by Jan Constant
Laughing at his lugubrious tone, Emma asked, “Will he be very upset?”
“I daresay that upon arriving in Cumberland Square I shall discover the need for a new groom.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “I quite thought that he had a tendre for Maria. ’ ’
“You surprise me. ... I believed Jem impervious to female attractions.”
“Maria was grateful for his strong arm which held her in her seat on the way down, so she said, and while no one would willingly let another fall out of a carriage, it did seem
to me that his arm lingered a little as he helped her into the inn.
“You surprise me! Can Jem’s cold heart have melted at last?” questioned her companion. “I thought him as inviolate as myself!”
Emma turned to look at him, studying the handsome profile beneath the glossy hat, noting the lazy eyelids above the black eyes and the firm mouth before, shaking herself out of her reverie, she repeated, “Inviolate?” in an interrogatory note. “I had assumed that Miss Plantagenet had won your
heart,” she finished lightly, careful to hide the fact that her own heart had chosen that moment to race madly.
For a moment Sir Julian looked savage as various expressions fleeted across his face. Blank surprise was quickly superceded by what seemed to be dismay, followed by anger, and then his features were schooled into a calm lack of emotion, and he turned a bland countenance to his passenger. “You are somewhat premature, Miss Beringer,” she was told coldly.
“I—thought that your engagement was imminent.”
“My dear girl, even if it were, nothing so common as ‘love’ would enter into it. You may be sure that my heart is entirely free,” Sir Julian answered briefly.
Emma’s heart surprised her by giving an unexpected leap at the news. Even though Sir Julian appeared to be indicating that love and marriage were not coupled together in his estimation, she greeted the idea that he had not yet offered for Jane Plantagenet with relief, telling herself that they would not have suited, while Elvira had need of a lighter-hearted sister-in-law. She decided that it would be better for all if the engagement never came about and spent several pleasant hours reviewing a campaign to thwart Miss Plantagenet’s plans.
High summer was drifting into early autumn, the heavily leafed trees were showing the merest touch of brown, while the ripe fields were full of people intent upon bringing in the harvest. Watching from her high perch, she found the journey home even more enjoyable than the outward drive, even when one of Sir Julian’s matched grays lost a shoe and they had to trail slowly into Esher and wait while a smith replaced it, she retained her good humor, wandering down to look in the shops of the busy town until the work was done.
“We shall be later than I intended,” commented her guardian as they set off once more.
He appeared not to have noticed the dark storm clouds gathering behind them. For a moment Emma contemplated pointing them out but, realizing that Sir Julian would almost certainly decide to put up overnight rather than risk a soaking, while she was enjoying the drive and preferred to go on, she said nothing.
Not until they turned right at Hampton Court did Sir Julian become aware of the dark sky. Realizing that dusk was falling quickly and earlier than usual, he glanced over his shoulder and, smothering a curse, slowed the horses to a walk.
“If that decides to break, you’ll be soaked,” he said, looking down at his companion.
Eyes dancing with excitement, Emma smiled at him. “I’m
no sugar baby,” she declared. “And have survived worse in
the Peninsula. Let’s make a run for it—there can’t be far to »>
For a moment he considered, eyeing her animated face as a rising wind swept free tendrils of blond hair and played with the feathers in her bonnet.
“Oh, do” she pleaded. “It’s an age since I felt the elements . . .I’ve always liked the wind and rain, and I’ve been cooped up in London for months. I don’t really care for the calm, secluded life of a Society miss, you know. I miss the natural life. A little rain never hurt anyone.”
Sir Julian showed his teeth in a grin. “Very well, but I’ll not be responsible if your best bonnet is ruined and my aunt reads you a scold for unladylike behavior.”
With the words, he flicked the reins, and the high-spirited beasts, who had been chaffing at the bit, sprang into action, tipping Emma back in her seat and making her clutch at her bonnet. The exhilarating speed and rushing wind brought bright color to her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle with excitement as she gripped the edge of her seat. The horses settled into a steady trot, which ate up the miles, making the body of the phaeton swing and rock on its springs.
Sir Julian was an exceptional driver, but even he could not foresee the disaster which struck; one of the enormous, delicate wheels struck a stone in the road, the blow shattering
several of the slender spokes, and, without warning, the vehicle fell sideways, pitching out its passengers. The empty carriage was dragged on by the terrified horses before finally coming to a halt, slewed across the road.
In the few seconds available to him, Sir Julian had the presence of mind to wrap his arms around his ward, protecting her with his body as they flew through the air and taking most of the force as they landed. For a moment Emma lay still, the air knocked from her lungs before, gathering her scattered wits, she realized that Sir Julian lay across her, alarmingly still and strangely heavy.
Chapter Nine
Shaken by fear, Emma called Sir Julian’s name and when her urgent voice elicited no response, pushed and heaved against his unconscious body until, with a final effort, she could wriggle free.
Kneeling beside her guardian she hastily felt for broken bones but found no sign of injury until she moved his lolling head and felt her fingers grow warm and sticky with blood. An involuntary exclamation broke from her, and at that moment, the scene was lit by a garish flash of lightning, which highlighted his pale face and the black trickle of blood dripping down his forehead.
“Oh Lord!” she moaned, wishing desperately that she was in the middle of a nightmare and that she would wake up. A violent flurry of rain convinced her that she was not dreaming, and her old training from the Peninsula, when everyone had to be able to survive on their own wits, came to her rescue. Looking round, a convenient lightning flash showed her a low building of some kind a short way from the road, and, glancing over her shoulder at the remains of the phaeton which lay across the road, she saw that the horses had regained their feet and appeared unharmed but were obviously nervous and frightened.
Tossing their heads and neighing shrilly, they gave every sign of being about to take off, and she knew that the next crack of thunder would send them hurtling along the road to their doom and danger of others.
Turning Sir Julian on his side, she felt in his pocket for the penknife which she knew he always carried and, leaving him for the moment, went to the horses’ heads, murmuring soothingly. It was the work of a minute to cut their traces, and, hoping that they would not sense her own nervousness, she took a hold of each bridle and coaxed them toward the building she had seen.
Nearer to the building, she discovered that it was a low shed with one open wall. Luckily there was a wooden railing separating it into two, and she tied the horses to this before going back to her guardian. The remains of the phaeton proved too heavy for her to move, and, praying that no one would ride into it, she returned her attention to the unconscious man, lying where she had left him.
Under her fingers, Sir Julian’s pulse seemed light and erratic, and he showed no signs of regaining consciousness. Staunching the blood with his cravat, Emma wondered what to do for the best, deciding that the increasing rain would definitely bring on a chill, while she hoped that he would suffer no further injury from being moved. Luckily he was wearing a riding coat, and, gathering the edges of one of its capes, she pulled the material over his head and began to drag him toward the shelter of the cartshed.
&nb
sp; Although slim, Sir Julian was tall and broad shouldered, and Emma was exhausted by the time she reached the shelter and only had strength to pull him onto the straw piled in the part away from the horses before collapsing beside his limp form. Lifting his heavy head onto her lap, she wrapped her arms around him in an effort to keep him warm.
“Don’t die,” she whispered as the desperation of her situation hit her, and two scalding tears slid down her cheeks. “Wake up, Ju—I don’t like it here,” she whimpered, but only the horses snickered behind her. Chiding herself for her lack of spirit, she drew some comfort from their presence and kept watch until in the early hours sleep finally overcame her.
Waking just as dawn drew a few faint gray fingers in the eastern sky, she stared around, puzzled by her strange surroundings before, remembering the circumstances, she gazed anxiously down at the man cradled on her lap. Sir Julian looked strangely young and vulnerable, his long black lashes curved against his pale cheeks. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, and she brushed it gently aside.
During the night the bleeding had stopped, but now she could see the deep gash and discolored bruise a little below his hairline. Bending nearer, she called his name and thought she detected a flicker of the shadowed eyelids, but at that moment the sound of a swiftly approaching vehicle came to her ears.
Quickly disentangling herself, she lay Sir Julian against the straw and ran onto the road, almost into the path of a small tilbury which was being driven at breakneck speed. Seeing her, the driver slowed his equipage and managed to stop, narrowly avoiding the wreckage of the phaeton. Staring down at her disheveled figure, a look of blank surprise crossed his face before he schooled his features into the calm, blank expression fashion decreed and bowed blandly.
“By Jove, Miss Beringer, fancy meeting you,” drawled Lord Devern. “Can I be of assistance?”
“Of course you can!” returned Emma, nettled by his unconcern. “I should have thought that anyone could see that! Surely you can see Sir Julian in the building—?”
“I thought it more polite to pretend that I hadn’t noticed. ’ ’ Emma was not impressed by this sign of delicacy. “Oh, do not, I beg you, be such an idiot! Apart from the fact that he is my guardian, would we be likely to choose an open shed for an assignation and leave a broken-down vehicle on the road to point the finger?”
Lord Devern smiled. “That does seem a little unlikely on Ju’s part, he is usually much more discreet.”
Drawing his carriage into the side, he climbed down, tying the reins to a branch of a tree, while Emma, seeing that he
was about to offer aid, hurried ahead to the reclining figure in the shed.
When Vivian Devern joined her, she was kneeling in the straw, anxiously surveying Sir Julian. Crouching on his heels, the newcomer examined the other man critically.
“Pale, ain’t he?” he observed, earning a furious glance from Emma.
“If you can make no more useful remark than that, then I suggest that the best thing you can do is to go for help,” she said scathingly.
“Do you know,” he agreed, conversationally, “I was just about to make the same suggestion.”
Miss Beringer was surprised to find a sob rising in her throat at this unsympathetic attitude; she had spent a cold and worrying night alone with an unconscious man and now was in need of a little support herself.
Lord Devern regarded the tears hanging on the edge of her
lashes with interest. “Don’t mind me,” he counseled more
kindly. ‘ ‘Ju and I are old enemies; he’d feel the same about >»
me.
“Let me tell you, sir, you are h-horrid!” cried Emma, losing any wish to cry.
“That’s better,” his lordship observed cheerfully. “Now, let’s see what’s wrong with the fellow.” He bent over Julian Leyton and felt along his limbs as Emma had done.
“I don’t think anything is broken,” she said, “but he’s been unconscious since late last night.”
“Said anything!”
She shook her head. “Just muttered—”
“Well, that’s a good sign.” He looked more closely at the unconscious man. “I’d say he’s asleep—” He looked up, meeting her anxious gaze, and smiled suddenly. “It really would be best if I go for help, you know. There’s not room in my tilbury for him. I’ll ask at the nearest farm or inn for a wagon to be sent out.”
Unexpectedly, he took off his greatcoat and wrapped it round her shoulders. “Bear up, Miss Beringer,” he said. “I give you my word not to be long.”
Touched by the kindness, Emma looked up and smiled briefly before, with a gesture half-wave, half-salute, Vivian Devern straightened and walked briskly to his tilbury.
Once alone again, Emma was overcome by a sense of helplessness and touched the unconscious man’s face.
“Oh, Ju—do wake up,” she begged and was both startled and relieved to find herself being regarded by a pair of hazy, black eyes.
“H-allo, kitten,” Sir Julian said weakly, and tried to sit up, only to sink back with a groan. “I’ve the devil of a headache,” he complained. “Did you hit me with something?”
“Indeed, I did not!” Emma exclaimed. “We had an accident—the wheel hit a stone, and we overturned.”
“Did we, by God!” The haze had cleared from his eyes, and he sent her an inquiring glance. “Are you all right? And the horses—?”
Again he made to rise, but she pressed him firmly back into the straw.
“Lie still,” she commanded. “The horses are well—if you’ll look behind me, you will see them both, with only their prides hurt. The carriage, I’m afraid to say, appears beyond repair—Lord Devern has pulled it away from the road, but it resembles nothing so much as firewood.”
Apparently not interested in the fate of his vehicle, Julian Leyton frowned. “Devern! What the deuce is he doing here?”
“I have no idea, but he was passing a short while ago and offered to go for help. ’ ’
“Very civil of him.”
‘ ‘He could have driven by, ’ ’ Emma pointed out, watching anxiously as her guardian again attempted to sit up.
This time he managed to pull himself up enough to lean against a hay bale, lying there alarmingly pale and quiet.
All this while she had been straining her ears for an approaching vehicle and at last heard the welcome rumble of wheels and, looking down the road in the direction taken by Lord Devern, saw a low farm wagon, pulled by a large, gray shire, advancing steadily with his lordship riding beside it.
“Here they are,” she announced thankfully.
“There is an inn, of sorts, down the road,” said Lord Devern, dismounting. “I’ve bespoke a bed and sent a man to bring the nearest doctor. ’ ’ Looking down, he noticed that Julian Leyton had returned to consciousness. “I see you’re awake—how do you feel?”
“Well enough—apart from a tendency to see two of everything.”
Vivian Devern laughed. “Pleasant enough when Miss Be- ringer is the view, but I am well aware that one of me is more than you care for!”
“At the moment even that is very welcome,” admitted Sir Julian, allowing himself to be helped to his feet.
As he swayed alarmingly, Emma hurried to his free side, offering herself for a prop.
“Kitten—I’d crush you,” her guardian whispered weakly, closing his eyes.
“I am stronger than I look,” she assured him, taking his arm across her shoulders, and together she and Lord Devern supported him to the wagon, while the wagoner watched the proceedings with interest.
“ ’Urt bad is ’ee?” he inquired, not moving from his perch. “Best get the poor gentleman on board as quick as you can, like.”
‘ ‘We would be a lot quicker if you helped, ’ ’ Emma pointed out with asperity.
“Now there my dear, you are mistaken,” murmured Lord Devern. “The fellow is, I assure you, totally devoid of wits—”
“Very well, missy, I’ll just t
ake old Dobbin here to that there tree—” said the driver obligingly, and shook the reins along the broad back of his patient animal.
“No—no!” shouted Lord Devern as the vehicle began to move.
“Can’t leave the ’orses’ ’ead, master—can’t be done, no ’ow. ’E’d take off, see. And if the young leddy wants me to ’elp the poor gennleman—”
“Stay where you are,” commanded his lordship, while a sound suspiciously like a smothered chuckle escaped the injured man.
“No need to shout at I,” said the aggrieved wagoner in injured tones. “I be doing my best, like. It’s the ’orse, see- just can’t be left. Tisn’t my fault—”
“Yes, yes,” broke in Lord Devern as the man appeared prepared to continue. “We quite see how it is—if you will just contrive to hold the ’orse—horse, we will manage very well.”
Again Sir Julian’s shoulders shook, and Emma looked up suspiciously, only to catch a grimace of pain cross his pale features.
“Bear up, sir,” she encouraged, patting him comfortingly. “In just a little while we shall have you safe in bed.”
“I am d-doing my best,” he answered, his voice shaking slightly and, with surprising strength and dexterity, Lord Devern ignored his protests and lifted him, almost bodily, into the cart.
Emma was swung up to join him, landing in a flurry of skirts and indignation in the straw at his side. Meeting her outraged eyes as he threw in the luggage which had been rescued from the wreck of the phaeton, Lord Devern grinned and touched the brim of his hat in an ironical gesture.