With that thought, the memory of what she had learned flooded her thoughts again. Would she ever be able to put the shame behind her?
“Not long Amy,” she said to the maid. “We are taking a slightly different road. Jake Coachmen assures me it will remove half a day from the trip. We’ll stay at the inn tonight and look to get an early start in the morning.”
Her heart broke thinking about returning to London. They needed to hurry. The end of the month was approaching quickly. It had taken her longer than planned to get to Dorset. Her thoughts drifted to her father’s Dorset house. She should be thankful that he had never sold it. She should be grateful but couldn’t, not really. A broken down drafty stone house with a leaky roof and hand drawn well in the back yard. It was enough to make a girl cry.
Sighing to herself she looked out the window again as she heard Jake Coachman call out to the horses. The carriage started to slow then pulled into the inn’s yard with a rolling lurch.
“It seems we are here,” she said to her maid. “See, not too long.”
“Yes, Miss,” her maid said with a worried glance outside.
A raucous cheer washed over them from the far side of the yard. Caroline opened her door to see what caused such a noise. The one thing she could not abide was not knowing what was going on around her.
A ring of men, cheering and laughing, had formed a circle. They looked to be mostly workmen, farm hands, and hostlers. There were a few brocade vests and fancy coats, but mostly it was workmen in homespun wool.
The crowd encircled two men fighting. Caroline gasped. Why didn’t someone stop it? So like men, taking enjoyment in other’s misfortune.
She stood on the step to get a better look over the crowd’s head. Both men were rather big, neither wore a shirt. Dressed only in britches they circled each other, fists raised, looking for an opening.
She knew she was not supposed to be seeing this. It was a male thing. Not the kind of event a young lady should even know about. Let alone witness first hand. But still, she could not pull her eyes away.
“Hampton,” she said to her footman who had jumped down from the back of the coach. “See if they have rooms for us.”
“Yes Miss,” he said as he looked over his shoulder at the crowd with regret. Obviously preferring to stay and watch the action.
The man on the left was rather thick, with a swollen eye and a look of determination about him. He reminded her of a wounded bull dog, determined to kill his enemy. He appeared to be older, more experienced. A look of confidence seemed to surround him. This was a man who had fought and won before. She felt sorry for his opponent.
The fighter on the right circled into view. Caroline gasped.
He looked so perfectly male. Why couldn’t the Lords of London look like this? Broad shoulders tapered down to a slim waist and rock hard stomach. Well-muscled arms glistened with sweat in the late afternoon sun. He had thick brown hair with a bit of curl where it brushed those strong shoulders. And crystal blue eyes. Eyes that looked to be deep and serious.
A heavy scowl marred his perfect appearance.
A cheer went up as the fighter on the left, experienced man, lowered his head and charged in attack. Mr. Perfect Specimen on the right danced away. As light on his feet as a feather on the wind.
The only man that Caroline had ever really known other than her father and his servants had been their dancing master, Mr. Thompson. He had been handsome in a light hearted way. Twinkling brown eyes and a noble chin. She’d been smitten with the young man until her father had learned of it and sent him away.
It had taken her months to forgive her father. But today she couldn’t really remember what the dance master had looked like.
This fighter was no dancing master she thought, despite his fancy footwork. He was pure power and energy wrapped up in a strong package.
“They have rooms, Miss,” Hampton said as he came around the back of the coach.
What? Oh yes, a room. She really should go, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off the two ruffians in the circle of the crowd. Biting her lip she continued to stand on the coach step, ignoring Hampton’s offered hand.
The two fighters circled again, feigning and shifting, looking for an open spot. She wondered how long they’d been fighting. Both were bruised and battered, breathing hard. Their eyes focused on each other like a terrier with a cornered rat.
Suddenly, the Perfect Specimen shifted and threw a right to his opponent’s ribs. Experienced Man countered with a mighty round house swing that connected with the younger man’s head. Caroline could hear the mighty thwump all the way across the yard. Surely no one could stand such a blow.
The young man danced away though, as if it had been but the light touch of a sun beam. His feet shifting back and forth in mocking time with her racing heart.
He moved left, then right, bringing a fist to his opponents chin. He followed the punch with two more and a third to the stomach.
Without warning, he stepped back as the experienced man fell forward. Landing in the dirt, face first.
A roar went up from the crowd as they mobbed Perfect Specimen. Slapping him on the back and pumping his arm in congratulations.
As Caroline watched. The man grabbed his ragged, sweat stained shirt from a friend while holding out his hand to another.
The other man didn’t look happy, but his shoulder’s slumped in defeat as he handed over a small purse. Perfect Specimen shook it to confirm its legitimacy then frowned as he handed the purse to another man.
You would think the man would be happy with winning.
The fighter turned and said something to the crowd. A cheer immediately erupted as men began clapping each other on the back.
Men! She would never understand them.
“Miss, we really should be going, before that crowd hits the pub.”
Yes, Hampton was right. This was why a twenty two year old woman shouldn’t travel alone, she thought. A maid, and two overaged male servants didn’t count.
“Yes, Hampton, you are correct,” she said as she stepped down from the coach.
She walked across the yard glancing back at the group of workmen. They are from a world she didn’t know or understand. But it was soon to be her world she realized.
As she tried to sleep that night, she thought of the boxer. How he had looked. Determined, unafraid. The way his dark hair swept across his forehead. Those deep blue eyes. She couldn’t get the picture out of her mind.
That picture reminded her of what she was giving up. What she would never have. For the first time in her life, Caroline Jennings felt regret. The deep, biting regret of denied passion.
Chapter Three
The crisp morning air smelled like grass and future rain. Caroline watched the countryside begin to pass by. It was going to be a long day.
She looked forward to seeing Alice and Beatrice. This had been the longest they had ever been separated. And she was still several days away.
Her heart turned over with the thought of what she had failed to accomplish. There was no help. No secret to easy wealth. No hidden treasure. Their rich London life was over.
It wasn’t fair. She at least had experience poverty. The girls had no memory of the rough times. They didn’t know how to even cook. Let alone gather their own food.
They only knew how to shop for dresses, the thought of them negotiating with the baker and butcher made her shudder. And where would they to find the money for the baker or butcher?
The coach lurched in a mud rut. This far from London the roads were rough and not as well maintained. Really, someone should do something about it. It reminded her once again how far afield she had gone.
Her maid Amy squeaked, desperately trying to stop from sliding as the vehicle rocked back and forth. Caroline smiled to herself and turned to examine her surroundings.
She had been so blessed with loyal servants. Amy, Hampton, and Jake Coachman should be searching for new employment. Instead, they had volunteered to
accompany here on this ridiculous expedition.
She and her sister’s would be taking the mail coach on the return trip. She would have to say goodbye to the servants. Her heart squeezed. She was going to miss all of them so much.
Really. You are going to have to learn to live on your own. Sighing she returned to examining her surroundings.
The road followed a meandering river that drained a lush green valley. As they passed bucolic farms, she felt a twinge of regret. What would it be like to live in the country? A peaceful existence without the hurl and burl of one of the largest cities in the world. Could they survive? What would here neighbors think of the formerly rich young women from London?
She knew what they were going to think.
“Deserved ‘em right. Thinking they were special.”
“Anyone should have known that Jennings was born a failure.”
The thoughts made her cringe. She could easily imagine the looks. The giggles behind their backs. It was going to be hard but what choice did they have?
The carriage rocked once again as she heard the coachman yelling for the horses to stop. She could almost feel him pulling back on the reins.
What was it now? Why were they stopping? They needed to get to London. The girls would be worried.
Irritated at the delay she leaned out of the coach window to see what the problem was.
The coach had stopped before a small, rickety bridge. Several workmen stood on the far bank. Each carried either a shovel or axe. One of the younger ones had a long timber resting on his shoulder.
They stared at her and her coach as if she were from some distant country. Not a mere eighty miles away in London. What was it with these people, you’d think they’d never seen anyone in a carriage before.
The coachman leaned over.
“I don’t think it is safe miss. I think we should go around.”
Caroline examined the bridge. It was made of wood, old wood it seemed. She wondered if it was rotten. Should she send Hampton to investigate?
“How long would that take?” she asked.
“Most of the day, miss,” the coachman said with a regretful shrug of the shoulder.
A full day. Another day wasted. She had too much to accomplish in too short a time. Now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. She had already wasted too much time. Her sister’s safety depended on her getting home.
She examined the bridge once again. It looked solid enough. Surely the men would have said something if it was unsafe.
Feeling that she was making the right decision she told her coachman to go on. They would cross the bridge.
The coachman swallowed hard then turned and flicked the reins to his horses. One of the beasts neighed as if he wasn’t too pleased with the idea but leaned into his harness and started pulling.
As the first horse stepped onto the bridge, the surface of the river was broken by a quick flash as a shirtless man stood up like Neptune rising from the depths. Water cascaded from his body. The rivulets of water like silver starlight, as the slow river washed around his waist.
Caroline gasped when she recognized the boxer from the night before. The bruise on the left side of his face made her wince. What was it about this man that he had to be at the center of everything?
Some men were like that. Her father had been such a man. If there was something interesting or hard, then they had to be in the middle of it. But why was he standing in the middle of the river?
Water continued to drip down his body, highlighting each well-defined muscle. She swallowed hard when their eyes locked.
The man stared at her as if shocked then frowned deeply before holding up his hands and yelling “Stop!”
Caroline’s heart fell. Maybe this hadn’t been the smartest decision after all. She started to tell the coachman to stop, but it was too late. The carriage had already started onto the bridge. In fact, the first team of horses were almost to the far bank.
Besides. What right did this man have to tell her to stop?
A loud crack from the rear of the carriage made her heart jump into her throat. Mr. Neptune’s eyes grew to the size of large medallions as they locked onto hers.
The carriage suddenly tipped. What had been a beautiful view of a meandering river and a sea god became nothing but blue sky.
Caroline felt the coach sliding out from under her as it tipped. She desperately grabbed for the window frame to stop herself from falling. Her heart raced as her gloved fingers slipped off the wooden edge. Amy screamed. Jake the coachman cursed.
The coach had twisted and tipped. She felt herself begin to slide. No this wasn’t happening. Wasn’t her life in enough of a hell?
Her dress and petticoats began to bunch under her as she hit the opposite door. It didn’t hold. Nothing ever held she thought as she fell from the coach and into mid-air.
There was a moment. A brief second in time, when she floated in the air. Then she fell. Her scream ripped through the air. Every muscle she possessed pushed the air from her lungs into the scream, but it didn’t help. Still she fell.
The water hit her back with a mighty slap. Punching the last bit of air from her body.
Panic shot through her blood. Help! She needed help. She’d never learned to swim. There was no reason a young woman should know how to swim her father had said.
“You’re not a fisherman’s daughter anymore,” he’d said more than once.
It didn’t matter she realized. Even if she had been the greatest swimmer in the world, she couldn’t have saved herself. Her clothes filled with water and pulled her down.
Her world had become a murky grey-green. Cold, wet, clamping itself around her chest. Her lungs ached for air. Every instinct pushed her to breath.
My god, I’m going to die.
She was sure she was going to die. The water pulled at her. What way was up? The river was faster than she had thought. It tumbled her head over heal as it pulled her along.
Burned. Everything inside burned. How was that possible when she felt so cold?
The grey-green world was becoming black. She was going to die. In the depths of her soul she realized she was going to die.
It might not have been so bad. Heaven knew her world was ruined anyway. If it had not been for Alice and Beatrice, she might very well have willingly accepted her fate.
She pushed against the water but could feel no movement. Her dress felt like a chain weight around her. Stopping her, holding her under. She really was going to die.
At last her body began to relax. It had accepted her fate.
A hard object knocked into her side. Grasping at her. She twisted to avoid it.
The object hit her again, following her down the river. Then she felt something clasp around her waist. It pulled at her and she felt herself brought up against something hard and warm.
It didn’t matter. She was going to die. At least maybe they’d be able to find her body. Her sister’s should have her body to bury.
As her world closed into a black shadow, a strong movement made her jump. Her heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest. Her lungs hurt. Literally ached with pain. The second sudden movement had sent a brief surge of hope.
Another movement followed. Her grey-green world began to lighten. The sky. She could see the blue sky just above her watery grave.
The object holding her pulled again and her head broke through the surface.
Air. Sweet, life-giving air. She gulped in a breath then another.
Her world had turned into blue. The sky had never looked so beautiful.
The strong arm around her waist continued to pull at her as the man stroked towards the shore.
The man? A strong arm was wrapped around her waist just beneath her breasts. She tried to twist to see who it was that had saved her, but he grunted and pulled her back into position.
She relaxed, trying to kick her feet free of the clinging wet dress. She could feel him struggling against the currents. Her sodden dress trying to drag he
r back under.
He felt like a big man. He will make it she assured herself. The thought of him letting her go flashed through her with a cold fear.
The man stopped swimming and twisted to pick her up. He had made the shore. At least close enough to touch bottom.
Caroline gasped when she recognized the Sea God from the bridge. The chiseled boxer from the night before. His blue eyes matched the sky above.
His arm shifted to her back while his others slid beneath her knees. Standing up he pulled her from the water as if lifting a small baby from her crib.
Her arm naturally snaked around the back of his neck. He scowled down at her as if upset with her for some reason. What, didn’t he rescue women from certain death every day?
“MMMy MMMaid?” she stuttered.
“She’s fine. She at least was able to stay in the coach,” he said with a shake of his head.
Caroline’s felt his arms lock themselves around her as he pulled her tight to his chest. He stepped out of the river then twisted to the workmen who had come running to them.
“Help the others,” he said to them.
“Is she alive?” one of them asked. The young one who had been holding a timber Caroline remembered.
“Barely,” he said looking down at her.
She should tell him to put her down. She was going to be all right. She was going to live. The words wouldn’t come though. It was as if her throat no longer worked.
The big man started walking away from the river. Where was he taking her? Did it matter? Not really. For the first time in a very long time, Caroline felt safe, secure. As if her world was going to be all right.
She laid her head against his shoulder and began to drift off. Her world was safe.
He stumbled, waking her from a soft dream. She gasped and grabbed him around the neck.
“It’s going to all right. I’ve got you,” he said as he shifted her in his arms.
The Viscount's Bride (Love's Pride Book 2) Page 2