A Viscount's Proposal

by Melanie Dickerson

  CHAPTER SIX

  She felt as if she were in a dream as the carriage tossed her around like a doll.

  They came to a halt, dust and dirt raining down on her, as the floor of the carriage was above her and she found herself lying on top of Lord Withinghall.

  She scrambled off the viscount. He was not moving, his eyes were closed, and his face was ashen. A trickle of blood oozed from just above his hairline.

  “Oh! Lord Withinghall!” She crouched over him. “Lord Withinghall?”

  He made no movement or sound.

  “Oh God,” she whispered. “You know I said and thought some terrible things about this man, but I don’t want him to die!” Please let him not be dying.

  She scrambled to her feet and opened the door, which was now upside down but still reachable. She managed to climb out, and her heart gave a lurch at the sudden fear of what had become of their coachman. What had Lord Withinghall called him? Pugh.

  “Pugh! Pugh, where are you?” She ran around to the front of the carriage. The horses were gone, and so was Pugh.

  How could the horses be gone?

  The carriage was dented and dusty, and her stomach lurched again at seeing it wrong side up, but they couldn’t go anywhere unless she found the horses. She turned all the way around and finally spotted them, still harnessed together, at the top of the next hill, grazing placidly. Behind them, they seemed to be dragging their traces. Apparently they had come loose from the crossbar of the carriage, causing the carriage to careen down the hill by itself.

  But what had happened to their poor driver?

  Leorah looked back down the road in the direction from which they had come. The light from the sun was getting dim, but she could see a large bump lying across the road some way beyond them. Was that Pugh?

  “Oh dear.” For the first time in her life, Leorah felt light-headed with horror, and her stomach churned precariously. Lord Withinghall’s coachman must have been that huge bump the carriage wheel had gone over just before it went out of control and rolled over in the ditch.

  Leorah swallowed. She had no choice but to go and check on the poor man. But first she walked to the carriage and peered in. “Lord Withinghall? My lord, are you awake?”

  His hand moved slowly up to his forehead to the site of the bleeding. “Did you think I was sleeping?” he answered gruffly.

  “Thank God you’re alive.”

  “Where is Pugh?”

  “Shall I go check on him?”

  “Of course.”

  Leorah raced off and up the hill, holding her skirt so her legs didn’t get tangled. She’d almost forgotten about her broken wrist and noticed it was throbbing a bit. It would have been hurting much worse, however, if Lord Withinghall had not shielded her with his own body, placing his hand over her injured wrist and taking the brunt of the fall.

  Amazingly chivalrous of him. And something else for which she would now be indebted to him.

  Pugh remained unmoving as she reached him. She knelt beside him in the dirt. “Mr. Pugh? Can you hear me?” He was lying facedown, so she used her right hand to try to push him over. She had to use her shoulder, but she finally shoved him onto his back. She placed her hand over his mouth, hoping to feel his breath. She held it there a long time, but she didn’t feel anything. She leaned down and placed her ear against his chest. Please let me hear his heart beating, God. But she heard nothing. She touched his neck, wondering if she would be able to feel his heart beating there, as she had heard was possible.

  She felt nothing.

  Leorah stood up, her knees suddenly weak. Her vision started spinning. She had just touched the dead body of a coachman who had been alive and well only a few moments before. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to think. There was nothing she could do for the poor man, but she needed to form a plan. They were still several miles from Glyncove Abbey, and she didn’t know the extent of Lord Withinghall’s injuries.

  She walked quickly back to the overturned carriage and opened the door, climbing back in.

  “Where is Pugh? Is he . . . ?” Lord Withinghall was still lying where she had left him.

  “He is not conscious. I . . . I don’t know if he’s alive.”

  Lord Withinghall said nothing, but there was a twitch in his jaw.

  Then Leorah noticed how pale the viscount was and the amount of blood oozing from his head wound. “You’re bleeding like a . . .” She almost said “like a butchered hog,” but she didn’t think he would appreciate that expression. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

  “In my coat pocket.”

  Leorah found his coat lying in a heap at the other end of the overturned carriage.

  “What are you doing?”

  Leorah ignored his disapproving look. She found his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. She scooted on her knees until she was by his shoulder and pressed the clean white handkerchief to his forehead.

  “Ow.”

  “I’m only trying to stop the bleeding.”

  “It isn’t bleeding that much.”

  “Quit your grousing and be thankful you’re still alive.”

  “Thankful? Ha!” But then a gloomy look came over his face. “Poor Pugh. If I’d given him a pension and sent him to live with his daughter, he’d still be alive.”

  “Don’t fret about it. It won’t help.”

  “I’m not fretting.”

  They needed to get to Glyncove Abbey.

  “Lord Withinghall, how badly are you hurt?”

  “I tried to stand, but there appears to be something wrong with my leg. It collapsed underneath me.”

  “Perhaps it’s broken.”

  “It isn’t broken.” He sat up and groaned.

  “You’ve had quite a blow to the head. I don’t want you fainting, since I don’t think I can lift you.”

  “I can stand.” His voice was aggressive and so was his glare. “Let me lean on you.”

  She stopped applying pressure to his wound and let him put his arm around her shoulders. He got one leg underneath himself, but when he dragged the other leg beside it, he gasped.

  “I think it may be broken.” He tried to walk anyway and took a step. But then he leaned heavily on her and said, “I’m going down.”

  He was toppling over, so she held him up as best she could and helped him back down. He was deathly pale, and the blood was already running down the side of his face again.

  “Don’t try to move.” Leorah grabbed the handkerchief and pressed it to his head wound again.

  Lord Withinghall’s chest moved up and down, his eyes closed.

  “Are you well?”

  “Yes.” He did not move or open his eyes.

  “Truly, you look very pale.”

  “I don’t think I can walk.”

  “No, definitely not. We have to decide how to get to Glyncove Abbey.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Are you insulted that I would consider myself your equal in trying to make a decision or think of a plan?”

  He snorted. “First you tell me not to fret, then you try to start a quarrel with me.”

  Leorah sighed. “I’m sorry. We obviously are in no position to quarrel with each other, and I am especially sympathetic about your broken leg.”

  He opened one eye and stared.

  She lifted the handkerchief, checking to see if the cut had stopped bleeding. The color was returning to his face. Being so close to him, she could see how blue his eyes were. He had very handsome eyes, distractingly fine, now that they were not glowering down at her or narrowing in disapproval.

  “Miss Langdon, if anyone should find us like this, it will not bode well for either of our reputations.”

  “I realize that, but I thought you might prefer to not be bleeding everywhere. Perhaps I should send for your valet to clean your face while I ring the bell for some tea. Then I’ll fetch my mother to sit with us in the drawing room so that no one thinks we are unseemly. No, I just remembered
. My mother is miles away, we’re stranded on this country road, and you have a broken leg and a gash in your head.”

  Leorah half frowned, half smiled, determined to keep up the pressure on his wound, even if he ordered her to stop. He’d helped her with her wrist, had saved her from further injury when the carriage overturned, and she was going to help him now whether he wanted her to or not.

  They sat in silence for a while. A broken leg could be serious. If it did not heal correctly, he could walk with a limp for the rest of his life, and far worse things than that had been known to come from a bad break. And a blow to the head could also be serious.

  “Is your vision clear?” she asked him. “Not feeling overly sleepy?”

  How strange that she should feel so concerned about the crotchety viscount.

  “I see very well, and no, I’m not sleepy. I’ve never lost consciousness in my life before today, and I’m not likely to lose it now . . . unless I try to walk.”

  “Let me see if your cut has stopped bleeding.” She lifted the handkerchief and waited. No blood came. “It’s stopped. Good. I shall try and go for help.” She began climbing out of the carriage door.

  “How do you plan to accomplish that?” he asked.

  “I shall try to capture one of the horses and ride him to Glyncove Abbey.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out of the broken door of the carriage.

  She headed toward the top of the hill where she had seen the two carriage horses grazing. They were no longer there. She looked all around but didn’t see them. Had they gone into the trees? She didn’t think it likely. They must have gone over the hill and were now out of sight.

  Leorah stalked to the top of the hill, muttering, “Of all the people in England to be stuck in an overturned carriage with . . .” And yet, he had not behaved as badly as she might have expected him to.

  Leorah made it to the top of the hill, feeling more exhausted than she could ever remember. Breaking her wrist and then nearly dying seemed to have taken a toll on her strength. Or perhaps being in such close proximity with Lord Withinghall had made her tired.

  The horses stood under a tree about a hundred feet away. They turned their heads, looked up at her, then started shying away.

  “Don’t be afraid, horses,” Leorah murmured as soothingly as she could. “I won’t hurt you. You need me. You need me to get that harness off you.” But with each step she walked toward them, they moved away from her. She kept after them, walking slowly, but they continued to amble away from her. When she started running, they ran too and put so much distance between them that she stopped. How could she possibly catch them now?

  Just then, raindrops pelted her, one on top of her head and another on her hand.

  She turned and headed back toward the carriage. The rain came faster, assailing her face and shoulders. She finally broke into a run, back to the shelter of the inverted carriage.

  Leorah climbed in, drenched, her hair dripping. She tried not to get Lord Withinghall wet, but several drops fell on him in the small space before she could huddle in the corner.

  Lord Withinghall didn’t say anything. Leorah broke the silence. “I tried to catch the horses, but they shied away from me. I couldn’t get near them.”

  He still didn’t say anything.

  “Are you in pain?” She could guess the answer.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  “I thank you, but no.”

  “When the rain slacks off, I will try to walk back to where we tied up my horse.”

  “That must be three miles or more, and it will be dark and muddy. You would probably miss seeing the horse in the dark. We’ll just have to wait for someone to come along this road and find us.” He groaned as he tried to shift his head and shoulders.

  “There must be something I could do to make you more comfortable. Truly, you look very uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not in a very good position, it is true.”

  “You had some trunks at the rear of the carriage, did you not? I could fetch some clothing or blankets to place under your head.”

  “It is raining.”

  “I’m already wet.” Leorah climbed back out into the cold rain, shivering as fresh drops fell on her head. The trunks had fallen off the carriage, but Leorah located one and dragged it to the door. Sheltered a bit by the carriage, she opened the trunk and pulled out the first things her hands could grab and dragged them into the carriage with her. As she looked down at what she held, she found a black coat, a black pair of breeches, and a white shirt. Didn’t the man have any variety at all? At least she hadn’t pulled out anything unseemly.

  She crawled to his side, then folded his coat, lifted his head and shoulders, and stuffed it under him. It was quite strange, she had to admit, touching him, but the poor man was in pain. And if he didn’t object, he must be desperately uncomfortable.

  “Can I do anything else for you?” Her gaze kept going to his leg.

  “You should dry yourself off. You’re going to catch your death of the ague.”

  What did he expect her to use? “Shall I use your shirt?” She held up the snowy-white garment she’d just pulled out of his trunk.

  “I’d rather you used my shirt than my breeches.”

  Perhaps the viscount had a sense of humor after all. Still, the strangeness of using his shirt to dry her dripping hair made her hesitate, but only for a moment. She used it to squeeze out the water. Then she reached out of the door and into his trunk again. She pulled up some unmentionables and quickly thrust them back. Finally, she found a small blanket and yanked it out with a smile of joy. She immediately wrapped it around her cold, wet shoulders.

  Lord Withinghall was staring at her with a look of horror.

  “What is it?”

  He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Only . . . please have a care with that blanket.”

  “This blanket?” Leorah looked down at it. It seemed to be an ordinary silk blanket, pale blue, with colorful embroidery. “It’s quite warm, though rather ordinary. Seems a bit old too.” The embroidered threads were frayed.

  “I assure you, it is no ordinary blanket. That is . . .” He closed his eyes, as if frustrated. “It has sentimental meaning, and I would not like it ruined.”

  “You told me to dry myself off. It was the only blanket I could find.”

  “All I said was have a care.”

  “I promise not to harm it.”

  He grunted.

  The rain seemed to be coming down in steady sheets, harder than before. Leorah sat in the far corner of the carriage, as far away as possible from Lord Withinghall’s head, but it was difficult to even sit without touching him. She was especially mindful not to touch his broken leg. But she soon began to grow quite cold. In a moment, her teeth would begin chattering, and she worried about poor Buccaneer, all alone at the edge of the wood in this rain. It probably wasn’t cold enough to do him any real harm, but he was used to a warm stable.

  Poor Mr. Pugh, the coachman, was still lying out on the road in the rain. Should she try to drag his body down to the carriage? He was not a small man, and she had a broken wrist besides. She would never be able to move him.

  Would she and Lord Withinghall be trapped here all night? The later it became, the less likely it was that anyone would be traveling down this road. She might have to sleep here in this carriage with Lord Withinghall. Heaven forbid! She would run all the way home in the rain to prevent that. But once night fell, how would she see, with the rain and clouds covering the moon?

  She wouldn’t worry about that. Somehow she would get out of here. But at the moment, a nap seemed to be a good idea. She would rest for a few minutes and then try again to catch those ornery horses, even if she had to do it in the rain.

  Poor Lord Withinghall. He was terrible company even on a good day, and today most definitely was not a good day. Her gaze was drawn to his broken leg. He needed help, but he wouldn’t ask her for anyth
ing. He only lay there looking miserable yet stoic.

  “Isn’t there something I can do to help you, Lord Withinghall?”

  “I can think of nothing,” he replied. “Unless you have acquired the skills of a surgeon and can properly set my leg.”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  He merely blinked in resignation.

  She couldn’t help noticing that his hair had fallen across his forehead. If he were a pirate, he’d be one who had been conquered in battle and lay defenseless on the deck, his sword out of reach, resigned to his fate.

  Leorah shook her head at the thought. Lord Withinghall was a dowdy viscount and Member of Parliament. That was all. She leaned back against the side of the carriage and closed her eyes, listening to the pattering of the rain.

  Leorah opened her eyes, awakened by the sound of horses’ hooves. How long had she been asleep? It was completely dark as she tried to gain her footing. “Lord Withinghall? Are you there?”

  He groaned, letting her know where he was. She stood up and hit her head on the top—or rather, the bottom—of the carriage, as she heard men’s shouts and horses’ bridles jingling.

  “Thank you, God, we’re saved,” Leorah mumbled, trying to stay still and not step on Lord Withinghall’s leg.

  “Who goes there?” Lord Withinghall called in his commanding voice.

  Leorah shuffled closer to where she believed the door was. It was so dark, she couldn’t see her hand before her face, and she could still hear the rain falling outside. She took another baby step, then another, as the voices drew a little nearer.

  Suddenly, she felt something against her toe, and, afraid of bumping Lord Withinghall’s broken leg, she stepped backward. Her foot immediately entangled itself in something, she lost her balance, and fell face-first into something solid.

  “Oof.”

  “Oh!”

  “What is this?” someone asked from the doorway of the carriage.