by Joan Vincent
Lady Juliane walked slowly to the spot.
After meeting her look for several moments, the man cursed and stepped away.
Lady Juliane stooped and picked up the crumpled toy and handed it to André. “Put it into your pocket—we will have it repaired.” Taking his hand, she led him out of the cottage.
Alva followed with Leora.
They walked across the farmyard to the waiting coach and were roughly pushed in when they reached it.
"Voici—Here,” said one of the men. He tossed in Lady Juliane's valise and another containing the children's belongings.
Juliane hurriedly grabbed hers and stashed it behind her. With the pistol a secure bump against her back, she attempted to quiet the other's whimpering.
"What will become of us?” cried Alva. “I'll never see me Mum and Da again."
"Have faith—Lord Adrian will not let us come to harm,” she assured Alva, not daring to question her belief in the statement.
* * * *
Lord Adrian halted his group. Cavilón and Mallatt edged up beside him. “Davey, how far is it?"
"Just a short piece now."
"As I thought. They most likely will have left. What is your guess as to their destination?” he asked Cavilón.
"There is not much choice for them. I would guess London or South Hampton—perhaps Dover—to be their goal. Any way they wish to go, they must use the same road for several miles."
"My thought exactly. Did you say you saw all of them?"
"Only one was missing, m'lord. And he couldn't have been far, because they all left the hut at the same time."
"Let's cross country then. We can get ahead and surprise them. They should not expect us."
"Is this wise?” asked Cavilón. “Perhaps some of us should go on to the farm."
"No, we will risk it."
"You are usually right, Adrian. Let's not waste time."
Pounding over the treacherous dark landscape, Mallatt wondered how he had ever concluded that Lady Juliane would be a calming influence on his lordship's life. His lord was now safely married, but here he was on still another wild and dangerous adventure. This had better be the last time, he thought as he followed the thundering horses before him.
An hour's ride brought them to their destination.
"We should have little trouble. They will believe us to be highwaymen. Mallatt, take Tom and go further up the road in case they get by us.
"Louís, take Lem and cover this side of the road. The rest of you, come with me to the other side. Have your pistols ready. Remember those within the coach and take careful aim.” He looked around at the men in the group.
"Dead men can do no harm."
Cavilón nodded and reined away.
Soon there was no sign of their presence. The waiting began once more. Sometime later the pounding of hooves caught their attention.
"Davey, is that the coach you saw?” whispered Lord Adrian.
"Aye, m'lord. I remember the front team—them white feet."
As Lord Adrian hoped, indeed prayed, it seemed all of the men were outside the coach. Two were on it and the other two rode alongside.
"They get one chance,” Adrian muttered. Spurring his mount from the brush, he called out. “Halt. Stop if you value your lives."
There was a momentary check in the coach's progress, then bedlam broke loose as shouts, gunshots, and men's cries erupted amid the thundering of hooves and whinnying of horses.
Inside the lurching coach, Lady Juliane tightened her grip on the wall strap and dug into the valise she had managed to open earlier. Fumbling desperately, she found the pistol.
The gentleman, unknown to Lord Adrian the fifth man, travelled in the coach. He cursed and waved his pistol about as he strove to keep his balance. Repeatedly he called to his men but none answered.
Outside in the dust left by the bolting coach's teams laid the two riders and one of the men who had been atop it. The night's blackness hid the quickly spreading stains beneath them. Lem halted and made sure of the work.
The remainder of Lord Adrian's group pursued the coach, its teams now running wildly out of control. As Mallatt and Tom caught hold of the teams and were slowing them, the others drew alongside.
Lord Adrian sprung from his mount, shouting “Juliane!” as the coach jerked to a halt. Wresting open the coach door, he was greeted by the thunderous explosions of two pistols.
Upon hearing Lord Adrian's voice, Lady Juliane's pulse increased. Then, seeing the gentleman across from her aim in the direction of Adrian's call, she raised her pistol from behind her back and discharged it a fraction before he discharged his.
Her aim was true; she sat frozen as the gentleman sprawled forward, his blood spurting over the other occupants. The next moment the opposite coach door was jerked open and four pistols intruded. This increased the hysterics of Alva and the children. The Frenchman was roughly pulled out, thumping onto the ground.
A familiar voice commanded, “Lady Juliane, give me the pistol. It is over now."
Leora's wailing penetrated her mind. Life came back to Juliane.
"Cavilón,” she breathed, releasing her grip on the gun. She looked blankly at the open door nearest her, and then her body finally obeyed her mind.
"Adrian!” Juliane screamed and jumped from the coach. Dropping to the ground, she knelt beside her prone husband.
CHAPTER 23
"Is he?” Julian asked fearfully.
"No, he is alive, but I can't tell the extent of the wound. It is in the shoulder. Do you have anything to staunch the bleeding?” asked Cavilón.
"Alva,” Lady Juliane called, rising and turning toward the coach. “Quickly—one of Leora's nappies."
The article was hurriedly handed to her. She knelt and pressed it to the wound. “What of the others?” she asked as Comte de Cavilón knelt at her side.
"All dead but for the coachman and the gentleman you shot. I don't think either will live very long.
"We must get Adrian to Trees.” He motioned to the two men behind him. Between them they managed to get the earl into the coach.
"Mallatt, handle the ribbons.
"Lem, care for the prisoners—we want answers from then if they live.
"Tom, fetch the surgeon to Trees. The rest of you collect our friends and follow."
"Aye, m'lord,” echoed all.
Mallatt whipped the team up even as Cavilón made to step into the coach.
Lord Adrian lay unconscious in Juliane's arms, her hand pressing the pad tightly to his wound. “Another,” she snapped as the warm blood seeping through stained her hands.
Cavilón knelt on the coach floor. “Put his shoulders in your lap. You will be able to staunch the blood more easily. I will help."
The coach rolled on endlessly. Infrequent glimpses of Adrian's face in the moonlight fed Juliane's worst fears for his life. She knew her happiness now lay only with him.
Finally there was a last lurch and Mallatt's shouts announced that they were at home at last.
A sleepy-eyed Holdt was jerked from drowsiness as Cavilón handed out the blood-spattered children. “Quickly,” the comte ordered. “The earl is wounded."
The remainder of the night was a blur to Juliane. Lady Tretain took charge. The arrival of the surgeon signalled their removal from Adrian's chamber.
"Bess has a bath drawn for you. We can do nothing but await the surgeon's judgment,” the dowager told her.
"The children have been given the fright of their lives. You must make yourself presentable and go to them."
"But I—” Juliane turned to Adrian's door.
"To your bath. We will be told how he does.” With a wave of her hand, the dowager countess motioned Juliane away.
* * * *
Morning brought a false calm. The surgeon had departed with assurances that the shot had been removed, and although his lordship had lost a lot of blood, his recovery was certain, barring infection. Leaving a potion and instructions, he went his way
, promising to return by evening to check his patient.
Juliane had seen to the children and then sat with Lord Adrian. She snuffed out the candles as full light flooded the room. He stirred. Taking his hand, she murmured softly, soothingly.
Adrian lay still for some time, then stirred once more. Muttering, he began tossing about.
"Mallatt,” Juliane called. “We must hold him still. The wound will open.
"Adrian,” she urged, “rest. You are at Trees."
"Trees?” he mumbled. “Can't be at Trees. I'm not bosky? Must find my angel."
"Lie still now. You were shot. If you keep moving, you will start the bleeding again. Hush now, lie quietly."
"Angel—my angel,” he struggled to open his eyes. “Lost her."
"No one is lost,” Juliane said softly, tears in her eyes. If only he were to speak so of her. Feeling him relax in her hold, she blinked back her tears. His eyes were open. His feverish gaze was neither hard nor cold as it met hers.
"Angel,” he sighed happily. “You ... came ... back."
Mallatt deemed his presence unnecessary and quietly left the chamber.
"You were wounded, Adrian. The man in the coach—he shot you,” she managed.
He closed his eyes tiredly and shook his head slowly. “Were you ... harmed?"
"No,” she answered. “The children were frightened witless but are well now. André has asked after you."
Lord Adrian smiled weakly. “What happened to the one who shot me?"
"He was badly wounded."
"Cavilón,” he sighed. “Always dependable."
"You must sleep now."
"I must speak with Louís—he must take care of Dougherty."
"When you awake."
Closing his eyes, Adrian relaxed. Soon he slipped into a deep healing sleep.
* * * *
Lady Tretain entered her son's chamber quietly. “How is he?"
Leaving her chair, Juliane whispered, “He is sleeping peacefully. Can you sit with him? I must see Comte de Cavilón."
"The comte is having a rather more ‘stimulating’ morn than he would wish. I imagine he will want.... Well, let him explain.” Lady Tretain took Juliane's hand and led her into the hall.
"Mallatt,” she said to the valet hovering by the door, “sit with him. We shall be back directly.
"You,” she instructed Juliane, “go directly to my sitting room. I will extract the comte.” She smiled conspiratorially, then moved regally down the hall.
* * * *
Comte de Cavilón joined Juliane in Lady Tretain's sitting room just minutes later.
"Your thoughts are deep, my lady,” he noted as he walked slowly to Juliane.
She unsuccessfully tried to smile.
"We have little time,” he sighed.
"What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
Briefly he explained about the runner, Dougherty. When she seemed to recognize the man, he asked, “Do you know the man?"
"No, Adrian mumbled something about you having to take care of Dougherty."
"I suppose he thinks it juste I am saddled with the task of smoothing things over."
"What trouble can Dougherty cause?"
"Much, but he won't. We will let him take the credit for last night's work. He wishes your statement and then he will go."
"But what can I tell him?"
"Adrian has told him you were married in France. Simply tell of going to Rouen, what you found there—mention that you planned to meet Adrian at Trees. Have no fear. I will guide you and will interrupt if necessary."
"Thank you. Adrian is fortunate to have a friend such as you.” She paused once more. “Did you learn what the men wanted?"
"Oui—the wounded men spoke of many things,” the comte hesitated, thinking how the one she had shot had somehow escaped during the night. Not wishing her to worry, he added, “before they died. It seems de la Croix—"
"Baron de la Croix,” Juliane interrupted him relieved to know the men would never trouble them again. “Then it was André's father who was responsible."
"No. A cousin. André is now Baron de la Croix. I will explain this all later. We must go to Dougherty now."
* * * *
Awakening with a start, Lady Juliane relaxed as she realized she was safe at Trees. It had been an interminable ten days since that long and terrible night in which Adrian had been wounded.
He had awakened with a clear head three days after the incident BUT an invisible barrier had slipped between them. There were few excuses to go to him once he was out of danger and he had not sent for her.
Juliane rose and pulled on her wrapper, her eyes on the closed connecting doors. How long would this go on? Was there no hope?
"Good morn, my lady. You look well rested. Lady Tretain said you were to breakfast before you did anything.” Bess held out the tray. “I wouldn't be surprised if her ladyship popped in to see if you were eating.
"They say Lord Tretain is much improved this morn. He ate a hearty breakfast.” Bess prattled on as her mistress picked at the food.
As much of her meal choked down as she could manage, Juliane dressed carefully in the green watered-silk gown that Adrian had chosen for her long ago. Her coiffure arranged, she walked about her chamber fretfully, wondering if she should go to Adrian or await his summons.
Deep in thought, she jumped at a knock on her connecting door. She rushed to it, full of fear and longing s.
Comte de Cavilón stepped back as she pulled it open. “Why,” he said, taking her hand, “what has upset you?” Then, noticing her eyes straining for what lay beyond the end of the passageway, he laughed gently.
"You think he is worse? No, he is so well recovered that he is complaining of the lack of your company."
Forcing slow steps, Juliane went to the bedside.
Lord Adrian's eyes danced, then darkened at her quiet demeanour. “You did not wish to see me?” he asked quietly.
Juliane felt the warmth of a slow blush begin to creep up her cheeks. Did she dare say what she felt? “I am ... pleased ... that you are so improved, my lord.
"What is it?” she asked, leaning forward with concern as he frowned.
"You are being unfair."
"Unfair?!"
"Yes, lean closer, please,” Adrian whispered. When she did so, he kissed her—causing her to blush fiercely as Cavilón smiled at both. “I told you I keep my word."
"You are incorrigible,” she stated with a half-hidden smile. Shaking her head Juliane sat in the chair Cavilón brought to the bedside.
"Louís, why do you not make things clear for Juliane?” Adrian reached for her hand.
"I will try to keep this simple,” Cavilón smiled as he gazed at the pair.
"Baron de la Croix left his home to try and protect his family. He had reports that his cousin—Eutin Renoit—was planning to use the unrest caused by the revolutionaires to make himself heir to the title and possessor of the family's wealth.
"The baron urged his wife to come with him—even to flee to England, but she refused. Eutin was responsible for her death. He then caught the baron and demanded he hand over the de la Croix emeralds, but something happened—the baron was killed.
"Eutin learned of your visit, about the children's survival, and began his pursuit, certain you had the jewels.
"Cora was killed because she did not have them and knew nothing. The attempts to take André were made to force you to hand over the jewels."
Juliane shook her head. It was fantastic; she had had no inkling.
"Eutin failed in more than one way,” continued the comte. “One more thing you should realize, my lady,” his face saddened. “With the mob ruling France, André's title is useless, his estates gone."
There was silence, then Juliane asked, “Yours also?"
"I was prepared,” Cavilón nodded. “I was prepared.” He passed a hand across his face, erasing the sadness.
"As I told Adrian, Dougherty has cleared the incident. There
should be no further trouble.” Smiling, he ended, “I bid you adieu. Lady Cecile has promised me a most diverting journey—I am to escort her home.” With a raised eyebrow and a gracious leg, he left them.
Juliane became conscious of Adrian's grip on her hand, of the warmth his touch brought her. Searching for words, she thrust back those she wished to speak and said instead, “The children—I must find Uncle Thedford for them. He named André his heir."
"I have had word about him,” Adrian said slowly and released her hand.
"You knew I meant to go to him?” she asked in disbelief.
"Not exactly, but it seemed the most likely thing. You mentioned an uncle on your first night here.
"I fear your plans are hopeless,” Adrian continued. “There is no estate. The reason your family never had anything to do with him was that he was more than slightly daft and had lost everything shortly after André was born. An old family retainer kept him until he died a few years ago."
Juliane studied the quilting on the coverlet. What would she do? Where would they go if ...?
"I have said I would adopt the children—do you object?” Adrian's voice throbbed with emotion.
Her eyes flew to his, her heart pounding.
"My lord, my lord,” Mallatt scampered in excitedly. “You won't believe it—it can hardly be credited. Look,” he held out one of André's toy soldiers for them to see.
"I was straightening it and it broke. See what fell out!” With a shake of the toy several green stones tumbled onto the bed.
"The emeralds,” breathed Juliane.
"The other soldiers are full of them,” he continued, then, noticing that the two before him had eyes only for each other, added, “We will see to this later, my lord. Of course, my lord.” He bowed and hurriedly withdrew.
"How could I have doubted you?” Juliane breathed.
"I could have explained I was an agent for the ministry."
She brushed her fingers across his to silence him. “There is no need to tell me now."
Adrian caught her hand once more. “Do you love me? Can you love me? Every moment since I regained my senses I have feared you would leave—that is why I dared not send for you.
"I love you so."
"Oh, Adrian, I have longed to hear—"
He claimed Juliane's lips—claimed her heart as well.