by Stella Riley
‘This,’ she remarked, through slightly chattering teeth, ‘isn’t g-good.’
‘You can say that again.’ Annie’s face was unnaturally white. ‘I think my ankle’s broke.’
‘Sit tight and don’t fret, ladies,’ called Jessop, the more senior of the two outriders. ‘Once the coachman and groom are down and we’ve got the horses unhitched, we’ll have you out in no time.’
Elizabeth devoutly hoped so. She reached for the maid’s hand, saying optimistically, ‘It’s probably just a sprain, Annie. That hurts more than one might think.’
Annie said nothing but her fingers tightened on Elizabeth’s like a vice.
Although it seemed endless, the wait while voices outside conferred was probably no more than five minutes. Then the far door opened and Jessop peered down on them. He said, ‘We’re going to open the door you’re jammed up against. If we try and lift you through this’n, there’s a good chance we’ll dislodge the carriage further. So I want you to move slow and gentle-like, one at a time and find something to hang on to. Can you do that?’
‘We’ll try,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But Annie’s ankle is hurt.’
‘I’ll manage.’ Annie’s voice was faint but determined.
‘Good girl. Clem and me are coming round to your side. Shout out when you’re ready.’
Inch by inch, Elizabeth managed to get to her knees and let down the window nearest to her so that she could put her arm through and cling on to the outside of the carriage. She said, ‘Now you, Annie. Wedge yourself into the corner and try to reach the strap.’
Annie’s first move, made clumsy by pain, caused the carriage to shudder. Faces appeared at the window, someone shouted, ‘Whoa!’ and Elizabeth stopped breathing. Mercifully, however, they remained where they were and Annie finally managed to grab the strap.
Afterwards, Elizabeth never remembered quite how the outriders managed to extract them from a drunkenly-leaning carriage, poised on a steep bank above the river. Realisation that the only thing stopping them from sliding down into the water was a single boulder, wedged where the front nearside wheel had once been had made the bottom of her stomach fall away. A second realisation was no better. They were on a deserted stretch of road, possibly miles from the next inn; the coach, according to the almost distraught coachman, had suffered worse damage than that mangled wheel and needed extensive repairs; and, as if all that wasn’t bad enough, the rain had become torrential.
Clem set off to locate the next village, while Jessop helped the coachman and groom with the tasks of calming the frightened horses, removing the luggage from the roof and preventing the carriage sliding further down the bank by propping it up with stones purloined from a nearby wall. Elizabeth and Annie sat on their trunks, side by side in the deluge, feeling like orphans of the storm.
After a while, Annie said, ‘I thought we were taking the Great North Road all the way?’
‘We are. This is it.’
‘Then why are we the only ones on it?’
‘This awful weather, I expect. How does your ankle feel?’
‘Sore. Must’ve just wrenched it like you said.’
‘Well, at least that’s one piece of good news,’ said Elizabeth, trying to sound cheerful despite the fact that, having soaked through her hood, water was trickling down her neck. ‘Hopefully, Clem will be back soon with help.’
‘If he finds any,’ said Job’s Comforter. ‘Looks like the back of beyond to me.’
More time passed. More rain fell. The men decided the carriage was as secure as they could make it and Jessop set off in Clem’s wake. The groom walked the horses up and down to combat the chilling effect of the rain. Clem didn’t come back and the sky darkened. And then, just when Elizabeth was beginning to think they were all doomed to spend the night here, she heard the rumble of carriage-wheels travelling in the same direction they’d been taking themselves. Shouting to the groom to keep the horses back, the coachman readied himself to flag down the oncoming vehicle. Four matched greys drawing a smart, if exceedingly muddy, chaise rounded the bend that had been their own undoing … then slowed to a stop.
‘Oh thank God,’ whispered Elizabeth, hauling herself to her feet. ‘Thank God.’
The coachmen exchanged a few terse sentences and the new arrival jumped down to speak to the carriage’s occupant. Elizabeth was just wondering at the seeming delay when her own coachman waved her over, calling, ‘It’s all right, Mistress Brandon. This gentleman will take you and your maid as far as the next inn. When Clem gets back here with a cart, we’ll send your luggage after you. Now … let’s get the two of you out of the wet.’
‘But what about you and --?’
‘Don’t you worry about us, Miss. Just hop inside so the gentleman can get on his way.’
Seeing little choice and longing to get out of the rain, Elizabeth climbed into the carriage and, half-blinded by her hood, stretched out a hand to help Annie. It wasn’t until they were both seated and the carriage jerked forward that she looked at their rescuers. Two men … a gentleman and his valet, by the look of them. The valet smiled faintly and acknowledged her with a polite nod but did not speak. The elegant dark-haired gentleman said nothing either. He merely raised his eyes from the book in his hand, subjected her to a chilly regard and moved his glossy boots away from her dripping hem.
Elizabeth felt herself flush. She didn’t need the disparaging look in those tawny-gold hawk’s eyes to tell her that she and Annie were hopelessly bedraggled. But she pinned a smile to her lips and said, ‘Thank you for helping us, sir. It is most kind of you and we are extremely grateful.’ Then, when he merely inclined his head a fraction, she persevered with, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mistress B-Brandon of --’
‘Of Brandon Lacey in Yorkshire,’ he said, his voice soft and somewhere beyond bored. ‘Yes. So your coachman said. As to my help … on such a day, I could scarcely refuse.’
But on another day you would have? thought Elizabeth. But keeping the smile firmly in place, she said, ‘And may I know to whom I am indebted?’
‘Sherbourne,’ he said unexpansively. And turned back to his book.
Elizabeth and Annie exchanged glances, then looked at the valet. One corner of his mouth curled and he rolled his eyes in the direction of his employer. Despite her current misery, Annie was forced to stifle a giggle.
‘I saw that, Frayne,’ said Sherbourne without raising his eyes from the page. ‘We need not discuss it. But you may wish to consider the question of exactly how valuable I find your undoubted ability with boot-blacking.’
Mr Frayne’s grin widened. He cleared his throat but said nothing.
Elizabeth’s sodden petticoats were clinging to her legs and her feet felt like ice. Unlocking her jaws and ignoring the fact that their rescuer clearly didn’t want to talk, she said, ‘Do you know how far it may be to the next inn, Mr Sherbourne?’
He sighed, looked up and said, ‘Lord.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Lord Sherbourne … as in the earl of. But in answer to your question – no. I am lamentably unfamiliar with this stretch of road.’
Effectively silenced, Elizabeth went back to staring through the window. After a time, Annie whispered, ‘What are we going to do if they can’t mend the coach?’
‘Hire another one, I suppose. But there’s no use worrying about that now. The most important thing is to find shelter as soon as possible and – ah!’ Elizabeth broke off. ‘There’s Clem, on his way back with a cart. That’s a relief. At least we can count on dry clothes.’
Annie opened her mouth to reply but closed it again when Elizabeth shot her a warning look and shook her head. If his lordship wanted silence, silence he should have.
In a long, covert perusal, Elizabeth took in the earl’s black hair, narrow dark brows and chiselled bones. He was good-looking in a severe sort of way; it was a pity that he was also cold, forbidding and a hairsbreadth from rude.
The chaise trundled cautiously on th
rough the rain. Annie started to shiver. Elizabeth passed the time hoping that the staggering amount of money Arabella hadn’t let her refuse at Newark would cover the expense of hiring another coach. It had been meant to cover additional necessities in London. But first they had to get there.
Dusk was approaching when, from the forward-facing seat beside his master, the valet rubbed a hand over the misty window and said, ‘Lights, my lord.’
Lord Sherbourne slid a gilt-edged card into his book and closed it. ‘An inn?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Excellent.’
Elizabeth tilted her head, trying to see what he had been reading only to find the characters on the cover unfamiliar.
Greek? she wondered. He’s passing the time reading Greek? And then, Now why should that make his behaviour seem marginally less unacceptable?
The chaise came to a halt. The groom leapt down, opened the door and said apologetically, ‘Mr Cox says we’ll not get any further today, my lord.’
‘I believe I had guessed as much. You had best see about rooms, Frayne.’ Letting the valet precede him, Lord Sherbourne descended without haste and turned to offer Elizabeth his hand. ‘Ma’am?’
She hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her fingers in his. They were firm and, unlike his demeanour, warm. Releasing them as soon as she could, Elizabeth pulled up her hood and walked swiftly inside the small, half-timbered inn.
Stepping away from his lordship’s valet, the landlord greeted them enthusiastically.
‘Welcome to the Oak, my lord. Bedchambers, we can do and as good a dinner as you’ll get this side of Biggleswade. But as I was just explaining to your gentleman, private parlours we don’t have – though you’ll maybe find the coffee-room private enough tonight, with no other guests and the weather as it is.’
A faint frown touched Sherbourne’s brow but he said, ‘For myself, that will do admirably. But perhaps the lady might prefer --?’
‘No,’ said Elizabeth quickly. ‘A bedchamber and a hot bath is what I require most – aside from the arrival of my luggage, of course. And I have no objection to dining in the coffee-room.’
The inn-keeper nodded, summoned a maidservant and issued the necessary orders. His lordship, however, looked thoughtfully at Elizabeth and, with only the merest suggestion of reluctance, drawled softly, ‘Then, since we are to share the coffee-room, perhaps you will do me the honour of dining with me, ma’am?’
‘Oh.’ Taken by surprise, not sure what she wanted to say but aware that there probably wasn’t much alternative, Elizabeth felt herself flush. ‘I – that is most kind of you, my lord but – but I am loth to inconvenience you.’
His smile, though fleeting, was not without irony.
‘No inconvenience, ma’am – otherwise I would not suggest it.’
* * *
Later, soaking gratefully in hot water while Annie stood at the window looking out for Clem with their trunks, Elizabeth said, ‘If this village is as small as I think it is, I’m not sure where we’re going to get another carriage.’
‘If it carries on raining like this, we won’t need one,’ replied Annie grimly. And then, ‘I don’t think you ought to be dining alone with that man, Miss Lizzie. Let me tell them to serve your dinner up here.’
‘No.’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘He’s not exactly the susceptible sort, is he? And some practise talking to fashionable gentlemen would be useful – assuming his lordship doesn’t sit down to dine with a book in his hand. Meanwhile, you can take your dinner with his valet. He probably won’t gossip … but one never knows.’
In a bedchamber on the other side of the corridor and having unpacked a suit of black brocade, the valet said neutrally, ‘Did you believe what the young lady’s coachman told you, my lord? About her travelling to London as the Duke of Rockliffe’s guest, I mean?’
Sherbourne shrugged. ‘I see no reason not to do so.’
Frayne continued finishing brushing the coat and turned his attention to laying out the cream embroidered vest to be worn beneath it. ‘She is a beauty.’
‘Yes.’ A pause; and then, ‘Was there some particular point to that observation?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Good.’ He stood up and prowled to the window. ‘Speak to Cox. Find out our chances of getting more than a mile or two from this place tomorrow.’
‘You don’t think it likely?’
‘I suspect not. And given the reasons for my early departure from Whitcombe Park, it is a damned nuisance. However … I live in hope.’
‘Mistress Brandon will have even greater difficulties.’
‘Mistress Brandon is not my responsibility,’ said the earl coldly. ‘And I will thank you for not attempting to make her so.’
* * *
Downstairs in the coffee-room, Ralph Harcourt, Earl of Sherbourne, sat in a corner and brooded over a bottle of canary. With the most extreme reluctance, he had been on the brink of offering for Anna Whitcombe when the letter demanding his presence elsewhere had arrived. The reprieve was a relief. Although every bit as lovely as the young woman upstairs, Mistress Whitcombe was also one of the most tedious females he had ever met. Not that this was the reason for his unwillingness to commit himself. That stemmed from the feeling that marrying an heiress was tantamount to selling himself ... merely in a more socially acceptable manner than that employed by his youngest brother. Ralph didn’t mind selling his title; he didn’t even mind that well-dowered Anna had been hanging out for the highest rank she could buy for the last two seasons and was only considering him because there were no marquises or dukes currently available. What stuck in his throat was the knowledge that the title came with his person attached to it. Unfortunately, whether or not he did so for money, marriage was a necessity. The earldom, as he knew only too well, required an heir; because the prospect of his brother Cedric stepping into his shoes didn’t bear thinking about.
Mistress Brandon hesitated in the doorway, elegant in midnight blue taffeta and blonde lace. Ralph hadn’t needed his valet to point out that she was beautiful. Even cold, wet and still shaken from the accident, that fact had been evident. Now, of course, she looked stunning; the perfect English beauty … all rose-petal skin, shining gold curls and wide forget-me-not eyes. A visual delight and possibly even a temptation if one had the remotest interest in well-bred innocents – which, with a week of Anna Whitcombe’s company fresh in his mind, Ralph did not.
Rising, he bowed politely and asked if she would care for a glass of wine.
Elizabeth hesitated, then decided on caution. ‘Perhaps later … with dinner.’
In truth, the confidence she’d felt upstairs had evaporated the second she’d walked into the room and come face to face with an epitome of self-assurance and worldly sophistication. He was also better-looking than she had thought; tall, well-made and with an in-built grace, all wrapped up in something that made her senses prickle.
Ralph saw the sudden, almost imperceptible wariness and had no difficulty interpreting it. It was so ludicrous that he nearly laughed. She was no more at risk with him than she would be with an octogenarian priest. But they never realised that, did they? Thanks, presumably to their mothers, they always thought one of two things. Either that they themselves were completely irresistible … or all men were wholly governed by their reproductive organs.
He smiled at her and watched the blue eyes widen. Then she answered his smile with a demure one of her own, before sitting down and saying prosaically, ‘I don’t suppose that you know exactly where we are, my lord?’
‘We are in the village of Offord Cluny, some five miles south of Huntingdon,’ he replied, remaining on his feet but retrieving his half-full glass of wine. ‘More than that, I am afraid I cannot tell you.’
‘It’s a small place, then?’
‘Exceedingly small. You are wondering, I imagine, where – should it be necessary – you will find a replacement conveyance.’
She nodded. ‘My – my brother
arranged the entire journey. And now I have two outriders but no carriage for them to … to …’
‘Outride?’ suggested his lordship helpfully.
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘Are either of them reasonably intelligent?’
‘Yes. Max wouldn’t have employed them if they weren’t.’
‘In that case, I suggest you hand over the task of carriage-hunting to them.’
She regarded him gratefully. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ He glanced towards the door, as a pair of maids appeared, carrying covered dishes. ‘Ah. It would seem that dinner is about to be served. Perhaps I can tempt you to that glass of wine now? Drinking alone is a very bad habit … and I have no wish to add to the many I already possess.’
His last words and, more importantly, something about the not entirely bland tone in which they were uttered brought the blood to Elizabeth’s cheeks and made her glad to be spared the need to reply. She took her seat at the table, accepted a steaming slice of beef pie and let the silence linger.
Mentally smiling, Sherbourne passed her a dish of buttered potatoes and then, as if he didn’t already know the answer, said, ‘May I ask your destination?’
‘London.’ Elizabeth paused and then decided there could be no harm in speaking openly. ‘I am to spend a few weeks with the Duke and Duchess of Rockliffe. My mother is a distant connection of his Grace and the duchess has kindly offered to present me to society.’
Odd, he thought, obliquely scrutinising her. What is she … twenty one or two? Surely she should have made her curtsy years ago. He said, ‘Your first visit to London?’
‘Yes.’ The obvious question sprang into her mind. ‘Do you … are you perhaps acquainted with the duke?’
‘We have met. I cannot claim close acquaintance.’
‘I can’t claim any at all. What is he like?’