Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  “Me?” Sir Carter protested. Lucinda enjoyed the baronet’s antics when he feigned obtuseness. He appeared so much more approachable in those rare moments.

  “I am not a woman without intelligence, Sir Carter,” she said softly. “You shushed my objections to your sister’s party, and then Lady Hellsman appears with an offer of a magnificent gown. I do not believe in coincidence. It was of your doing.” She presented him a calm, direct look.

  “I did nothing special. Arabella would have come to the same conclusion upon her own. She is quite generous by nature, very much like my sister Delia. All I shall claim is the desire to expedite the process.”

  Before she could reply, Bella returned to the table. “Has Carter told you of how he brought his brother to his knees before all the ton and then the two of them made a fool of my Cousin Annalee’s husband?”

  “I fear Sir Carter has shared few amusing tales,” Lucinda said playfully. “I have sadly come to the opinion the man is meant only for governmental business.”

  He regarded her in surprise. “I never thought my family’s antics would be of interest to you.” Although his tone was light, there was a philosophical grimace lurking behind his smile. He carried his pain better than did she; yet, nevertheless, it was there. The possibility wiped every other thought from her mind. Lucinda closed her eyes, desperately fighting to shore up her defenses, but she feared her efforts too late. This man had opened her heart to more pain.

  “That is where you erred, Sir Carter. I am a woman who enjoys an amusing anecdote, and Lady Hellsman has extolled your storytelling abilities. My interests are decidedly piqued.”

  The mercantile was as Carter remembered it, stocked with everything a villager might desire. He had left the ladies within and had called at the smith’s for McLauren had asked Carter to retrieve a new saddle for Louisa. “Your sister will have little use for it in her condition, but Louisa insists she requires a new one.” Carter had chuckled. The earl spoiled Louisa in the manner her parents never had. His eldest sister relished the role as “pampered countess,” and “God knows she deserves it,” he told the horse he stroked while he waited for the smith to return with the saddle. “Louisa had had her hands full being mistress of the nursery. We did not give her an easy time.”

  “Have we made our decisions?” he asked as he approached Bella and Mrs. Warren in the draperies section of the store.

  Bella looked up with a smile. “You will learn, dear brother of mine, women never tire of such fripperies. Come give us your opinion.”

  He stepped between them to examine the three samples they had chosen. “I had thought Lady Hellsman, you left the lace and satin to your sister Abigail,” he teased. “I recall your cousin, Viscountess Ransing, accusing you of having a saucy nature.”

  “A bird may change its feathers,” Bella argued good-naturedly.

  Carter could not prevent a light laugh. “That it can, Sweetling.” He picked up the first piece of lace. “Now, explain for what I am looking.”

  Bella, with her normal exuberance, wove a tale of the need for the proper piece of lace to give the appearance of length on Mrs. Warren’s gown. Carter smiled knowingly throughout. Little did they know he had spent part of his training in the shops along the wharfs of Bombay. Carter had learned more than he had ever hoped to know of silks and linens and satins. Today, he ignored the ladies’ choices and reached instead for a finely made cream lace. “I prefer this one,” he announced baldly. “See how the artisan has used a gold thread that appears in alternating loops. This piece is hand woven, likely by an advocate of St. John Francis Regis.” Both women stood with mouths agape; he smiled kindly before walking casually away. It was quite satisfying to leave them speechless.

  He waited by the main counter while Bella led Mrs. Warren through the display tables. “I insist,” she was saying.

  “I cannot permit you to purchase them on by behalf,” Mrs. Warren argued.

  “Purchase what?” he asked as they approached.

  Bella shot a disapproving glance to Mrs. Warren. “Lucinda has nothing but her half boots with her. She cannot wear her every day footwear with her new gown.”

  Mrs. Warren’s lips thinned in a tight line. “Yet, it would be inappropriate for me to assume the role of borrower. You have been more than generous, Lady Hellsman.”

  Carter knew Mrs. Warren’s pride would prevent her from accepting the gift graciously. “Then I will stand you a loan until we return to Town. Whereas, it would be cumbersome to contact Arabella, I will be near, and you can see me repaid to ease your conscience.”

  A myriad of emotions crossed the lady’s countenance: desire, worry, indecision. Finally, she said, “It will be a loan, Sir Carter. I pay my debts.”

  “I hold no doubts, Mrs. Warren. You are one of the most honorable personages of my acquaintances.”

  His words snatched her objections from her lips. With a curt nod, the lady accepted his offer. “As you wish, Sir Carter.”

  Carter motioned the footman forward. “Escort the ladies to the carriage while I see to Mr. Edmunds’ fees.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  While the shopkeeper tallied the charges, Carter chose a small toy for his niece, another for his nephew, and yet a third for Simon, along with a measure of sugar candy. He suspected the boy had never known such pleasure. “Will these items be all, Sir?” Mr. Edmunds asked with a well-developed smile.

  Carter glanced about the store. No other patrons were in attendance. Earlier, his eyes had fallen upon an attractive display, and his lips had turned upward in delight. He could easily imagine Mrs. Warren, in all her glory, and wearing the items. He still could not explain his fascination with the woman, but Carter accepted his raptness with as much aplomb as he could muster. “Just one more purchase, Mr. Edmunds. Or maybe two.” He whisked the items from the store’s timely display.

  The shopkeeper wrapped Carter’s impulsive purchases. “The lady will be pleased by your kindness, Sir Carter.”

  Carter doubted “pleased” was the correct word to describe Mrs. Warren’s eventual reaction, but he was satisfied with the gesture; for he knew the gloves and the fan would complement the gown Bella had described for him.

  Within minutes, he had placed his treasures in the carriage’s boot and had joined the ladies. As they departed the village, he remarked, “After such a fine afternoon, I am anticipating Louisa’s gathering even more than before.”

  “Lady McLauren takes her position in the neighborhood seriously,” Arabella said with a stifled giggle.

  Carter did not take offense. Even with her obvious manipulations, Louisa had a kind heart, and he cherished her completely. “It is not often Louisa has so many guests to claim before her usual companions. I fear we Lowerys are scattered over England’s best shires.”

  However, before either lady could respond, a shot rang out, and Carter was shoving them to the floor, covering them with his body. When he raised his head to examine the scene, a second shot less than a half minute after the first sent Law’s footman pitching rearward to tumble from his place on the coach’s back hitch. Mr. Croft, Hellsman’s coachman, slapped the reins across the horses’ backs, and the coach lurched forward.

  Carter fought for his balance. “Stay down,” he hissed in Mrs. Warren’s ear as he straddled the women to right his position. Tearing the window’s drape away, he examined the passing scenery. Unable to observe their attacker, he pounded on the coach’s roof to signal the driver to slow his pace before the coach pitched to the side on the curvy road. He yelled, “We’re clear!’ thorough the trap, and Mr. Croft slowed the animals.

  Meanwhile, Carter reached for Mrs. Warren. She cupped Arabella beneath her, as she looked about frantically. “I have you,” he said out of breath as he lifted the woman to a seat. He had but seconds to realize his hands spanned the lady’s small waist. “Are you injured?” A bit of blood showed upon her lip, and he handed her his handkerchief.

  “No…” she said a bit uncertainly.
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br />   Carter turned his attention to his brother’s wife. “Bella?” he said as he draped himself about her. “Bella? Are you injured?” He lifted her gently from where she laid sprawled on the coach’s floor. “Bella? Please answer me.”

  He sat her on the seat beside Mrs. Warren, but Bella’s eyes were closed. Carter immediately set about checking his sister’s breathing. “Her pulse is a bit weak, but she is breathing evenly.”

  “Here!” Mrs. Warren shoved a small bottle of smelling salts into his hand.

  Carter raised his eyebrow in curiosity; she did not appear the type to carry the sour mixture with her. With a shrug, she said, “Because of the boy. Simon coughed hardily until he became accustomed to London’s yellow smoke. I always thought it a clue to the boy’s origins.”

  He nodded his gratitude and uncorked the vial. Moving it forth and back under Bella’s nose, he was rewarded by a gasp and a cough before Bella’s eyes flickered open and closed. “Come, Arabella,” he said gently as he eased her higher in the seat.

  “Where?” Bella said on a rasp, and then realization arrived. “Is everyone well?” She caught Mrs. Warren’s hand.

  Carter would prefer to tend to his women, but it was necessary for him to investigate what had occurred. He slid a pocket pistol into Mrs. Warren’s palm. “Do you know how to use one of these?” he said as he grabbed his other gun from the bench seat.

  “I was raised by a career military man,” she said with a serious scowl.

  The corners of Carter’s lips tugged upward. “It was as I assumed.” Even in the midst of this chaos, Carter’s intense attraction to Lucinda Warren sprung to life. He glanced to the coach’s door as the carriage shifted. Mr. Croft climbed down from his seat. “If anyone other than Croft or I appear in the opening, do not hesitate to shoot.”

  “What happened?” Bella asked, still a bit incoherent.

  Carter shifted his position to catch up the door’s handle. “We lost Hamby some ways back. I must determine if he is injured.” He held no doubt the footman had been hit, but he would not frighten the women further.

  Mrs. Warren caught his hand. “Please be cautious.”

  He nodded his understanding before climbing from the coach. “Croft, stay with the ladies. If anything more than a bird moves in this area, you are to remove this coach immediately to Maryborne. Send my brother and the earl to assist me and Hamby.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Lucinda watched him dart away into the underbrush. He was so masculine. So in control. But he was not God; he could be injured, and her heart would know real regret. Moreover, who would protect her if something amiss occurred with Sir Carter? “Then what shall you do?” she asked silently. “Die also?” The possibility shook her to the core, and she openly shivered.

  “He will be well,” Lady Hellsman said from somewhere behind her, but Lucinda did not turn her head. Instead, she studied the patch of road she could see in the opening. With every ounce of energy she could muster, Lucinda willed his return.

  Carter searched the woodland paralleling the village road. He did not walk in the open, nor did he make himself a larger target. As an alternative, he moved quickly between and around trees and bushes. There was no clear-cut path, but Carter had no problem pushing his way through the bramble. Ignoring the scratches on his face and hands, he burst through the heavy undergrowth.

  On the road, Hamby wreathed in pain. Cautiously, Carter approached the footman, but his eyes scanned the forest line. “Were you shot?” he asked the servant.

  “In the leg, Sir,” Hamby groaned.

  Carter cracked a glance to the man. “You must be brave,” he ordered. “I must search the area to make certain no one lies in wait before I can move you.”

  Hamby bit his bottom lip. “Do what is required, Sir.”

  Carter nodded, “I will return for you.” With that, he darted toward the ditch line. A grated road–higher in the middle to permit the rain to drain into the cut ditches–it was a masterly designed roadway. If Hamby had been hit, while riding on the back of the coach, the bullet had to come from a higher point; therefore, he made his way to the low rise overlooking the road. His shooter had obviously lain in wait upon the ridge.

  Within minutes, Carter stood upon the uplands highest point. He had discovered hoof prints leading to this position, as well as several fragments of the ammunition used. From where he stood, the road was as clear as the sky above him. There was nothing to block his view. “Damn!” he kicked at the dirt. “Who was the target?” he wondered. He squatted to run a bit of the dust through his fingers. “The note from the inn indicated Mrs. Warren was marked. Could someone have followed us to Lincolnshire? After all, I could not misdirect the lady’s pursuer forever.”

  He stood again and turned slowly in a circle. “Or perhaps I was the target. From this distance, the shooter must have used a rifleman’s talents. The second shot came too quickly after the first. Someone possesses exceptional training. Exceptional military training.” He paused to examine the open road. “Easy enough to see one’s victim. Just as it was when I was returning from Oxford.” He glanced to the shrapnel he had recovered. “The same type of ammunition as what I discovered earlier. So, who is in danger? The lady or me?” With a shrug of defeat, he set his feet to the task of recovering Hamby. “Two shooters or one? Could someone know of my aiding Mrs. Warren? But that possibility makes little sense. Someone sought me out on Dover’s docks, long before I knew of Mrs. Warren’s plight. Yet…”

  A third shot sent a bullet whistling over his shoulder as Carter dove for protection.

  The sound echoed through her body, and Lucinda flinched. “What was that?” she squealed as Lady Hellsman clawed at her arm.

  “I do not know.”

  Mr. Croft turned to the coach. “We be removin’ from here!” he declared as he climbed to the seat.

  “No!” Lucinda yelled about the fracas. “You cannot leave Sir Carter!”

  “I have me orders!”

  She heard Croft’s low whistle and a click of the man’s tongue before the coach rolled slowly forward. Without thinking of the consequences, Lucinda scrambled to the unlatched door and launched herself through the opening. Her body vibrated both with excitement and the jolt of landing unceremoniously on the hard dirt. As the carriage raced from sight, she could hear Lady Hellsman screaming for Mr. Croft to stop the coach, but neither the horses nor the man responded. With no time to consider her choices, Lucinda rolled to her knees to stand. Hiking her skirts, she ran toward the unknown. With each step, she prayed Carter Lowery had not known harm.

  Before Carter could react, his assailant had straddled his back and had pointed a pistol at the base of Carter’s skull. “Move and I will kill you.”

  Carter lay face down in the patchy grass. His gun rested on the ground just from reach, while the stranger’s knee burrowed into Carter’s shoulder blade, and he could not turn his head far enough to the side for a closer look at his attacker. Therefore, he used his other senses to learn what he could of the man. The smell of boot polish. A clean scent of soap and sandalwood. The man was likely of the gentry. “You are a smart one, Lowery, but not smart enough.” A subtle accent spoke of French descent. Carter had heard such refinement in Gabriel Crowden’s speech, as if the listener expected Crowden easily to switch to French in mid sentence. So it was with this stranger.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice muffled by the clump of grass in which his nose had been shoved. He felt the panic rise in his chest. The smell of fresh earth brought back the nightmare of being driven to his knees as French soldiers rushed the English lines. He bit his lower lip to drive the images to his mind’s recesses.

  His assailant pressed the gun to the back of Carter’s head, and Carter could barely breathe, his nose smashed against the rich soil. Each inhalation sucked in God’s footprint. “I want you to die,” the stranger declared boldly before pressing his weight into Carter’s back.

  Carter heard the cock of the ma
n’s gun and felt the cold tip at the nape of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and said a quick prayer for his family and another for Mrs. Warren. The thought of never seeing her again brought a severe pain to his heart.

  Lucinda clutched at her side. When she was on the Continent, she often walked miles on end, surrendering her place on the wagon to one of the older women; but she had lost her stamina. Living in London’s cramped quarters had made her weak. “Made you more than useless,” she gasped as she stumbled to a halt. She bent over and slurped in air to refill her lungs.

  How much further? she wondered, but before she could discover an answer, the sound of an angry voice warned her that danger was near. Reaching in her pocket for the pistol Sir Carter had given her, Lucinda stepped softly into the underbrush. When she was but a child, her father had taught her how to walk quietly. “Never know when the enemy is near,” the colonel had warned. Now, she stepped lightly over fallen tree trunks and around patches of dried grass and twigs.

  The significance of the voices grew louder. One was muffled, but the other spoke with such ferocity, Lucinda thought to turn back; however, she pressed on. The footman and Sir Carter were close, and she meant to find them. She released the knot from her bonnet and permitted the headwear to fall to the ground behind her.

  Stepping past a wild rosebush, whose brambles pulled at her gown, Lucinda circled the base of a rolling hill to come upon a sight she had hoped never to witness again. Sir Carter lay upon the ground, and a masked man held a gun to the baronet’s head. “I want you to die,” the man hissed.

  The gun cocked, and she held her breath. Lucinda knew she should look away, but she could not. With an unsteady breath, she stepped into a perilous clearing. “Toss your gun away,” she said with more bravado than she actually felt.