A Regrettable Proposal

by Jennie Goutet

  As soon as they stepped into the corridor, Stratford came flush against Eleanor Daventry so that he had to place his hand on her arm to steady her. Miss Daventry took a step back, but he was unable to tear away his gaze.

  “Where are you ladies headed?” Ingram asked.

  Lydia answered. “We were on our way to make some purchases—”

  “Shocking,” Ingram said.

  “—it’s for the rout tonight, so we have no time to lose,” Lydia continued, as if her brother hadn’t interrupted.

  Ingram took his cloak from the footman. “Then we’ll escort you to the carriage.”

  “We were planning to walk. Would you care to join us? You can tell me if it’s true about the bets being laid at Brooke’s on whether Mary Wexby will say yes to Mr. Sutherland.” Lydia finished tying her hat under her chin and turned her inquisitive gaze to her brother.

  “How do you hear about these things?” Ingram shook his head, not entirely pleased, as he held his arm out to escort his sister.

  On the street, Stratford took his place beside Eleanor, and after a pause, said, “Please take my arm, Miss Daventry, unless I am again in your black books after promising to pawn you off to the first eligible suitor.”

  She shot him a surprised glance, then looked down to hide her smile. “No, my lord, why should you be? What have you done other than provide me a service at Almack’s by setting me up in the eyes of the ton. It was most generous of you.”

  That rankled a little, only because she was throwing his own words back at him. He struggled to think of a suitable reply that would convey his actions were not merely from altruism. They walked in silence before he said, “It would only be generous if I were exaggerating your worth. But you, Miss Daventry, are a pearl without price, and it is only befitting it should be known.” He glanced at her averted face and saw her lips hovering on a smile. So, it had pleased her what he’d said. All was not lost.

  Her next words, however, were dampening. “It’s the sort of thing a brother might say, I understand, to bolster a sister with confidence. I thank you, for your words carry more weight coming from a place of disinterest.”

  Once again, he found himself struggling to reply. Despite his reservations about marriage as an institution, it wasn’t disinterest he was feeling where Miss Daventry was concerned. On his left, a maid leaned out the basement window and unrolled a carpet for cleaning. He stared at the bright floral pattern.

  As they passed by, the thwack, thwack, thwack seemed to give Stratford a jolt, and he blurted out the words before he could censure them. “I admire you, Miss Daventry, in a way a brother does not.” He paused in shock, somewhat panicked by his own admission, but he had said it and could not recall the words.

  Though she continued to face forward, he was rewarded with glowing eyes and a dimpled smile she tried to hold back, but which only grew broader. His anxiety left him at once, and he felt like shouting in victory. That had been the right thing to say. And when Ingram turned back to urge them to swap partners so he didn’t have to listen to his sister’s prattle for the entirety of the walk, Stratford was able to banter.

  “Willingly. I think your sister has suffered from your inattention long enough. Come, Lydia, walk with me and we shall agree on the perfidy of brothers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A week later, the weather promised to be fair when Stratford and his sisters rode in Hyde Park before breakfast. It was a studious decision to go at an unfashionable hour as the goal was actually to ride, not to be seen. At least, this was Stratford’s goal. As he turned down Rotten Row, however, he admitted there was one set of sparkling brown eyes he wouldn’t mind seeing, and he was contemplating when he might again visit Grosvenor Square.

  “What a surprise the park is thin of company.” Anna reached down and straightened the bottom of her blue velvet habit. “Whatever possessed you to propose riding at this time of day, Stratford?”

  “If we want to ride, we must do it now. Later is for peacocking.” He squinted his eyes and, to his surprise and delight, spotted a group he made out to be Miss Daventry with Lydia, Sir Braxsen, and Major Fitzwilliam. The horse responded to his unconscious gesture and began to trot toward the party.

  “I’m wearing a stunning peacock blue, Phoebe’s wearing the green …” Anna’s horse trotted obediently behind the roan. “And you have the beak. How nicely we might have fit.”

  “It’s Lydia,” Phoebe said, third in line.

  “And your Miss Daventry,” Anna added, drily.

  Stratford ignored them and came abreast the party of four. “Good day, ladies,” he said, and nodded at Sir Braxsen and the major. His sudden lightened mood lent a disposition to tease. “Braxsen, I’m surprised to see you at such an early hour. Your reputation for dissipation must be false.”

  “Ha!” Lydia interjected. “Do not be precipitous, for he only just arrived. An hour after our rendezvous.” Her horse stretched his neck down and nibbled on a clump of grass.

  Sir Braxsen responded, “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Ingram. As you see, I’m quite a man of leisure. My father had it in mind that a year or two in the military would cure me of any leanings in that direction.”

  “And did it?” Stratford inquired, a smile lurking on his lips.

  Major Fitzwilliam laughed. “He was nearly put on probation for running a gaming ring among the infantrymen. It all came out when he was injured and soldiers came looking for their blunt.” He turned to Lydia, his perfect gravity belied by a twitching lip. “You see, Miss Ingram, while I owe myself obliged to Sir Braxsen for the introduction, I don’t think he’s at all the sort of gentleman with whom you should be acquainted.”

  Lydia turned her amused eyes from the major to Sir Braxsen. “Except that I was barely out of leading strings when he abandoned a coveted spot in the county fox hunt to rescue me from a tree I ambitiously chose to climb. So you see I cannot throw him off.”

  While Lydia was holding court, Miss Daventry allowed her horse to edge alongside the twins. “Phoebe, are you quite recovered from the pain in your ankle from last week? One of your castoffs—Mr. Puntley—solicited me for a dance when you had to turn away your remaining suitors,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  Anna pulled her horse over to join Lydia’s conversation as Phoebe answered. “I did not walk overmuch for two days and am now perfectly healed.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad Mr. Puntley was so quickly consoled.”

  Stratford watched in delight as Miss Daventry gave a peel of laughter. How inviting it sounded. “Oh yes, perfectly consoled,” he heard her retort. “He used the entire dance to ply me with questions about Miss Phoebe Tunstall, and I had to disappoint him with my lack of knowledge.”

  Perhaps that can be remedied, thought Stratford. But Phoebe beat him to it with a prompt reply. “We shall have to spend more time together.”

  Best of sisters, he thought with a flash of gratitude. Stratford turned to Miss Daventry. “I see the exhaustion of late-night routs does not prevent you from getting your exercise in the morning.”

  “I need only a few hours’ sleep to be restored, and I must always be doing something. I am quite a trial to my aunt.” Miss Daventry’s gaze darted to Lydia, who had begun to ride again, and the two parties naturally converged into one. “I’m not the only one, however. Lord Ingram was up at an unseasonable hour and had already left before we got to the stables. And of course the three of you are here as well.” She glanced around the park. “It appears we are in small company.”

  Lydia called something to her companions and nudged her horse into a gallop, faster than the rules of the park would allow, but a rule broken by many in the early hours. Eleanor saw Major Fitzwilliam slide as his horse followed suit, but he quickly righted himself and matched her speed, apparently determined to keep pace.

  Stratford raised an eyebrow. “Ladies?” That was all that was needed before the trailing party took off. The twins leapt ahead, and although Stratford would have liked to hav
e ridden to the hounds, he was content to trail behind and enjoy the scenery, the fresh air, and Miss Daventry’s company.

  “You ride well,” Stratford called out. “Who taught you?”

  “The squire’s son. My friend,” she added, and he wondered just how close they were.

  “Did your father keep horses? Your uncle?” He realized he didn’t know what had happened to her father’s estate.

  “My father lost everything,” she said, breathless from riding, her sparkling eyes making him think she had not been made to suffer from the loss. Or perhaps she put aside everything in the pleasure of the moment. He would take her out riding more often if he could see her look this buoyant.

  At the end of Rotten Row, the head of the party wheeled about, and Stratford and Miss Daventry followed suit. As they rode the opposite way, his horse shied from a cat darting in front of it, forcing her horse closer to the fence. Startled, Stratford urged his roan forward to catch Miss Daventry’s reins, but she already had the horse well in hand.

  “Sorry. It was a cat,” he said.

  She flashed him a smile. “There was no harm done. Stardust is a good girl.” She patted the mare’s neck as she hugged the edge of the path, the other riders already well in the distance. Stratford was just about to suggest they move closer to the center when Eleanor cried out.

  “Ho!” She pulled firmly on the reins, slowing her horse to a trot, then inexplicably sped up again.

  “What is it?” Stratford followed as Miss Daventry galloped ahead, worried that something had spooked her horse. But she reined in and turned into an opening in the fence that separated the alley from the field and shady copse of beech trees. He followed, nonplussed.

  “There’s a man in the alleyway,” she called out.

  Backtracking through the field, she rode faster than he would have liked, weaving around the trees, and arriving at the spot parallel to where they had been moments before in the alley. Miss Daventry leapt off her horse, and he followed, grabbing his reins and hers and tying them around the branch of a nearby tree.

  She hurried to one of the side alleys, breathless. “It’s a man. I saw his legs as we were riding by.” In a few steps she was upon the unconscious figure. “Oh, gracious.” She sank to her knees. “It’s Lord Ingram.” He was perfectly immobile, and she scanned him for visible wounds.

  Ripping off his gloves, Stratford felt the head for injury. His fingers came away red, and he sucked in his breath. “He’s breathing, but he has a nasty blow to the head. He must have hit this rock here when he fell. Thank goodness it’s not very sharp, and most of the impact would have been cushioned by the grass.” He continued feeling his friend’s limbs and shook his head. “His leg is broken. This is a bad business. Miss Daventry, can you—”

  She jumped up and darted forward to grab the reins of her mare. “Yes, I will go fetch them. We must have their help, and Lydia needs to know.”

  Stratford moved to assist her to mount, but Miss Daventry climbed to a tree stump, leapt onto the horse, and was off. He returned to Ingram and took out his handkerchief to press to the head wound. Considering the matter, it looked as if the blood was still trickling out slowly, but that the injury was beginning to matte. The broken leg should not be difficult to set right, he decided. It was not lying at an odd angle like he’d seen in battle. Though it would be perverse to thank the experience that allowed him to keep his head in the matter, he reflected that he was not at all the green boy who had first gone to war.

  Within moments, the others arrived, with Lydia last, pale with shock. She burst into tears as soon as she saw her brother, and a harassed-looking Sir Braxsen tried to console her. The major was the first to reach the scene, and he immediately took command. “Here. Miss Daventry, Misses Tunstall …” He glanced at Braxsen and saw he had his hands full with Lydia. Turning his attention back to the others, he said, “Will you assist me in finding another branch like this?” Striding to a place beyond where the horses were, he picked up a solid branch with no twigs. “It must be straight like this, and no thinner.”

  The three ladies were quick to search further in the alley where there were more trees. Phoebe held one up. “Like this?”

  “The very thing.” Major Fitzwilliam had shed his coat. “It’s still too cold out for him to remain uncovered. Worthing, can we use your coat to keep him warm? I will use mine to cushion his leg once it’s set.”

  “Certainly.” The task was accomplished with speed. When the two branches were ready, the major looked up again. “I need something to tie the branches in place. Have you a leather strap in your saddlebags? Or anything long enough that can be used for the purpose?” Everyone stood waiting for someone else to speak.

  “I think … perhaps I can …” Miss Daventry, eyes on the ground, spoke in a barely audible voice. “I think I can help, but I need a knife or scissors of some sort.”

  No one came forward, and the spirits of the group were further dampened by the renewal of Lydia’s tears. Matters might have remained like that, but relief came in an unlikely form.

  “Hallo!” Sir Delacroix pulled up short at the sight of the inanimate body and the group that had congregated around it. “But what is this?” He looked at each face in astonishment.

  Stratford thought it strange he would be riding alone at this hour and off the riding path, but he was the first to speak. “We were going for a run when Miss Daventry perceived Lord Ingram lying on the side of the road. He has some broken bones and is unconscious. We’re attempting to find a solution to lift him.”

  Delacroix’s horse sidestepped impatiently. “Allow me to ride and fetch a bolt of cloth so we can carry him. There’s a cloth-maker not far from the park who will surely have large enough scraps that can be borrowed for the purpose. Or I will purchase them.” He turned his horse around.

  “I will reimburse your expenses,” said Stratford, then called out, “Wait—” Delacroix turned back. “Have you a knife in your possession?”

  “Absolument.” Le vicomte reached into his saddlebag, pulled out a hunting knife, handed it to Stratford, and rode off.

  “So timely,” Anna murmured. Stratford handed the knife to Miss Daventry, who went some ways into the wooded area and came back with a large swath of fabric in her hands that she had ripped into four strips. The girl has sacrificed her shift, Stratford thought with shock, and not a little admiration.

  “This should serve the purpose,” she said, and she gave it to Major Fitzwilliam. He made quick work of immobilizing the broken limb, and when Sir Delacroix returned not twenty minutes later, having had the foresight to bring ropes in addition to the textile, they transferred Lord Ingram to the woven cloth. Stratford, Fitz, and Delacroix crafted a hammock so Ingram’s inanimate form could be carried, while the ladies led the horses at a sedate pace. Sir Braxsen accompanied Lydia ahead of the rest to warn her mother, and since the Ingram residence was providentially situated closer than any other, there they went.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The surgeon had arrived at Grosvenor Square before his patient, and he stood by Lady Ingram as the small crowd jostled through the doorway.

  “Softly now. Lift the legs higher as we go up the stairs.” Major Fitzwilliam’s voice rang out with authority.

  Lady Ingram peered up the railing. “Stratford, how thankful I am you’re here. I’ve sent Lydia to bed with a draught.” She followed the party up the stairs. “Bring Lord Ingram to his bedroom, the first door on the right.” Only a slight breathlessness gave hint to deeper emotions.

  Miss Daventry was ready. She darted ahead of the group and swung the door wide open so they could carry Lord Ingram through as the doctor unbuttoned his coat and laid it over a chair. Major Fitzwilliam rapped out the orders. “There. Lay him down like this. Remove the cloth from under the shoulders here, and we’ll ease it out from where his leg is broken. That’s the trick.”

  The surgeon strode to the bedside with a word over his shoulder. “Everyone should leave the roo
m except those who are most needed.” He studied the bandages binding the broken leg and looked at the major. “This your work, sir?” When Major Fitzwilliam nodded, the doctor continued, “Well done. You might’ve saved his leg. It appears to be fractured in at least two places, and the ride home would have done considerable damage.”

  Major Fitzwilliam replied, “I’ve learned a few things on the field.” He gave a slight bow to Lady Ingram and withdrew, joining Delacroix and Braxsen, Miss Daventry, and Stratford’s sisters in the hallway.

  The doctor felt for a pulse and then examined the contusion on the back of Ingram’s head. Without taking her eyes off her son, Lady Ingram said, “Stratford, would you stay?”

  At this, Stratford, who was at the door, paused. “Of course, my lady.” They were both quiet as the doctor listened to Ingram’s chest and examined the fracture. “I will not need to reset the leg. That soldier behaved with remarkable aplomb. Lady Ingram, in addition to the hot water, I’ll need hot bricks to warm the patient. The timing of the discovery was fortunate. He would not have fared well out there in this cold. It’s too early in the spring.”

  Lady Ingram repressed a shudder as she moved toward the door. When she opened it, the crowd outside dispersed, each with a mumbled excuse. With only the two men remaining, the doctor asked Stratford to recount exactly what had happened. When he’d finished, the doctor said, “Except for the nasty fall, this was a series of fortuitous events, beginning with Miss Daventry spotting something out of the ordinary, and culminating with Sir Delacroix arriving at just the right moment, able to secure the materials that were missing. Most fortuitous,” he repeated.

  Stratford watched him apply a poultice to the contusion. “Ah, excellent,” the doctor said when Lady Ingram returned, trailed by a servant carrying hot bricks. He lifted the covers to place the bricks, and Lord Ingram moaned.

  “That’s it. We’re just getting you more comfortable, my lord,” the doctor said. “You’ll be awake in a trice, although I don’t doubt with a headache of sizable proportions.” Turning to Lady Ingram, he said, “Who will be here to nurse the patient?”