His heart still racing, he felt a hundred things at once. Fear, still—though it was swiftly being replaced by relief and pride. She truly was a woman in a million. His heart swelled with love for her. He wanted to take her in his arms and declare it, though he knew he couldn’t. Not yet, leastways.
* * *
What a strange procession! thought Charlotte.
Three ragged outlaws, grumbling and muttering as they proceeded along the path, followed by an earl with a knife and a lady with a pistol. Behind them were Henrietta and Hubert—the latter struggling to carry the musket and the knives and protect his coat. Henrietta was—thankfully—still silent. Then, to the rear, Lady Olivia was leading the tall black stallion.
Why, it is better than a harlequinade!
A gurgle of laughter bubbled up. The Earl caught her eye, an answering gleam of humour in his. He shook his head admiringly and Charlotte’s smile broadened. Now that the danger had passed she felt quite exhilarated.
As they reached the road they heard the sound of hoofbeats. Reinforcements had arrived from the stables: two grooms on horseback, carrying shotguns and ropes, and a little behind them the aged former king of the stables—Old Harold—driving a rumbling farm cart.
Harold subjected the outlaws to a venomous tirade which, far from cowing them, made them open their eyes wide in admiration. They allowed their hands to be securely tied, marvelling that one so old and decrepit could swear so well and so colourfully.
‘I never heard the like of it,’ said one of the short ones to the other. ‘Why, he’s better than our old sergeant when he was in his cups!’
Safely installed in the back of the cart, and eyeing the alert grooms with resignation, they fell silent. Henrietta and Olivia climbed into the front of the cart beside Harold, who told them to keep their skirts away from the floor.
‘Er...might I perhaps join you?’ asked Hubert, with an earnest, pleading look.
‘Hmmph! You may—if you keep an eye on the stock in the rear,’ said Harold.
Charlotte watched in bemusement as Hubert walked to the back of the cart. Taking out his handkerchief with a flourish, he dusted a small area of the floor of the cart. After inspecting his handiwork he spread out the kerchief, ensuring it was perfectly aligned with the side of the cart. Finally he carefully arranged himself on it, ensuring that his coattails would not be crushed.
The bandits watched too, with rapt attention and open mouths, before declaring it as good as a trip to Vauxhall.
Henrietta and Olivia, now feeling safe, began talking of their shock and fear at the unexpected events—their tones displayed thrilling excitement rather than fear, which was reassuring to Charlotte.
The cart lumbered off, with an armed groom riding on each side, while the Earl and Charlotte followed on foot, leading the Earl’s horse.
Charlotte put her weapon away.
‘Miss Wyncroft, allow me to say you are a most unusual female.’
He looked at her with that same glow of admiration in his eyes. Charlotte felt herself blush.
She looked up at him shyly. ‘Oh, no! Papa insisted I must have my gun in my reticule at all times—it is quite a habit with me. I am quite a good shot, too.’
‘Really? Somehow that does not surprise me.’
‘I also had lessons in how to defend myself from attack—one of Papa’s colleagues had trained in the Far East. He had interesting techniques, whereby even a frail woman might escape from a taller, heavier man—though it did not come to that today.’
‘You were managing the situation incredibly well.’
‘Have you not realised I am a “managing” female?’
He laughed. ‘The thought had occurred to me. But, tell me, were you not afraid?’
‘Completely terrified!’
‘Then how did you manage to appear so composed?’
‘Calmness of mind, Papa says, and the ability to think while frightened is a soldier’s skill.’
‘Do you see yourself as a soldier, then?’
‘We are all soldiers when we have to be. And, besides, I was the only one with a gun to hand. That gave me a certain advantage.’
‘May I inspect it?’
Fishing it from her reticule, she handed it to him. He felt it in his hand. It was nicely balanced, and was the smallest pistol he had ever handled. The workmanship was excellent.
Then he made a discovery. ‘It is loaded!’
‘Well, of course it is! How can I shoot if it is not loaded?’
‘And would you really have shot someone?’
‘I believe so, yes. But I could only have shot one of them, so I needed to keep them all guessing as to who it would be until they were disarmed. I could see the musket was not ready to fire, so they just had their knives.’
‘What did they want? Jewels?’
‘Yes—and they may have...harmed us. They certainly threatened it.’
His jaw tightened.
‘I am not wearing any jewels, apart from this amber cross which was my mother’s. I should hate to lose it.’
‘Olivia does not wear expensive jewels yet. What of Miss Buxted and Mr Etherington?’
‘Henrietta is wearing a silver necklace today, and Mr Etherington has a signet ring—and his snuff box looks expensive. I do believe, though, that his main concern was for his coat!’
He lifted an eyebrow.
‘Oh, dear, now you have made me say something indiscreet.’
‘Not at all—for I agree with you.’
Something strange and surprising then occurred. Charlotte was suddenly, unexpectedly, assailed by delayed fear. A warm rush of reaction flooded her stomach, her leg muscles felt weak and she began to shake violently. She faltered in her steps.
‘Charlotte! You are not well! Please—let me assist you.’
Adam took her hand in his large, warm one and placed his arm around her waist to steady her. He led her to a nearby tree stump, where she sat with relief.
‘I am so sorry. I do not know what has come over me. I am not normally a weakling.’
He crouched down beside her. ‘It is a natural reaction to what has happened. I confess I feel a little the same. I was fearful of what I might find, and now I am greatly relieved. I think my mind has yet to catch up with my beating heart.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘How did you know? Or was it by coincidence that you came to the woods?’
He told her, and they talked of the incident again.
He planned to send the poachers to Godalming, for the attention of the authorities, with the grooms acting as armed guards. The magistrate might wish to speak to Charlotte and the others before deciding their fate. Prison—possibly transportation—awaited the trio.
Charlotte understood that she would not encounter them again, for which she was profoundly grateful.
Neither commented on the fact that her hand, somehow, remained resting in his, and his arm still encircled her tenderly. Charlotte felt safe with him. She wanted nothing more than for him to take her fully into his arms, though she knew he could not.
‘They are former soldiers, you know. I did not wish to ask them their regiment as they do their comrades no credit.’
‘Yes, I heard them say so. There are many like them in England these past weeks, looking for work.’
‘They should have their prize money.’
‘I suspect for some the prize money does not last long. The taverns and gambling dens of the port towns have been busy since the army started arriving back.’
And the whorehouses, he thought, though he refrained from mentioning this.
Silence fell. The cart was out of sight.
‘I declare I do feel much better. Shall we walk on?’ asked Charlotte.
‘You are still dreadfull
y pale. I shall take you up before me.’
Despite her protests—which, indeed, were half-hearted, for she was relieved not to have to walk—he lifted her onto his horse. Using the tree stump as a mounting block, he climbed up behind her.
Charlotte was seated awkwardly, on one corner of the saddle and facing to the left. His left arm was around her waist and, although he did nothing improper, she was conscious of the closeness of their bodies. She could feel his warmth burning through her and could smell his scent—a mix of soap, the outdoors and something else...something uniquely, wonderfully him. This close, she was struck by how large he seemed. She was a little less than average height for a lady, but he made her feel tiny. She relaxed into him.
He walked them towards the house slowly—very slowly—perhaps because his horse was tired. The poor animal did not protest at the extra weight, but ambled easily along the road. Charlotte wished the house a hundred miles away, for she could have sat like this, in bliss, for ever.
It was not to be.
Grateful that no one was around when they arrived, she slid off, allowing him to continue to the stable-yard. She murmured a word of thanks while avoiding his eyes, then mounted the steps to the house.
She entered to a scene of chaos. The hallway was thronged with servants and the door to the drawing room was busy with comings and goings. She could hear loud wailing in the drawing room and hurried there, although she suspected she knew what she would find.
The room was full of people. Henrietta, as expected, was the focus of attention. She was lying on a sofa, howling and crying, as her mother held her hand and Flint applied hartshorn. The house guests were ranged around her, expressing shock and sympathy.
Ignoring the tragedy being enacted, Charlotte crossed the room to sit with Olivia, who was sipping tea in the corner. She looked pale, and her hands shook slightly. They talked quietly, Charlotte telling her how she too had been affected by aftershock, that it was to be expected. Olivia confessed to feeling unwell—partly because she was distressed to see Henrietta in such a state.
‘Well, you know Henrietta becomes distressed like this from time to time. It is her way of reacting to things. And we have all suffered a shock today.’
‘It is only now, when I reflect on it, that I remember how frightened I was, and how those men looked. You were so brave, Charlotte.’
‘Indeed, I was quaking in my boots. But I think we were all brave, for we all maintained self-control. You were my adjutant—strong and quiet by my side. Even Henrietta did not panic at the time.’
Olivia liked this. ‘We rescued ourselves, did we not? Though I was glad to see Adam arrive.’
‘As was I! I wasn’t sure I could keep all three of them under control for much longer.’
Miss Langley brought Charlotte some tea, declaring how shocked she was. ‘This is all most dreadful. And poor Miss Buxted is so distressed. I must go to her...see if anything more can be done for her.’
* * *
The Earl entered the drawing room at this moment, having come directly from the stable-yard. His eyes swept the room, alighting first on the drama featuring Henrietta, then seeking...
His gaze found Charlotte and Olivia in the corner, talking quietly, their heads close together. As he watched Charlotte set down her teacup and took Olivia’s hand. The Earl’s gaze softened.
Harry, observing this, smiled knowingly.
He called his brother’s attention. ‘Adam, what’s all this about you going off after poachers without me? And riding into goodness knows what without even stopping for a gun.’
‘I knew you would scold me for that, Harry.’
‘Where are the villains now? I understand the grooms have them trussed and helpless?’
‘Yes. They have just left for Godalming, accompanied by Old Harold and two grooms. I have sent Martin to ride ahead and alert the magistrate.’
Henrietta’s wails began to subside as she became interested in the conversation.
‘What a shame,’ said Hubert. ‘For I wished to have words with them about the amount of dirt and grime on their weapons. It is truly shocking! Have you seen this mark on my sleeve? Rust! My coat will never recover, I fear.’
‘My dear, brave son,’ said Mrs Etherington affectingly, raising a handkerchief delicately to dab at the corner of her eye. ‘I am sure you protected the ladies exceedingly well.’
‘I did my best, Mama. But, you know, they really shouldn’t allow such scoundrels to wander through the countryside.’
Henrietta, from her sofa, murmured faintly, ‘If not for Mr Etherington I do not know how we should have managed. He steadied me when I should have fainted, and he took the weapons from those dastardly rogues.’
Remembering anew, she burst into noisy tears. Millicent, who had remained in the background, shook her head and pursed her lips.
Miss Langley, Mrs Buxted and Flint renewed their care of Henrietta, rubbing her feet and hands and applying cold cloths to her forehead. They were joined by Mrs Etherington, who had been inspired by Henrietta’s sympathetic portrayal of Hubert.
* * *
On the far side of the room, Charlotte only just managed to prevent an outraged Lady Olivia from challenging Henrietta’s version of events.
‘But, Charlotte, it was you who rescued us! Mr Etherington just stood there, making stupid comments about his clothes.’
‘Hush, now. Henrietta is upset, and Mr Etherington did indeed support her. And he did pick up the weapons.’
Charlotte said what she knew she ought, though inside she agreed completely with Olivia.
‘Only because you asked him. And he grumbled about it the whole time. Why, he is still grumbling. He is not the hero. Charlotte, you are the hero, and I shall always remember it.’
Reverend Sneddon sidled up to them. ‘Dear Miss Wyncroft... Lady Olivia. I was never so shocked in my life. To think this could happen here, at Chadcombe. And I might have been with you, only I was not feeling well today.’
‘That was a lucky circumstance.’
‘Indeed it was, Miss Wyncroft. But I was decidedly colicky all night. I had no sleep whatsoever, and providentially fell into a light doze this morning.’
‘And are you now recovered, Reverend Sneddon?’
‘I do not say “recovered”, for I expect it will take at least two days to fully defeat this. But I have always been stoical about sickness. It is one of my strengths, I think.’
* * *
Nearby, Adam and Harry were listening.
Fuming, Adam muttered to his brother, ‘We need to rid ourselves of this little man. Prating on about his colic instead of asking how Olivia and Miss Wyncroft do!’
‘You are right,’ said Harry, ‘for anyone can see they are both pale.’
‘They were extremely brave. Miss Wyncroft held all three rogues up, you know.’
‘What? I had not heard this!’
Adam explained.
Harry was most impressed, asserting that Miss Wyncroft had risen even more in his estimation. ‘Intrepid as well as beautiful. And kind with it. An excellent young lady.’
‘She is unique,’ said the Earl simply, looking towards her.
Chapter Fifteen
The day of the ball dawned cool and cloudy. It had rained during the night, and the scent of fresh-cut grass seeped through Charlotte’s window, which she had left ajar. The scythe men had been busy for three days, cutting the lawns in front of the house, and had finished the job last evening.
Charlotte had requested to be woken early, as she would be busy all day. She had also insisted that Miss Langley should not be woken earlier than her usual hour, for she wished the old lady to have as little as possible to do today. Miss Langley, grateful, had agreed.
One of the new housemaids helped Charlotte don a prett
y morning dress of figured muslin, and made her hair into a simple topknot. Flint had hung up Charlotte’s ball-gown in preparation, and seeing it gave Charlotte a girlish thrill. The day had finally come.
Her excitement was tinged with sadness, for tomorrow would be their last full day at Chadcombe. The thought of returning to Buxted House was strangely oppressive, though it would be good to see Papa again. She had not heard from him in the last ten days, but there might be a letter today, giving details of his arrival.
On her side table was a carefully drafted list of her tasks for the morning. Casting an eye over it, she left her room and headed straight for the kitchens.
A cheerful cacophony greeted her as she hurried along the narrow corridor—clanging, chopping, sizzling, and the babble of voices. She opened the door. The kitchen was filled with steam, servants and the smell of food.
Cook, though harassed, had everything well in hand. Charlotte was relieved to find the ovens were all functioning perfectly, and that the preparation of supper dishes was on schedule. An extravagant dinner was also to be served, for they would have a number of dinner guests from among the local gentry. The majority, though, would arrive after dinner, leaving their homes in the early evening and returning by the light of lanterns hung on their carriages.
Leaving the kitchens, Charlotte mounted the back stairs to Merrion’s room, near the main door. The butler had been polishing the silver all week, since the ball had been announced, and now had only a few pieces yet to complete. Later he would mix the punch—a delicate operation which would conceal powerful alcohol beneath a sweet fruity taste.
In the hallway she encountered Grove, who invited her to accompany him to the ballroom.
The ballroom looked magnificent. It was a large room, elaborately decorated in the rococo style. Gilded cherubs adorned the mirrors and picture cartouches. Classical scenes had been painted directly on the walls, while the ceiling featured a large painting of Dionysus and his Maenads.
Along the sides were ornate chairs and side tables, as well as a few sofas, all in an exuberant style that matched the room. These were arranged so as to give a good view of the dancers for the chaperones and those who were not dancing.
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