bleedin’ summer!’ he replied. ‘Shouldn’t think as how you need it anyhow.’
‘But it’s awfully damp in here and I’m chilled to the bone,’ Ianthe insisted. ‘Mr Warwycke wouldn’t have any use for me if I was to become ill.’
‘Well, can’t you do it yerself?’
‘No, I don’t know how, you see. My maid usually does it for me.’
‘The Lord give me strength … Oh, very well,’ he grumbled and came into the room.
Ianthe retreated so that she was standing behind the door as he came in, and the moment he had entered fully, she brought the bottle down on top of his head with as much force as she could muster. It shattered, making an awful racket which had her gasping with fear in case anyone should come running to see what was going on, but it had the desired effect. The tiger crumpled to the floor without a sound. Feeling guilty for hurting the poor youth, even though she’d had no choice, Ianthe bent down to make sure he was still alive. To her relief, there was a fairly strong pulse beating underneath his ear, so she knew he wasn’t badly wounded.
Ianthe picked up her skirts and fled. She ran towards the back of the building, rather than the way they had come in, and found herself in a dirty kitchen where two women turned startled eyes on her. Ianthe put her finger to her mouth to keep them quiet, and whispered with a fake smile, ‘Shh, please, he likes it when he has to chase me a bit. Spices things up, you know. Don’t tell him which way I’ve gone or he’ll find me too quickly.’
The women nodded, looking bemused, but they seemed to accept Ianthe’s explanation and didn’t say a word. Ianthe darted out through the open door into the back yard and ran as fast as her legs would carry her, through a meadow of sorts and into an area of trees. From there she could see the road they had arrived on, and she decided her best chance would be to follow that back to where it divided from the main road. She didn’t go on to the road itself, but followed it from within the safety of the trees as no doubt Gervaise would come looking for her as soon as he found her gone. She had no idea how long it would take to walk back to London, but even if she had to keep going all night, she would.
Anything to escape Gervaise and his evil plans.
Two hours later, Ianthe was still walking and darkness was falling. She had found the main road and thanked her lucky stars she had paid attention to her surroundings rather than the Misses Gardiner’s chatter on the way there. It helped to recognise certain landmarks, so she knew she was on the right track. Fear of pursuit made her turn frequently to scan the road behind her, and whenever anyone approached she hid behind bushes or trees as best she could. Gervaise and his tiny henchman had gone past her twice on horseback, but luckily she’d been well disguised behind a thick hedge each time and they hadn’t spotted her. She prayed her luck would hold.
It was completely dark by the time she reached the village of Knightsbridge and Ianthe knew she didn’t have much further to go. Despite being used to walking a lot in the country, she was extremely tired, and wanted nothing so much as to be home and in bed.
Just as she reached the other side of Knightsbridge, the sound of horses’ hooves could be heard behind her again, and she looked around for somewhere to hide. But this time she was too late as one of the riders shouted out, ‘There she is, after her!’
Ianthe tried to make her tired legs run, but it was a futile effort and she knew it. There was a house up ahead, but it wasn’t long before her pursuers were upon her and she didn’t even make it halfway there. Gervaise grabbed her hair to stop her in her tracks, then jumped down from the saddle, throwing his reins to the tiger, who was astride the other horse. Ianthe cursed her bad luck. If only she’d managed to go just a little further, then there would have been people about.
Gervaise turned her round none too gently and shook her like a rag doll. She tried to fight him off, but his anger gave him added strength and she was so tired. ‘So you thought you could escape, did you? Stupid woman. Come on, you’ll have to ride in front of me.’
He pushed her towards the horse, and although she dug her heels in, it was no use. He gave her no chance to escape. Clawing and kicking at him, she screamed for help until he clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Be quiet! No one is going to come to your rescue here, anyway. They’re used to members of the ton coming here with their doxies.’
He swept a glance over her clothing, which was now torn and travel-stained, and Ianthe realised no one would believe her if she claimed to be a lady of birth. Stifling a sob, she bit his hand and screamed again, even though she knew it was hopeless. He cuffed her hard before manhandling her up into the saddle.
‘Hold her while I mount,’ he ordered the tiger, but before he had time to do so, two more riders came galloping along the road and came to a skidding halt next to them.
‘Do you need assistance, Miss?’ one of them asked, and Ianthe almost fainted with relief when she recognised the voice.
&n
bsp; ‘Lord Wyckeham!’ she cried. ‘Oh, please help me, I … he …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence as tears of relief clogged her throat.
‘Miss Ianthe? By all that’s holy. What is going on here?’
Gervaise looked stunned for a moment, then he recovered his composure and strived for his usual nonchalant expression. ‘The stupid girl wanted an adventure, but now she’s getting cold feet. I was just about to take her home, but you may as well spare me the effort if you’re going towards London anyway. Here, she’s all yours.’
Without further ado, he pulled Ianthe off the horse and mounted it himself in one swift motion. She landed awkwardly, and Wyckeham jumped off his own mount in order to steady her. By the time he had done so, Gervaise and his tiger had ridden off in a cloud of dust.
Ianthe was shaking so much her teeth were chattering now. Wyckeham took off his jacket and draped it round her shoulders. He scowled at her. ‘What on earth were you thinking, to go off with that scoundrel? Were you out of your mind?’
‘N-no, I didn’t … it wasn’t like that … you must listen … I …’ Ianthe couldn’t form a coherent sentence.
‘Let’s get the poor girl home, Wyckeham. Looks to me like she’s had a nasty shock.’ Ianthe looked up at the second rider, whose presence she had forgotten for a moment, and registered the fact that it was the Earl of Somerville.
‘Oh, no,’ she muttered. It was bad enough for Wyckeham to see her disgrace, but the earl as well? No doubt the entire town would hear of it now.
Wyckeham nodded and put his arm around her to lead her over to his horse. ‘Whatever happened, you can tell us later. For now we need to get you home.’
Regency Romance Collection From Christina Courtenay Page 15