by Joan Vincent
“If he has touched her I will kill him,” Greydon bit out as he eased his four back to the main road and whipped them to top speed. “I’ll make her a widow if she is a bride when we arrive.”
Lady Lucille glanced at Geoffrey. Never had she heard her brother speak so darkly. In her alarm she turned instinctively to the squire.
He shook his head and squeezed her hand tightly. They bowed their heads in mutual prayer.
Farther away from London the traffic lessened into an occasional horseman or coach. Roland halted at the Lion’s Paw and exchanged his lathered, winded teams for two fresh pair. In minutes the landau bowled along, a trail of dust marking its progress, while three pair of eyes strained ahead for the miracle of the sight of the coach they pursued.
Many miles ahead the coach they rode in bounced heavily through one, then two more, deep ruts throwing Darby and Audacia from their seats. After the third jounce it came to a splintering halt. Darby tumbled from the coach cursing.
Benumbed by the spirits he’d been nipping, the coachman ignored Darby as he climbed laboriously down from the box. Assessing the damage, he muttered, “Broken spokes.” With deliberate steps he headed for the horses and began unhitching the first pair.
Darby, who harangued him all the while, was further inflamed by the coachman’s total disregard. He spun the man around and threw a punch at him.
The coachman focused bleary eyes on his attacker. “Whach ye doin’ thet fer?”
“What do you mean to do about that wheel?” Patrick blustered angrily. “I must get to Chatham before dusk.”
“Well, thet ‘er wheel ain’t goin’ to take ye.”
“I know that. What are you going to do about it?”
“Why, ride ahead to the next inn and fetch a wheel back.” The coachman shook his head at the man’s ignorance. His amiable air turned sour with Darby’s scold.
“Hurry now, you fool. I shall double your fee if you manage to return in good time. What is wrong with you?” he quibbled as the coachman crawled atop one of the wide-backed pair. “Hurry, you dolt,” Patrick shouted after him as the driver swayed perilously close to falling off the trotting horse.
“Double me fee, the chap says. His likes usually ferget to pay a’tall. Think his lordship could use a lesson. Wouldn’t hurt ‘im to wait a few hours more than need be.” The coachman glanced back at the pompous, strutting buck and burst into a deep laugh.
“Do ‘im good,” he said aloud and enjoyed the thought of his “justice” all the way to the inn.
Hearing Darby’s strident tone and insults, Audacia momentarily put aside her own distress. “That is no way to speak to an honest workman,” she reprimanded Patrick as she stepped down from the coach.
“That drunken dolt? What does he know of honest work?” he scoffed.
“Far more than you ever will,” Audacia snapped, her temper barely under control after the day’s events.
“Get back inside the coach. I’ll not have you trying to steal away,” Darby told her querulously, his confidence shaken by the accident.
“Where am I to run in these,” she scoffed, raising her skirts enough to show the satin slippers she had neglected to change in her rush to reach Daniel. “And the horses must be put in the shade,” she protested. “They could bolt and hurt themselves if they remain hitched to the coach.”
“Let them. Get inside, I say.”
“I don’t care to be in a coach dragged along by panicked horses,” she shot back and strode towards the team. Her steps changed to limping as the clods and sharp-edged ruts of the rough road bruised her inadequately protected feet.
“Hardly likely you can go far,” Darby noted watching her, and laughed. “Even when my plans are momentarily snared by an accident such as this, fortune still watches over me,” he boasted. Pulling a silver flask from his jacket, he tipped it up and drank deeply.
Audacia ignored him. A false calm came over her as she unhitched the team. She led them to a nearby tree and tied them securely.
“A drink, my dearest?” Patrick invited. He held out the flask as he followed her.
Audacia flashed him a look of contempt.
Walking up to her, Darby grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to another tree not far from the team. “Sit,” he ordered and pushed her to the ground. He sat heavily beside her and leaned against the tree. After a disgruntled grimace at the coach he drank deeply.
After straightening her skirts, Audacia rubbed her bruised feet and threw a furtive glance at Patrick. Fear, anger, then repugnance had been the ruling emotions thus far, but fear began to rise when Darby flung aside the now empty flask. It grew when he rose and stalked to the coach and removed a bottle of port.
Patrick sober was one matter; drunk, another entirely. Audacia stared down the stretch of road they had travelled. Someone, anyone, she prayed in a growing desperation, come—come and help me.
An hour passed and Darby got a second bottle of port from the coach’s boot. This he also emptied. His face was now flushed, his motions loose. His mood shifted from sullen to malicious. “Thought you’d not marry me, eh?” He lurched to his feet and weaved to where Audacia sat.
“You’re not so proud now, my pretty.” He grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. “A kiss for your intended,” he demanded and yank her against him.
Neither he nor Audacia saw the bobbing phaeton approaching at a breakneck pace as they struggled.
Bearing down on the stricken coach at a speed that bore no respect for the limbs of the animals pulling it or those atop it, the phaeton was well past Audacia and Darby before Roland could rein the sweating teams to a halt. Geoffrey leapt down as they passed the grappling pair, staggered as he hit the ground, regained his footing, and ran toward them.
Twisting about in her seat, Lady Lucille watched as the squire reached the pair. Darby still held onto Audacia but Geoffrey wrenched one of Darby’s hands from her. A straight-legged kick to Darby’s stomach doubled the man over in pain. The squire’s well-muscled arm smashed into the drunken man’s jaw. Darby lurched backward. A second blow sent him sprawling to the ground unconscious.
Exultant, Lady Lucille jumped to the ground and ran to them.
The squire recovered from his surprise at his success in time to steady Audacia, who had begun trembling.
Lady Lucille enveloped them both in a joyous hug.
Greydon, a deep scowl on his face, watched the scene as he turned the teams about on the road. So much for rescuing Audacia and erasing all her misconceptions, he thought darkly.
In the wild enthusiasm of the moment, und Lady Lucille threw her arms about Geoffrey’s neck and kissed him soundly.
The Squire drew back totally stunned. He could hardly credit how Lady Lucille gazed at him, dazzling in her happiness. “Lucille,” he signed and kissed her.
Audacia stepped back from the pair. Her spirit rose with their happiness. Success with their cause was certain. After a glance to assess Darby’s state, she walked to the broken-down coach. Finding she still shook, she put a hand on the wheel to steady herself.
“Don’t you think you went rather far in your scheming to bring them to their senses?” Roland snapped angrily.
“Far?” Audacia turned to him in outrage. Her emotions had been too stretched, had swung too violently and too far to deal with this man sensibly. “Far!” she spluttered again, hopelessly torn between anger and the overwhelming desire to rush into his arms.
“Did you teach Geoff how to manage that as well?” Roland asked, directing her gaze to the ardently embracing pair.
Red flared to her cheeks.
“Mayhap you have a mind to teach me, also?” the earl continued, half serious, half teasing as he groped for words that would not come beneath Audacia’s strange, intense gaze.
“Why Geoffrey values you as a friend is beyond understanding,” she retorted, stoking her anger. His impassive stare was more than she could bear.
“Your gratitude overwhelms me once more, Miss Ader
ly. I have ruined my best bloods to reach you before Darby—in time,” he amended when she blanched.
“I believe you are actually jealous of Geoffrey. Jealous that it was he who levelled Darby,” she exclaimed indignantly as part of Greydon’s emotions came to her in sudden clarity.
“Haven’t you kept him a cripple in your mind long enough?”
“His lack is of my making. You needn’t remind me of that. I live with it.” The earl was shocked at his words. It was the first time he admitted aloud the guilt that had ridden him since Portugal. “Look at him. Why do you pretend he has not lost the arm?”
“Yes, look at him,” Audacia repeated with equal force. “Does he look different from any other man?” she softly. She stepped forward, laid a hand upon Roland’s taut arm.
“You have both your arms, but—”
“God, don’t you think I know that.” He whirled away from her touch. “I have lived with this from the moment it was done. If I could have I would have torn my own arm off.” The earl’s eyes flared wide; his breath came in heavy gasps.
“You have no right to say such things,” Audacia told him, her edge of calm almost shattered by the day’s rolling turmoil and the power of the emotions that flowed from the tortured man before her.
“He took a ball meant for me. Can’t you understand that? It should have been my arm, not Geoff’s.” A tear rolled down Roland’s cheek.
“If it had been meant to be, it would have been your arm. Are you so buried in self-pity that you cannot see that? Many men lost limbs in the war and many did not. Thank God for those who were spared.” Audacia flung aside what little caution, what little control remained. “Free the ones who were not from your self-pity.”
“Enough.”
Greydon’s voice seared her.
“What can you know—”
“What? I know it is time regret—useless regret—was over and done with,” Audacia implored. “When did you last look at Geoffrey and see him—not his missing arm? He has faced it, acknowledged it gone. Now you must,” she pleaded.
“Instead of pitying him, realize it is you that you pity. You saved his life. Look, is he cursing you for it?”
Roland swung about and met Geoffrey’s gaze as he and Lucille approached, his arm about her. For the first time the earl realized what it was in his friend’s look that had puzzled him since he had been to Warwickshire. It was pity for him— for he who still had both arms.
“Take your guilt and purge it by action.”
The earl heard Audacia’s voice as if it came from afar. “Have you not seen the streets of London filled with the butchered men of the wars? Find a use for their lives. Give them a purpose,” she challenged. “Then you may find the vindication that you seek.” Her words echoed hollowly as she saw his look harden.
Roland could not look at Audacia; could not risk seeing her scorn. “Geoff, take them—take them both in the phaeton and return to London as quickly as you can,” he rasped. “That’s an order, Lieutenant.” His voice cracked. He bent a blazing glance angrily at Audacia for a scant condemning second.
“Our mission will not be ended until there is no chance of rumour left. I’ll remain with Darby and return when his coach is repaired. Take her.” He grabbed Audacia’s arm and pushed her forward.
Lady Lucille darted to the now frozen figure, took her arm, and led her to the phaeton.
With an angry shake of his head, Roland dismissed anything Geoffrey would have said as he paused before him.
Mutely the squire gripped the earl’s shoulder, gave silent comfort, and then walked on.
After helping Audacia to the phaeton’s seat, Lady Lucille scrambled up and picked up the reins. The squire joined the women.
“Can you manage four?” Lady Lucille asked.
“If you place the reins for me,” he answered, spreading his fingers before her. “They should be jaded enough to cause no trouble, but it will not be easy. One is enough for me to handle. I cannot do everything,” Geoffrey told her, his eyes speaking of far more than the teams before them.
“It will be an honour to help you—always, if you will allow me,” she told him.
Gently they kissed, exchanged a lifelong pledge. Both heard a low, dry sob break from Audacia and turned to her.
“I—I am so—so happy for you.” She made a valiant attempt to smile but failed. “So happy,” she repeated as she glanced back at Roland who turned his back.
Geoffrey flicked the reins, thankful that Greydon had turned the teams about.
Lady Lucille gripped Audacia’s hand. When they rounded the first bend in the road, she said with an understanding born of her own experience, “He cannot see you now,” and opened her arms as Audacia turned to her with disconsolate tears.
Chapter 24
A bright August sun cast the short shadows of midday as Audacia entered the modest rose-red Keuper stone house. She immediately spied the letters upon the table in the entryway and hungrily grabbed them. A soft, sorrowful sigh escaped as she turned them over and saw Lady Lucille’s neat hand upon one and Daniel’s heavy scrawl upon the other. Walking toward her father’s workshop, Audacia broke the seal on Lucille’s missive.
“Will the squire and his bride be coming home soon?” Sir Maurice asked, looking up from his work as his daughter walked slowly into the workshop, her head deep in a letter.
“Yes, they are to return in less than a week if I read this correctly.”
“It will be good for you to have someone to visit,” Sir Aderly said. He returned to his work but his concern remained with his thin, sad-eyed daughter.
“Yes,” she returned vaguely. “Lucille mentions here that they stopped in Reading to visit Helene at the school Lord Grey—at her school. Says they found her quite happy and looking forward to her proposed visit here next month.” She read along silently then quickly folded it.
“How does the work progress?”
“Slowly as usual. Ballin should be returning soon with the gear I ordered from London. I have great hope it will be a step forward.”
“You will succeed, Father, I am certain.”
“I wish I were that positive,” Sir Aderly said tightening a bolt. Father and daughter looked at each other, their thoughts shared; the success of the harvesting machine had become of utmost importance with Lord Greydon’s purchase of partial rights in it for over £5,000. The knowledge of their debt weighed heavily, if for different reasons, on both.
“Is the other from Daniel?” Sir Aderly asked.
Breaking the seal on the second letter, Audacia read hurriedly. “He says he is learning much from Mr. Adams and is looking forward to returning to school this fall. The choice of becoming a solicitor has proven well founded with him,” she noted happily.
“Good. Good,” her father sighed. “His lesson was hard but he has matured because of it. It was good of Lord Greydon to tell me what the lad wished to do.” Sir Maurice shook his head sadly over his mistakes with his son.
“Does Lady Lucille make mention of the earl?” he asked cautiously.
“Only that he is in good health.” Audacia glanced back at the first letter. “They saw him last week by these dates. I think I shall go walking, Father. Tell Miss Bea—” She halted and laughed at her mistake.
“Tell Mrs. Ballin that I shan’t be eating lunch.”
“But, Audacia—”
“I am just not hungry, Father. Perhaps I’ll have a light collation with tea.”
“Don’t be too long in the sun,” Sir Maurice admonished as she turned away.
Audacia walked back to him and kissed her father lightly on the cheek. “Truly, Father, all is well with me.”
“I know how it is, Audee. I loved your mother dearly.” Sir Maurice patted her shoulder awkwardly.
“It has been many years since you called me that.” She swallowed the large lump in her throat that refused to go away.
“Only because I would give anything to have my carefree, raucous daughter sing and laugh
as in the past.”
“Someday, Father.” Turning, she hurried from the workshop and out of the house and made for the trees and river in the distance.
“‘Tis a sin the way Miss Audacia pines for that man,” Ballin muttered as he entered the workshop. “She went past me now almost in tears.”
“That was my doing, Ballin,” Sir Aderly dismissed the subject. “Did the gear arrive undamaged?”
“Aye, sir.” He began to open the package. “I inspected it before I brought it along.”
“Good, let’s see it.”
“Couldn’t ye write to him, sir?” Ballin dared to ask. “Surely the man—”
“It is none of our doing. Meddling would only worsen the pain for her. No, time will resolve it.
“Unpack the gear,” Sir Maurice ordered with finality.
“Sir Aderly! Sir Aderly, come quick. It’s him,” Mrs. Bea shouted as she hurried into the workroom.
“Calm yerself, woman,” Ballin urged his wife. “Who has come?”
“Him. You know—Lord Greydon,” she finally managed.
Sir Aderly and Ballin exchanged glances. “See to the door,” Aderly ordered. “I’ll go to my office.”
“Aye, sir—and wipe the grease from sir’s face,” the butler instructed his wife.
“Where is Miss Audacia?” Mrs. Bea clucked. “Of all times for her have wandered off.”
“It’s probably best she is,” Sir Aderly noted. “If his coming is not on her account but only to see how his investment prospers she will be spared the pain of seeing him,” Sir Maurice replied. “My cravat. I’ll attend the grease. Fetch my cravat,” he ordered, “and my coat.”
“That is not at all necessary,” Lord Greydon’s deep clear voice interrupted him. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Sir Aderly.” He extended his hand.
Sir Maurice wiped his hands hurriedly on the cloth he held and shook hands, appraising the firm grip of the other. “You can see the experiments have not met with success thus far. We have not been as successful as one might wish,” Aderly began.
“I am not here because of your work. May we speak privately?”