His Mysterious Lady, A Regency Romance (Three Gentlemen of London Book 2)

by G. G. Vandagriff

  “Can we not descend?” she asked, looking at the other balloons that floated ahead of them. It seemed to her they were lower in the sky than they had been a moment before.

  “This is the time to overtake them. I can win the race!” Freddie said.

  “If you don’t open the valve, Freddie, I will,” said Sir Herbert. “We have precious cargo.”

  Mumbling aspersions of cowardice against Sir Bertie, Freddie finally opened the valve, allowing the gas to rush out. To Virginia’s relief, they began their descent.

  “Hang on,” said Sir Bertie. “Dicey part.”

  Rain and wind overtook them, battering the balloon. She could no longer see the ground. What if they landed in a river or a pond? She didn’t know how to swim.

  Her heart was pounding so loudly Virginia could hear it in her ears above the storm. She had never been so frightened! They were descending quickly, and she could see that they were headed for a vast oak in the middle of a field. Just the sort of tree to be struck by lightning.

  Everything happened very quickly. The force of the wind threatened to pick her up and throw her out of the gondola. It tore her bonnet from her head, strings and all. Suddenly her hair felt as though it were standing on end. She heard an ear-splitting crash that threw her to the bottom of the gondola. Virginia screamed.

  The gondola fell freely. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she threw a prayer heavenward. Rain cascaded down in sheets, and she could see nothing.

  The gondola ejected her as it flew end over end. Her fall was suddenly arrested, however, and she found herself cradled by the branches of the oak. She smelled charred wood. The tree began to split, and she was falling again.

  Virginia had the wit to hold on to the branches that held her midway down the tree, but it was a great fall ending with her being thrown to the earth. Pain shattered her, and then the blackness came, mercifully blocking out everything.

  Chapter Seven

  Tony recognized the field his balloon landed in as his own. His companions—Howie and George Tisdale—were a bit green, but they were all safe. It was a miracle, really, that they hadn’t ended up in the Channel as close as they were to the coastal town of Deal. They had flown so far southeast they had encountered a different weather system—small but uncommonly violent.

  With the rain coming down so hard, Tony couldn’t tell how the other balloons were faring. He began gathering his silk, fighting the storm. Tisdale and Howie worked alongside him. He thanked Providence that none of them were hurt, just badly jarred by the landing.

  His first thought when the storm overcame them was Miss Livingstone. Was she all right? The feeling of protectiveness that had possessed him when he watched her board Freddie’s balloon raged out of control. There wasn’t a deuced thing he could do until the rain stopped. Why hadn’t he sent his brother with Freddie and taken Miss Livingstone himself? He could have watched over her. Though he couldn’t have prevented the storm or the crash, at least he would be there for her now.

  It seemed that the storm lasted hours, but his pocket watch told him it had been only fifteen minutes since it came upon them. The rain let up gradually. He and the others had the silk gathered in a wet and muddy pile and stuffed into the gondola when he heard the jingle of a harness. Looking up, he saw his foreman driving the farm cart.

  “It’s Jenkins,” said Howie. “We must be on the estate, Tony.”

  “Yes, Providence obviously had a hand in this. Are you all right, Tisdale?”

  The short man nodded. “Just a bit shaken. Small price to pay for the experience of a lifetime.”

  “Your lordship!” Jenkins exclaimed upon recognizing him. “That was you in the balloon? Well, I never!”

  “Thanks for coming to our rescue. Did you see any other balloons? We got separated when the storm came on us, but there are two others.”

  “Didn’t see ’em,” his foreman said.

  Tony turned to his companions. “Do you two feel strong enough to walk to the hall? It’s about half a mile, I think. Howie, you know the way. I must go with Jenkins to find the others. They may be injured.”

  Howie clapped Tisdale on the shoulder. “Can you manage, man?”

  “I should come with you, my lord. Miss Livingstone is my responsibility,” the man said. Despite his dousing, the little man appeared to be puffed up by his own importance.

  “I will see to her, I promise. I know the estate, and there will be more room in the cart if you go back with my brother.”

  Tisdale agreed reluctantly.

  A vision visited Tony of Miss Livingstone lying lifeless in his fields. Why had he not tried to stop her from going up? She had no real idea of the risks, and Freddie was such a bounder.

  As he climbed up on the seat of the wagon next to Jenkins, he thought of the duke and duchess. Hopefully they had landed safely with the game but aged Miss Braithwaite.

  He decided to check the most dangerous places they could have fallen first.

  “Take us to the pond, Jenkins.”

  It was but a five-minute drive to the large pond that bounded the west end of his estate. To his relief, he saw no evidence of a balloon. The silk would have floated, at least for a time.

  As they drove east, he scanned the horizon for the landmark old oak that had been standing at the edge of his field for hundreds of years.

  Odd. It was gone. How could it be gone?

  Possessed by a sudden sense of urgency, he said, “Faster, Jenkins. The old oak has gone down. Must have been lightning. I only hope there wasn’t an explosion.”

  The closer they got to the area, the greater his anxiety. His feelings were justified when he saw Bertie wandering about, dazed. From what he could see, the oak had been struck and split in two.

  Tony leapt from the wagon as soon as it slowed.

  “Bertie, are you all right, old fellow?”

  “Only stunned,” he said. “Looking for Miss Livingstone and Freddie.”

  The massive oak lay spread across the field, the halves charred down the middle. The balloon was nowhere to be seen. They could only have just missed a horrific explosion.

  Together with Jenkins and Bertie, Tony combed the scene. After what seemed like ages, he saw a lady’s booted foot through the foliage. His heart beat a furious tattoo.

  No. He couldn’t allow himself to believe the worst. For now he just had to concentrate on getting her out from under the fallen branches. “Over here! I need some help.”

  Fortunately, the branches appeared to be from the middle of the tree and therefore were not as large and heavy as they might have been. With Jenkins’s and Bertie’s help, they cleared the foliage that trapped the lady lying on her back. She had had a terrible fall. Tony’s hands shook, and his heart dropped. She wasn’t moving. Her face was unnaturally white, scored with bloody lashes inflicted by the tree.

  Kneeling next to her, he pressed his fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. Relief swamped him.

  “She’s alive. Let me tend to her while you look for Freddie,” he said to Bertie.

  As she was smothered in Lady Clarice’s heavy wet cloak, he couldn’t check her for broken bones. Caressing her wet face with his hands, he spoke to her gently. “Virginia. Virginia, darling, wake up. Tell me where you are hurt.”

  Her head thrashed from side to side, but her eyes remained closed.

  At least her neck isn’t broken. But what about her back?

  Never had he felt so helpless. He took one of her cold hands and chafed it between his. She was so cold and wet. If he didn’t get her back to the hall and into some warm, dry clothing, she was going to contract inflammation of the lungs, in addition to whatever else was wrong with her.

  But he was afraid to move her.

  “Virginia, darling, you must wake up and tell me where you are hurt,” he repeated.

  Her eyelids fluttered, but then she lost consciousness again. The white face with its angry welts pulled at his heart. Into his mind flashed a memory of her holding the
ill-used Mr. Hale under her chin, cuddling the poor dog. Any lingering consideration that the woman could be a spy fled.

  Tony patted her bleeding face, gently trying to bring her to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered all the way open this time.

  She looked at him without recognition.

  “Where are you hurt?” he asked, pouring all his anxiety into the question.

  “My head . . .”

  “But your back is all right?”

  “I don’t know. What happened? What is this place?”

  “Your balloon crashed in the storm. Fortunately, this is my land. My foreman has brought a wagon.”

  “Balloon? I was up in a balloon?”

  “You were. Apparently you are very brave.”

  Her eyes held more questions. “You . . . you called me darling. Does that mean . . . Am I someone special to you?”

  Tony grew embarrassed. She had heard his endearments, then. How could he explain? “You have lost your memory?”

  “I must have. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I remember you at all.”

  “Never mind,” he said kindly. “It will all come back to you presently.” He scooped her up in his arms, holding her as gently as possible. He carried her to the wagon and laid her carefully in the back, which was just long enough to accommodate her.

  “I must leave you for a moment to help Bertie look for Freddie,” he said. “I will be back as soon I can.”

  They finally located Freddie under the opposite half of the tree.

  “Where are you hurt?” Bertie asked.

  “Had the wind knocked out of me and have a bit of bump on the head. May have sprained my arm.”

  “Can you make it if we put you between us?” asked Tony.

  “Should be able to manage it. Dashed storm. Have you found Miss Livingstone?”

  “She’s in the wagon with my foreman. We’re on my estate. There’s still room for you in the back.”

  “Is she injured?” asked Freddie.

  “I’m not certain how bad it is. She may have a concussion.”

  “Confound it!” said Freddie. “I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world. I should have begun my descent as soon as we spotted the storm.”

  * * *

  Miss Livingstone had fainted again by the time they reached Southbrooke Hall. Tony thought it was probably a good thing. Being jostled in a wagon was bound to be painful, particularly with a head injury.

  Mrs. Welling, his housekeeper, rushed to meet them. “Your lordship! Is that Sir Herbert? Who is this in the back of the wagon? Your brother told me you went down in your balloon!”

  The greeting by his housekeeper lifted some of the weight off his heart. Mrs. Welling was a brick—just the person to help at the moment. “Yes. Our friends were not as lucky as we were. They were caught in the storm and fell. This lady is Miss Livingstone. You remember Lord Freddie? Can you have Collins go for the doctor? They have head injuries, and her abrasions need to be treated. Could you possibly come up with some warm clothes for Miss Livingstone?” Tony scooped her out of the wagon with care. “Are the guest rooms made up?”

  “Yes, my lord. The other two are changing in Master Howard’s room. I would put the lady in the Pink Room.” She bustled after them. “I’ll tell Collins to go for the doctor. I should have something of my own for her to wear, although I am the larger. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Tony knew he must go off looking for the duke and duchess, but he didn’t want to leave Miss Livingstone. Climbing to the second floor, he tried to take the steps as smoothly as possible.

  He laid her across the pink counterpane in the cheerful room. Hopefully it would give her some comfort when she woke.

  Waiting for Mrs. Welling’s return, he hoped Virginia would regain consciousness again, but she didn’t. As Tony sat beside her in a ladder-back chair, he chafed her hands again and prayed she would open those luminous eyes once more. How seriously was she hurt? Was there a possibility her injuries could take her life? Worry pressed down on him, a hundred-pound weight.

  When the housekeeper arrived with garments draped over her arm, Tony said, “Please stay with her, Mrs. Welling. I must go looking for others who were downed in the storm.”

  “Goodness. What a terrible thing! There are others?” The housekeeper twittered about, opening the drapes. “I hope you will find them soon. I will stay right here with the lady, of course. She looks as though she has had a beastly time. I will get these wet things off her straight away.”

  * * *

  Their Graces were spotted walking unharmed alongside their passenger, the plucky Miss Braithwaite. Tony was greatly relieved to see them unharmed. They reported that they had descended without much difficulty before the storm gathered speed. They had been walking aimlessly for close to an hour.

  “Fortunately, we came down on my land,” Tony said. “I am sorry I did not find you sooner, but I am relieved you are without injury. Miss Livingstone and Freddie are not. They are at the house.”

  “How seriously are they hurt?” asked the duchess.

  Tony gave an account of their injuries. “Miss Livingstone suffered the worst of it, unfortunately.”

  “She may have sustained a concussion,” said Miss Braithwaite.

  “I confess, that is what worries me the most,” said Tony. “Freddie also complains of a head injury and a sprained wrist, but he seems much his normal self. I am frightened that Miss Livingstone may lapse into a coma.”

  “It will be a while before I go ballooning again,” said the duchess. “I sincerely hope Miss Livingstone is going to be all right.”

  “We should have known better than to let her go up with Freddie,” said the duke. “He is, without a doubt, the most feckless man of my acquaintance. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he tried to fly in the storm.”

  They boarded the wagon, and Tony carried them to the Hall. As worries overcame him, he was not able to sustain a conversation.

  By the time they reached Southbrooke Hall, Tony recognized the physician’s gig. He led the duke and duchess into the Yellow Room, which was to be theirs. Miss Braithwaite he led to the Flower Room next door.

  “Duchess, my housekeeper, Mrs. Welling, will bring you something dry to put on, though it will not be in the first stare of fashion. Ruisdell, I will get my valet to bring you some of my things to wear.”

  “That will be perfect,” said the duchess, her teeth chattering.

  “I should like to check on Miss Livingstone,” said Miss Braithwaite. “I have some medical knowledge to my credit.”

  “I would prefer it if you changed out of your wet things first. Mrs. Welling will be along in a minute.”

  Before he could check on the patient, Tony went off to fetch his valet for the duke, change into dry clothing himself, and check on his brother and Tisdale.

  Once dressed, he found Howie, Bertie, Tisdale, and Freddie in the sitting room before the fire, playing whist and drinking brandy.

  “I have brought back the Ruisdells and Miss Braithwaite. They are uninjured,” he told them.

  “And Miss Livingstone?” asked Tisdale.

  Oddly reluctant to have Lady Ogletree’s nephew in with Miss Livingstone when she awoke, Tony said, “The doctor is with her now. I will summon you when she is able to see you.”

  Tisdale looked as if he would argue the matter, but Tony turned and left the room before the man could get a word out. By the time he returned to the patient, he found her sitting up in bed with bandages over most of her face and swaddling her head. Distressed, he tried to school his features so that she would not read his worry.

  The doctor, Mr. West, said, “This is far less alarming than it appears. Miss Livingstone’s cuts and scrapes are superficial and should heal without any scars. She received a serious knock on the head, however. I believe her to be mildly concussed, and she has had some loss of memory about recent events. I expect her memory will return when the swelling in her head goes down. All in all she is a very lucky young lady
, considering she fell out of the sky.”

  “When can the bandages be removed?” Tony asked.

  “I will come to change them tomorrow. If her cuts have scabbed over, we shall remove them, then.”

  Miss Livingstone spoke, “I am certain that I look monstrous, but if I fell out of a balloon, as you say, it could have been much worse.”

  “Lord Freddie Saxby is down the sitting room. He appears to be well, but I would appreciate it if you could check his wrist. It may need to be wrapped,” Tony said to Mr. West. “As he is playing cards, his head seems to be perfectly fine, but perhaps you should check that as well. Thank you so very much for attending to my guests. I shall sit with Miss Livingstone now.”

  Only then did he notice the tiny Miss Braithwaite, partially masked by the bed curtains on the other side of the bed. She said, “She has questions, Tony dear.”

  The patient gave him a hesitant smile as the doctor packed up his kit and left the room. “Perhaps you can tell me who you are and how I happened to be in a balloon flying over your estate?” she asked.

  “I am Viscount Tony Strangeways, and this lady is Miss Braithwaite. You are a very adventurous lady. Nothing would do but for you to accompany Lord Freddie in our balloon race. We started in London at Green Park.”

  “London?” Her eyes filled. “I was in London?”

  He became seriously alarmed. This was more than a little memory loss. “You do not remember that you are living with your Aunt Lydia Ogletree in London? What is the last thing you remember?”

  She wiped her eyes with her sheet, trying to regain her composure. “The fire . . .” she whispered. Suddenly her face crumpled, and she wept without sound. “I only wish I didn’t remember. My parents . . .”

  Tony’s heart dropped. He watched her weep, helpless. “The fire?”

  Miss Braithwaite held a cup of tea. “Here, dear. This has plenty of sugar. It will help with the shock.”

  “But how did I get here? What am I doing in England?”

  Tony sat down next to her in the ladder-back chair and, without thinking, took her hands in his. “That is what I am wondering, actually. Our countries are at war. Possibly only your aunt and uncle know how you made it to England in wartime.”