She had to get up. She didn’t want whoever had seen her fall to think she was really hurt.
Leorah stood and gasped at the pain in her wrist. She held it against her stomach while she brushed the dirt from her riding habit. Goodness. She must look like a serving wench in a windstorm with her hair everywhere.
The driver had gotten down from his box and was striding toward her. Leorah gave him a wave, wondering who had stopped. Then she noticed the coat of arms on the side of the big black carriage. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was . . . Oh no. Lord Withinghall. He sat inside, peering out the window at her.
“Miss? Do you need help?” The elderly coachman approached, but the look on his face was more of annoyance than concern.
“I am very well, I thank you. You may tell Lord Withinghall that I do not need assistance.” Leorah began to strategize how she would get back on her horse with her injured wrist when she remembered she was going to make sure he hadn’t thrown a shoe.
Ignoring the coachman, who stood uncertainly a few feet away, Leorah kept her left wrist tucked against her middle while she used her right hand to lift Bucky’s left front hoof. The shoe was intact. She moved to his right side and winced at the pain that jolted through her wrist with every movement. She lifted Bucky’s right front hoof. The right shoe was missing.
Leorah groaned. Now she wouldn’t be able to ride her horse back home, and it was a long walk. In fact, she would not be able to make it home before nightfall.
The old coachman turned toward the carriage and called, “My lord, I believe she is injured.”
Leorah was certain she heard a groan coming from inside the carriage. The insufferable man. How could she possibly accept his help?
The carriage door opened, and the long form of Lord Withinghall stepped out of the carriage. “We saw you fall off your horse, Miss Langdon,” he drawled in his ill-tempered viscount’s voice. “Did you injure yourself or your horse?”
“Neither,” Leorah answered him. “You may be on your way. I don’t need any help. Only, when you pass by Glyncove Abbey, please inform them of where I am and have them send a groom on horseback.”
“What is the matter with your horse?” Lord Withinghall took one or two steps toward her.
“He has thrown a shoe.”
“And what is the matter with your hand?”
“I sprained it a little when I fell off my horse. It is nothing.”
“Miss Langdon, I cannot leave you here. By the time I reach Glyncove Abbey it will be nearly dark, and your groomsman may have trouble finding you. No”—he sighed—“you must come with me in my carriage.”
He didn’t have to make his reluctance to have her in his carriage so obvious. But she sensed he was exercising quite a bit of patience to only let out a sigh.
She stared at him, imagining his thoughts of distaste as he gazed at her in full disarray—hair wild and dirt all over her after her fall, holding her arm awkwardly to protect her wrist. But he said nothing, and she was surprised at his gentle expression. He was probably good at feigning concern. He was a politician, after all.
She had little choice but to accept his help.
“I shall tie my horse up over there and return momentarily.” She had already turned away before she finished speaking.
“Pugh, will you assist her?”
“Yes, sir.” He didn’t sound very happy, but she heard him tromping through the heather after her.
Leorah allowed Pugh to tie Buccaneer to the nearest tree—she wasn’t sure how she would have managed it with only one hand—and she spoke soothingly in Bucky’s ear, telling him the groom would come back for him very soon and not to worry. She gave him a rub and a pat before turning to follow the coachman back down to where Lord Withinghall was waiting for them by the carriage.
Lord Withinghall took her elbow and helped her into his carriage. He got in, stowed away the steps, and closed the door himself.
“Do you often travel without your footmen?” Leorah was not very curious; she only wanted to break the awkward silence.
“I sent them ahead with the other servants.”
He was looking at her from the other side of the carriage through half-closed eyes, as if she were some sort of specimen—a disagreeable one at that—to be avoided.
Just to annoy him, she said sweetly, “You are so very kind to allow me to share your carriage back to my home. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.” She smiled, hoping to frighten him into thinking she was flirting. But it was actually true. Her wrist was still hurting badly enough for her to think it was broken, and she couldn’t ride Buccaneer back while he was missing a shoe.
He narrowed his eyes even more and stared until she was certain he wasn’t going to reply. Finally, he said, “How far are we from Glyncove Abbey?”
“We should arrive in about an hour at this pace.” His coachman was not only old but also slow.
“Were you out riding all by yourself?”
“Of course. Why not?” She stared back at him defiantly. If she were his sister, or his wife, heaven forbid, he would no doubt command her never to go riding without at least a groom accompanying her. “I like to go my own way. I enjoy my freedom, and if my mother and brother trust me to ride alone, then I don’t see why you should object.”
“It is none of my affair, as you would no doubt point out, but you see now the wisdom of not riding alone after your current mishap. For you could not have made it back home before nightfall, and you would have made your parents and brother greatly upset and worried. They would have sent a search party for you and might not have found you before a great many tears had been shed.”
She might have shed a few tears now if she had not been in the presence of Lord Withinghall, for her arm throbbed horribly with each jolt of the carriage. She tried to hold it steady, cradling it against her stomach as unnoticeably as she could with her other hand, forcing herself not to wince or cry out every time one of the carriage wheels hit a hole or a rock.
His condescending words made her even more determined to hide from him that she was in pain.
“Since some people think me reckless and say that I flout society’s rules, you can’t possibly be surprised that I would ride out alone, on the property of my own family’s estate, on a horse I am very familiar with, as I am a very experienced horsewoman.”
“No.” He clasped his hands in his lap, giving her a very bland look. “I cannot say I am surprised.”
His attitude was infuriating, the tone of his voice arrogant and condescending. If only the carriage would sprout wings and fly to Glyncove Abbey! It seemed they would never get there at this speed.
Against her better judgment, she continued the conversation. “I suppose you think a lady should be at home, embroidering cushions or netting a purse or painting fire screens, rather than riding on horseback for her own amusement.”
“I would not volunteer such advice to you, Miss Langdon, but now that you mention it, those do seem a more productive and appropriate use of your time, rather than risking your neck on an equally reckless horse.” He frowned, his piratical eyebrows raised in that scandalously rakish way—the only scandalous thing about the man.
Leorah snorted. “That is just what I would have guessed you would think. But I am no wilting flower waiting to be plucked by the first man who asks me to marry him. I am a free human being with just as much life in me as any man.” She wanted to add, “Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I want to simper and pose and spend my time embroidering cushions.” But she stopped herself. Her words would fall on deaf ears, and they sounded peevish and immature, somehow, in the presence of this man who actually was doing something worthwhile with his time, discussing state policies and proposing new laws as a Member of Parliament.
How irritating.
“You have every right to be free, Miss Langdon. No one is denying you that. But freedom is only valuable if you use your freedom wisely.”
Try as she might,
Leorah could think of nothing to say to that. He’d had more experience with verbal sparring than she had, and it was irksome. The man was irksome. And arrogant. And annoyingly well spoken.
The next moment, the carriage hit a particularly jarring hole. Leorah drew in a loud, sharp breath as a pain shot through her arm. She bit down on her lip, fighting the urge to cry out. Her eyes were closed, but she imagined Lord Withinghall with a snide expression on his face, as if to say, “This is what comes of your recklessness.”
Oh God, help me make it home. Her mother would send for their kindly surgeon, Mr. Quimby, and put her to bed, and she wouldn’t have to look at Lord Withinghall again for a long time.
CHAPTER FIVE
Edward did not relish being alone in his carriage with Miss Leorah Langdon, and though it was foolish of her to be out galloping about the countryside by herself, he was sorry to see her in so much pain. She was trying to hide it from him, but her face had gone pale with that last jolt. He only hoped she wouldn’t faint.
“Miss Langdon, you are in pain. Shall I not have Pugh stop the carriage?”
“No, no,” she gasped. “Keep going.”
“Is it swollen or discolored?”
“It is nothing.” She spoke between clenched teeth.
If she fainted, at least he wouldn’t have to fight with her anymore, or listen to her frightful opinions. But that was cruel and beneath him. He had broken his arm once as a lad when he had fallen out of a tree. The pain had been fierce, until the surgeon had come and put it in a splint to keep the bone from moving.
“I believe if we stop I might be able to find something with which to splint your arm so that it does not sustain further injury.” He banged on the roof and called for Pugh to halt. The carriage slowed to a stop. Edward got up and moved to the door.
“What are you planning to do?” She eyed him suspiciously from those lively brown eyes of hers.
“I shall search for some straight sticks. Then I shall make a splint for your arm, since you are obviously in pain. The splint will keep the bones immobile so that every jounce of this carriage doesn’t cause you pain and possibly inflict greater injury to your arm.” He left the carriage and closed the door to, he hoped, prevent hearing any reply from her.
He strode briskly toward the small forest a short distance from the road and began searching the ground for sticks.
Bad enough she should end up in his carriage at all. Worse that she should be injured. Worse still that he should have to feel pity for her. After all, it was her own fault for being so far from home, alone, galloping so fast . . . Although, to be fair, he hardly knew anyone who had never been thrown by a horse. It was an accident, and it could have happened even if she had been very near home and surrounded by a company of stable boys and grooms.
But there was no mistaking that the girl was reckless and a danger, and she made him fear for his reputation whenever she was near. The sooner he could get her home and out of his presence, the better.
“Careless, wild, imprudent girl,” he muttered to himself as he found a perfect little limb lying on the ground. It was just long enough that he could break it in half and make two pieces of a makeshift splint. Soon he found two more suitable sticks, and he turned and headed back. As he neared the carriage, he saw Pugh standing next to the horses, looking a bit confused.
“My lord? Do you need assistance?”
Of course he needed assistance. He didn’t know what he was doing, and as he thought about it, he realized he could hardly avoid touching Miss Langdon’s arm repeatedly. Not at all the kind of service he wished to provide for any girl, but especially the one he had vowed to avoid.
“Are you a doctor, Pugh?”
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind. Come and stand over here.” Edward opened the carriage door and addressed his patient. “Miss Langdon, if you are willing to allow me to try, I would like to apply a crude and temporary splint to your arm, to hold the bones steady for the remainder of our ride back to your home. But only if you think it a good idea.”
She opened her mouth—a perfect, well-proportioned mouth, though quite unwise of him to notice—but didn’t speak for a moment, as if weighing her options.
Finally, she said, “Have you ever done this sort of thing before?”
“No, but I had a broken bone myself as a boy, and once the surgeon made the bone immobile with the use of a splint, I was no longer in pain. I thought it would lessen your discomfort for the better part of an hour until we can get you home.”
“I suppose it is worth a try.”
“Very well.” He held out his hand to her to help her out of the carriage, but instead of taking it, she held her injured left wrist with her right hand. He carefully took her elbow to help her down. Then he went inside, lifted the carriage seat, and pulled out the box of supplies he carried with him in case of injury to himself or one of his servants on these long trips between London and Grimswood Castle and his other two homes, one in Yorkshire and the other in Suffolk.
He found a thick roll of bandages. Then he came outside into the waning sunlight to rejoin Pugh and Miss Langdon.
How delicate she looked—a thought that had never occurred to him before—and how protectively she held her arm against her midsection. Now that he had all the needed tools, the prospect of actually splinting Miss Leorah Langdon’s arm made him glance over at Pugh, then back at her. “Would you rather I or Mr. Pugh apply the splint?” Let her say Pugh.
She stared down at Pugh’s quite weather-beaten hands, and, following her gaze, Edward noticed the old man actually had a tremor. Pugh had been with his family since before Edward was born, but he hadn’t realized, until this moment, how old he was growing. First Boyles, now Pugh. Was he so oblivious to his own servants?
“Um,” she said, peering up at him, “you.”
No, of course she wouldn’t want a man with a tremor to splint her arm.
Edward had Pugh hold the bandages and sticks while he slowly and carefully inched her sleeve up to her elbow, exposing her arm. The outside of the arm, near her wrist, was bruised and swollen.
“Looks quite hideous, doesn’t it?” Leorah murmured.
“Yes, but I’m sure it will be well. The bone only needs to be stabilized.” Of course, he didn’t know what he was talking about, but he wanted to reassure her.
“I know.” She seemed to bristle, standing a little straighter and stiffer.
So much for his reassurance.
He had Pugh hold the sticks in place as he decided where to apply them, trying to avoid the point of greatest bruising and swelling. But Pugh’s hands shook so much, Miss Langdon ended up holding them herself with her right hand while Edward began to wrap the bandages around the sticks.
“Let me know if it feels too tight.”
Miss Langdon didn’t say anything, but he suddenly wondered at his thoughtlessness. Most young ladies would probably faint at this point, and here they were standing outside instead of sitting in the carriage.
“You aren’t disposed to fainting, are you?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she retorted.
He might have known she would say that.
He wrapped the bandage rather tightly. To wrap it too tightly might cut off her circulation, but too loosely wouldn’t do any good.
He looped the linen bandage around her thumb, around her arm, and back again several times, using the entire roll, then secured the end with a pin.
“Looks snug enough. Now let us be off.”
Pugh stalked back to his perch in the driver’s box, probably thinking Edward ridiculous for splinting the girl’s arm. No matter. It was done now, and hopefully she wouldn’t faint or be in excruciating pain, and he could get her home within an hour and be on his way.
Better soon than late.
Leorah admired Lord Withinghall’s makeshift splint, marveling that he would take the time to try to make her more comfortable. Was he bothered by her look of pain? Or only afraid she might cry
or faint or some other womanly vice? No doubt the latter. He also didn’t want to risk his precious reputation, and perhaps he feared she might faint and claim that while she was in a state of incapacitation, he had done something odious, as others had done before her. Many girls would gladly take the risk of ruining their own reputations if they thought they might trap a viscount into marrying them. Truly, his situation was rather precarious. No doubt he’d had the same thoughts himself. She could almost pity him for having to always be on his guard against such schemes.
If the thought of seeing him so compromised weren’t so diverting.
Not that she couldn’t laugh at his anger toward her as well. He was an irritable old man at the age of twenty-nine, and if there was one thing Leorah was capable of laughing at, it was absurdity.
But she didn’t feel much like laughing at the moment. Her wrist was broken—she was sure of it—and though it felt better with the splint on it, she still wanted only to send someone for her horse and to be home again with Bucky.
In spite of her feelings toward Lord Withinghall, it would be unjust not to thank him for his trouble, so, after the carriage was well on its way down the road, and she and Lord Withinghall were once again seated facing each other in the bouncing carriage, she said, “I want to thank you for splinting my arm. It feels much better.”
Her words sounded rather grudging, but she didn’t want to sound more grateful than she was.
Instead of replying, he simply nodded.
So, they still weren’t to be friends. All the better.
Leorah watched out of the carriage window as the sun became obscured behind thick clouds and it began to grow dark earlier than usual. Perhaps they were in for some rain.
They started down a hill, and the carriage picked up speed. She instinctively drew her arm close to her body. She thought she heard the coachman yell something at the horses. Lord Withinghall seemed to hear it too, for he sat up straighter and slid closer to the window to look out.
A Viscount's Proposal (The Regency Spies of London Book 2) Page 4