by Carola Dunn
Taking her by surprise, for he had made no attempt to touch her in the carriage, he swept her into his arms and pressed a passionate kiss on her lips. For a moment she found the new sensation interesting. Then she decided it was horrid and she struggled, trying to turn her face away.
A familiar weight nudged at her thigh. Lord Kilmore suddenly released her, and stepped back as Midnight pushed his way between them.
Alison backed towards the door, wiping her mouth.
“I think he needs to go out,” she said, though Midnight just stood there looking at her abductor.
“I’ll call the tapster to take him,” Lord Kilmore suggested, giving the dog a wide berth as he moved towards her.
Midnight raised his upper lip, just wrinkling it up at the sides to reveal large, yellowish teeth. He did not go so far as to growl.
His lordship stood stock still. “Does he bite?”
“He never has,” Alison said with incurable honesty, “but I have never known him to show his teeth like that before, either.”
Lord Kilmore ventured another step. A low rumble began, deep in Midnight’s throat.
“On the other hand,” said Lord Kilmore with a sigh, “perhaps you had best take him yourself. I did not count on your bringing such a large chaperon with you.” He sat down and watched with a self-deprecating smile as she slipped through the door, her guardian at her heels.
Alison looked back. “I am sorry to leave you all to pieces, but it really would not do,” she said politely. “I hope you will find another heiress soon.”
His laughter followed her out to the muddy inn yard. It was a pity, she thought, that she did not want him for a husband. She had been almost resigned until he kissed her, for she did like him well enough, but that unpleasant experience had confirmed her decision that they would not suit.
The carriage stood horseless in a corner of the yard. No doubt the coachman was sinking a heavy wet in the taproom, while the ostler went in search of fresh horses. It had stopped raining, but dusk was creeping in and Alison had no idea how far from London they had driven. Stoically, she turned towards the sagging gate, glad that she was dressed for walking. Midnight padded beside her.
She rested her hand on his head. “Thank you, boy. I’ll buy you a big juicy bone.”
A piercing whistle made her jump. “Oy! Miss Alison! Wait!”
Tarry Joe ran towards her, his gait most peculiar as his holey, laceless boots squelched in the mud.
“Good gracious,” said Alison, “where did you spring from?”
“Off the back o’ the gentry cove’s rumble. Let you scarper, did ‘e?”
“Midnight persuaded him. I am excessively glad to see you, Joe. How far is it to London?”
The boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “‘Ell of a ways,” he said philosophically. “Let’s get goin’ afore ‘is nibs changes ‘is mind.”
The lane was just as muddy as the yard, and they made slow progress between looming hedges. Alison was somewhat cheered when Joe told her that he had sent Squeak to notify Lady Emma of her abduction. Still, it was growing dark and she had precisely eighteen pence in her pocket—not that any respectable hostelry would take her in for a king’s ransom in her present condition.
A horseman appeared round a bend in the lane, silhouetted against the deepening blue of the clearing sky.
“Alison?’’
‘‘Neil!” Lifting her skirts, she ran towards him, tripped in a pothole, landed on hands and knees, was up again and caught in his arms. “Oh Neil!” She burst into tears.
“Faith, you’re not going to turn into a watering pot on me?” he said severely.
“N-no, it’s just that I am so very glad to see you. I was afraid I should have to walk back to London.”
“No fear of that. Trevelyan’s just behind me. But where is the devil who stole you away? I’ve a bone to pick with the spalpeen.”
“He is back that way at a horrid little alehouse. Leave him be, Neil. He did not harm me. He just wanted to marry me.”
“And I just want to tap his claret! Come on, cousin, you can ride behind me.”
“I am not going back to that place, Neil Deverill. I want to go home.”
“We can’t ride double so far on Lady Emma’s mare anyway. Best keep walking till you meet Trevelyan.” Without further ado her cousin swung up onto his mount, saluted her with a wave and cantered on down the lane.
“Werl, if that don’t beat old ‘Arry!” remarked Tarry Joe admiringly. “Rarin’ fer a mill, ‘e is.”
“How could he!” stormed Alison, glaring after her cousin with muddy hands on hips. “This is the outside of enough. I shall never speak to him again. Should we go on or back?”
“There’s a sorta wooden step in these ‘ere bushes.” The child of city streets indicated the hedgerow. “You c’d set there an’ wait fer Mr. Trevelyan.”
“A stile? But supposing he does not come.”
“Now there’s a nob wot if ‘e says ‘e’s acomin’ you c’n put yer last farthin’ on it, Miss Alison. You set yourself down comfy-like wiv ol’ Midnight an’ I’ll ‘op along an’ make sure Bubble don’t miss ‘im at the turn orf.”
Deserted by all her rescuers but one, Alison sat down on the stile and watched the small figure tramp off, patient and tireless, in the gathering gloom.
“Oh, Midnight,” she sighed, “men are all quite impossible. Thank heaven for dogs.”
He laid his great head in her lap and looked up at her worshipfully.
The evening star was twinkling in the west but no others had yet joined it when Alison heard Tarry Joe’s voice again. “Jus’ roun’ this bend, guv.” A pair of weary horses appeared, and two more, and the shadowy mass of a curricle. As it stopped beside her, Alison stood up and curtsied.
“Good evening, sir. What a pleasant surprise to meet you here tonight.”
With a crack of laughter Philip jumped down and bowed, an elegant, sweeping bow fit for a cavalier.
“Good evening, ma’am. I trust I see you well?”
“As well as can be expected. I am very tired, Philip, and I want to go home, but I daresay we ought to go and see if Neil is come to any harm. Or if he has killed poor Lord Kilmore,” she added.
“Poor Lord Kilmore?” he queried, taking her hand and helping her up into the carriage with an arm about her waist.
His warm clasp, his steady strength, were unutterably comforting, but Alison drew away from him a little as he joined her and urged his team onward. She must not forget that he loved Lady Emma.
“Poor Lord Kilmore,” she repeated. “It was very wicked in him to abduct me, to be sure, but no harm has come of it and he is left without a feather to fly. And Neil is very angry.”
“I confess to having more sympathy for Neil than for Kilmore. I also am very angry.”
“I hope you do not mean to hit him too! Perhaps we had best go straight home and leave Neil to look after himself.”
Philip laughed softly. “You do not know the meaning of the word vengeance, do you?”
“Of course I do, but I cannot see any point in it. Besides, Lord Kilmore is my friend, and one does not cast off a friend because he makes one mistake. If he were truly evil he could have shot Midnight, or run him through with a sword or something.”
“If Kilmore has been brandishing a pistol we must certainly check on Deverill’s safety.”
“He did not brandish a pistol. I told you, he is not a real villain at all, or he would have had a rapier and perhaps a dagger. He would have hit me on the head and chained me in a dungeon, or imprisoned me in a high tower remote from the world. And Neil did not behave in the least like a proper hero, either, leaving me beside the road like that!” Her vexation revived. “Midnight was splendid, though.”
“So Joe told me. I shall have to do something for those boys.”
The muttered conversation on the box behind them ceased abruptly.
“The first thing is to find them dry clothes,” Alison said. “I know t
hey do not seem to notice discomfort, but they are both soaked to the skin.”
“Practicality is not the least of your virtues. Ah, this must be the place.” He drove into the yard. “Well, one thing is certain, I’ll not leave my cattle here overnight!”
In exchange for a couple of guineas the slatternly landlady promised to provide dry togs for Bubble and Tarry Joe. She seemed unperturbed by the goings-on in her inn. Alison was glad she had not appealed to the woman for help.
Philip preceded Alison into the room from which Midnight had rescued her, then stood back to allow her to enter. Despite her lack of desire for vengeance, she was incensed to find Neil sitting at the table with Lord Kilmore, drinking brandy. Then she noticed that the latter winced when he rose upon her entrance, and that one of his eyes was rapidly swelling shut. She hoped Philip would consider honour satisfied.
Philip was surveying the pair with approval, but Neil was regarding Alison with distinct disapproval.
“So that’s where the mud came from!” He brushed at his coat.
She looked down. Both cloak and skirt were caked with mud to well above the knee, and her gloves were filthy. “You saw me fall,” she began indignantly, but on a plaintive note added, “however I am too tired to argue about it now. I wish someone will take me home.”
“Just a few minutes more.” Philip drew out a chair for her at the table. “Deverill, a word with you.”
He and Neil went to stand by the empty grate. Alison sat down and pulled off her gloves. Lord Kilmore pushed his across the table to her.
“Wear these.” His smile was crooked. “I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea.”
“I’m sorry Neil hit you. I told him not to. Will you be all right?”
“The people here know me. I shall come about.”
Alison felt in her pocket. The coins had not fallen out when she tripped. She put them on the table, a shilling and two threepenny bits. “Here, it is not much but it’s all I have on me. I wish. . .I wish I might have fallen in love with you.” Red-faced, she jumped up and went over to Philip and Neil.
“I’ll not take a reward for rescuing me own cousin!”
“Call it payment for favours received.”
“Oho, so that’s the way of it, is it now? I’ve had me suspicions.”
Neil’s look of enlightenment and Philip’s warning glance puzzled Alison. She decided to ignore them in favour of doing her cousin a good turn.
“You must not stand on your pride, Neil. Think of Bridey.” She turned to Philip. “Neil wants to marry his Irish sweetheart, sir, and emigrate to the colonies.”
It was Philip’s turn to look enlightened, and oddly relieved. “That should not be difficult,” he said. “Would a government post in Canada suit you? I’ll have a word with Castlereagh. As a fellow Irishman, he will doubtless be glad to oblige. And for your Bridey’s sake you’ll accept something to set you up comfortably.”
Neil’s truculent expression was fading. “I’ll take the position and a loan, sir, and thank you for it.”
Philip nodded. “Come to my house tomorrow and we shall work out the details. Now we had best be on our way, for poor Emma and the aunts must be in high fidgets by now. I’d take you up, Deverill, but between the dog and the boys we’ll not have an inch to spare. I’ll be leaving my team at the Eight Bells in Hatfield, so I shall arrange a change of mount for you, and for Emma’s mare to be brought on tomorrow.’’
He smiled at Alison. As she took his arm, she recalled Lady Emma’s description of the man she wanted to marry: “Someone who solves problems.” Philip had everything under control. All she had to do was to climb into the curricle and lean back wearily against the squabs, knowing that he would take care of her.
He drove for some minutes in silence, then said abruptly, “I feel that Kilmore got off much too lightly. He really did not harm you?”
“He did kiss me. It was horrid. I cannot imagine why any lady should want to be kissed, but some do, do they not?”
“Yes, indeed.”
She heard amusement in his voice. “That sort of female,” she said, feeling very worldly-wise. But it was not a proper subject of conversation with a gentleman, even with Philip. Especially with Philip, for she could not help wondering what it would be like if he kissed her, though she knew he loved Lady Emma. “Thank you for helping Neil. Will Lord Castlereagh really find him a position?”
“If I ask him at once, before he discovers I mean to defect from the party.”
“I shall pay you back whatever you give Neil. Surely Aunt Zenobia will not object to advancing the money to me.”
His hand covered hers, warm even through the outsize glove she wore. “That will not be necessary. I believe your cousin will repay me in time, and if he does not I am well able to stand the nonsense, you know.”
“Lady Edgehill said something about you being wealthy. I did not pay much heed at the time.”
“Rich enough to buy an abbey, if I wanted one.”
“It would be prodigious romantic to live in an abbey.” She sighed. “But sadly uncomfortable, I daresay. Sometimes I think that everything Mrs. Meeke and Mrs. Cuthbertson ever wrote is all a hum.”
“You are burned to the socket. Everything will look brighter in the morning.” Philip sounded downright cheerful.
Alison laughed. “That is just what my aunts always used to say. And they were right.”
“Of course. Sensible women, your aunts.”
Refreshed by their brief rest at the alehouse, the bays soon trotted into the yard of the Eight Bells. Alison stayed in the carriage while Philip made arrangements to stable them and hire a fresh team. Plodding under Neil’s unaccustomed weight, Lady Emma’s mare carried him in a short while later and he strolled up to the curricle.
“All right?” he asked.
“Yes.” She smiled drowsily. “I’m glad about Bridey.”
“You’re a fine plucky lass, Alison, and it’s proud I am to call you cousin. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Afternoon,” she contradicted. “I shall not wake at least until midday.” She gave a huge yawn.
Philip rejoined her and they set off again. On the smooth, newly macadamized road, the well-sprung carriage rocked her gently. She felt herself slipping sideways, coming to rest with her cheek against Philip’s shoulder, but it was too much effort to move. She slept.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Philip looked up as Emma came into the drawing-room. Presuming on long friendship, he did not rise but saluted her with his glass of brandy.
“The poor child hardly stirred as Carter and I put her to bed.” Emma poured herself a glass of canary and took a seat on the opposite side of the hearth, where a small fire burned more for comfort than for warmth.
“I can imagine how she feels. I am exhausted and I did not go through a quarter of what she suffered.”
“I am weary myself. I cannot think how I should have survived the anxiety without Mr. Osborne’s kindness.”
“He was here to hold your hand, I collect.”
She flushed. “Yes, he was. As Alison’s guardian, in a sense, he had to be told, and I asked him to stay with me until you brought her home. I have a great regard for Ral…Mr. Osborne.”
“I don’t mean to tease, Emma, but it is something more than regard, is it not? Forgive me if I am wrong, I would say you are heels over head in love.”
“No, not heels over head. That was how I felt about Stephen—lost in a romantic haze, unable to think straight let alone see past the end of my nose. My feeling for Ralph is very different. I am so happy with him, but I am willing to acknowledge that he has one or two faults—very small faults!—such as thinking he is always right.”
“Which is common to all the male sex. A small fault, to be sure, and one easily remedied by any female with the least ingenuity. But do you also see his great disadvantage?”
“His birth. His being in trade. If I could not see it for myself, my family would have made sure to point it out,�
� she said bitterly. “I have not even confessed yet that I mean to marry Ralph, yet already Mama has deplored my friendship with him and Papa has warned me not to ask him to put Ralph up for any clubs. I dread to think what they will say if I tell them that we are to be wed. I believe they would refuse to attend the wedding, and I could not bear to humiliate Ralph so.”
“You do not owe your family anything. This is the moment when all your years of stubborn independence bear fruit. If you think they will refuse an invitation, then do not invite them.” Philip enjoyed her stare of surprise.
“I was certain you would agree with them! If anyone believes in pride of birth, it is you.
“Alison has taught me the error of my ways. I am ready to admit to being heels over head in love.”
“You! With Alison?” Emma was astonished now. “She is pretty and amiable—indeed, as I have told her, she is the pleasantest of all my protégées. But you have had any number of diamonds of the first water flung at your head over the years.”
“Any number,” he agreed. “Alison, on the other band, is unique.”
“What of the aunts?’’
“There are eccentrics in the best families.’’
“Not generally in such profusion.”
“Perhaps not, but then I am rather fond of them. They are not at all vulgar, except perhaps for Mrs. Winkle, and to her I must be grateful for the opportunity of knowing Alison. I shall encourage Mrs. Winkle to settle in Cheltenham with Mrs. Colonel What’s-her-name, which will be a great relief to the others, I have no doubt.”
“And those ragamuffins she is so friendly with?”
“Those ragamuffins saved her today. Tarry Joe wants to be a sailor, and Bubble a groom, and Squeak I believe would profit from going to school. I see no difficulty there.”
“You sound as if you are on intimate terms with them!”
“I am. I have also accepted responsibility for Neil Deverill and his Bridey, and I am even prepared to take on Midnight, who also had a hand—paw?—in the rescue.”
“The Newfoundland? Bridey? No, do not tell me; no doubt I shall hear everything in the morning.”