The stranger’s presence focused the servants and the leaders’ traces were soon cut, allowing the horses to stand and be calmed. Whilst they were occupied, Eleanor gathered her courage and forced herself to study the surrounding woodlands for anyone who might be lurking. She saw no one...no movement.
Timothy was dispatched to a nearby farm, just visible through the trees, to summon assistance, and the injured horse was examined. A heated discussion appeared to take place between the men before the stranger placed his hand on Joey’s shoulder, bending down to speak in his ear. He pushed him gently in Eleanor’s direction whilst nodding to Fretwell, who extracted a pistol from behind the box of the carriage.
Joey stumbled over to Eleanor, tears in his eyes. ‘They’re going to shoot her, lass. My Bonny. She’s been shot and her leg’s broke. There’s nowt we can do to save her.’
‘Oh, Joey, I’m so sorry. I know how you feel about the horses.’ Eleanor’s vision blurred. ‘Don’t look.’ She clasped his arm and turned him away from the grisly scene. A few seconds later a shot rang out and they both stiffened. Then Joey sighed.
‘That’s that, then, lass...beg pardon, I mean, milady.’ He straightened. ‘There’s still three horses there needing me. I must get back.’ He began to walk away, then stopped, looking back at Eleanor with troubled eyes. ‘Oh, milady, who d’ye think could do such a wicked, wicked thing? Shooting at an innocent animal is bad enough, but that shot could’ve killed any one of us.’
His words echoed as Eleanor watched him return to the other men, who were now heaving Bonny’s carcass from on top of her teammate, Joker. A chill ran down her spine as she saw Fretwell reload the pistol and pace slowly back along the road, gazing intently into the dense woodland along its edge. Eleanor pulled her travelling cloak closer around her, as if it could render her invisible.
Joker scrambled to his feet as soon as he could and stood, shaking, allowing Joey to clasp his drooping head to his chest whilst he murmured into his ear. Henry returned to take charge of the curricle and pair and Eleanor made her way slowly towards the men and the carriage.
She was self-consciously aware of the stranger’s scrutiny, which she returned unobtrusively. His curricle and pair were top quality, but his clothing—a greatcoat hanging open over a loose-fitting dark blue coat, buckskin breeches and an indifferently tied neckcloth—was not of the first stare. No gentleman of her acquaintance would settle for comfort over elegance. His build was athletic, his face—sporting a slightly crooked nose that had surely been broken and badly set in the past—was unfashionably tanned and the square set of his jaw somehow proclaimed a man who would be ill at ease in society’s drawing rooms.
He would make a formidable opponent. The words crept unbidden into her head. Opponent? Mentally, she shook herself, irritated that she imagined menace all around her since the fire.
She braced her shoulders, lifted her chin and met the stranger’s stare. Cool blue eyes appraised her, sending another shiver whispering down her spine, this time of awareness. His features spoke of strength and decisiveness and, yes, even a hint of that menace she had imagined earlier. His eyes narrowed momentarily before he smiled. It transformed his face—still rugged, but softened as his eyes warmed.
‘I thank you for your assistance, sir.’
He bowed. ‘It was my pleasure, ma’am.’ His smile widened. ‘I have long dreamed of rescuing a damsel in distress and now—’ his arm swept the scene ‘—my dream becomes reality.’
Eleanor glanced at his face, suspecting him of mockery, but the candour of his expression and teasing light in his eyes appeared to hide no malice.
‘Nevertheless,’ she said, ‘I do thank you and I am sorry to have so nearly caused another upset.’
‘You did the right thing. There could have been serious consequences had you not been so decisive. Or brave.’ He studied her anew and she recognised the devilish glint in his eye as he added, sotto voce, ‘Or foolhardy.’
Eleanor stiffened and opened her mouth to retaliate, but he was already spinning round, his attention caught by a faint shout from within the overturned carriage.
‘Good heavens!’ Eleanor put her irritation aside as she remembered Aunt Lucy and the two maids, still trapped inside. ‘Sir, might I impose on you once more?’
‘Who is in there?’
‘My aunt and our two maids.’
The stranger leapt on to the carriage, knelt and reached down through the open doorway to help out Aunt Lucy, Lizzie and Matilda before lowering them safely to the ground.
He was certainly accustomed to taking charge, Eleanor thought, watching him work, wondering who he was and where he came from as Aunt Lucy joined her, pale and shaken.
‘How are—?’ Eleanor got no further.
‘Who is our rescuer, I wonder?’ were the first words Aunt Lucy uttered, in a sibilant whisper. ‘I wonder where he is from. He is very attractive, in a manly sort of way, is he not, Ellie?’
‘Hush, Aunt Lucy. He’ll hear you,’ Eleanor hissed as he strode towards them, his greatcoat swinging open to reveal muscular, buckskin-clad legs. He was hatless, and his dark blond, sun-streaked hair fell over his forehead at times, only to be shoved back with an impatient hand.
‘It seems I am in your debt again, sir,’ she said.
‘I repeat, no thanks are necessary. It was...is...my pleasure. If I might introduce myself? Matthew Thomas, at your service, ladies.’
Aunt Lucy, her small dark eyes alight with curiosity, replied, ‘Lady Rothley.’
Mr Thomas bowed. ‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Rothley. And...?’
‘Allow me to present my niece, Eleanor, the Baroness Ashby.’
Mr Thomas bowed once more. ‘Enchanted, Lady Ashby.’
As he straightened, his bright eyes locked with Eleanor’s, appreciation swirling in their depths. Eleanor’s insides performed a somersault. Oh, yes, she agreed silently with her aunt, he was certainly attractive. She switched her gaze from Mr Thomas to Fretwell, who had returned and now joined them, a frown creasing his brow.
‘Fretwell, I do hope this hasn’t aggravated your head wound. It has only just healed.’
‘I’m all right, milady, barring a few bruises. Lucky nothing was broken; leastwise, nothing human,’ he added gloomily.
‘Indeed, it could have been much worse. What—’
‘Milady—’ Fretwell shot a suspicious glance at Mr Thomas before lowering his voice ‘—if I might have a word?’ With a jerk of his head he indicated the far side of the road.
Mystified, Eleanor excused herself and followed him. ‘What is it?’
‘We must get away from here as soon as we can, milady,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe. You’re too exposed and we don’t know who he might be, either. He appeared very timely after that shot, don’t you—?’
‘Fretwell! Surely you’re not suggesting the horse was shot deliberately?’ Eleanor denied Fretwell’s suspicions despite her own doubts. ‘Why would anyone—?’
‘After the fire, milady, it seems a mite coincidental.’
The fire... The by-now-familiar coil of unease snaked through Eleanor. Irritated, she suppressed it. It was her duty to maintain her composure in front of her servants. If they began to view her as a feeble woman, their respect for her, and her authority, would soon diminish.
‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘There is nobody there—it was surely a stray shot and, as for your suggestion that Mr Thomas might have had any part in it, I’m surprised at you. You are not normally given to such flights of fancy.’
Fretwell reddened, but stubbornly held her gaze. ‘Be that as it may, milady, I know what happened to me the night of the fire. That was no accident. It was deliberate.’
‘Very well, I shall take care, but please keep your conjectures to yourself. I don’t want Lady Rothley upset and there is no reason for Mr Thomas to become further embroiled in our problems.’
Movement further along the road caught her attention. Her footman was on his w
ay back, accompanied by another man leading a pair of draught horses.
‘Come, Timothy is here now with help. Let us go and sort the carriage out, then we can all get away from here and put your mind at rest.’
Although how she was to contrive that, with a damaged carriage, she could not imagine. Aunt Lucy, Lizzie and Matilda, the latter still sobbing into her handkerchief, were sitting on a grass bank a short way along the road. Eleanor, more shaken by the accident than she would admit, wished for nothing more than to join them, leaving the men to cope.
But this was her carriage, her horses and her servants.
Ergo, her responsibility.
She joined the men, ignoring the curious looks of both Mr Thomas and the farmer, a wiry, weatherbeaten individual of few words, but surprising strength. Her own men knew better than to question her desire to be involved.
It soon became clear that Mr Thomas still considered himself in charge and Eleanor, at first bemused at being relegated to a mere onlooker, grew increasingly indignant at being totally ignored.
She stepped forward, preparing to assert her authority.
Chapter Three
Matthew Thomas studied the overturned carriage.
‘Tie the chain there,’ he said to Timothy, pointing to a position on the spring iron at the rear of the carriage and trying to ignore the baroness, who was clearly itching to get involved.
‘Timothy,’ she said in an imperious tone, after the footman had attached the chain, ‘you ought to attach that chain further forward—it is too near the back there.’
Matthew straightened from checking that the chain was secure and turned to face Eleanor, lifting a brow.
She raised her chin, holding his gaze in typical aristocratic haughtiness.
‘If you pull from there it will surely pull the carriage around, rather than upright,’ she said.
He felt his temper stir and clamped down on it hard. He was not the wild youth he had once been and the intervening years had taught him to control his emotions, particularly in fraught situations like the present.
‘When the other chain is attached—as it will be shortly—towards the front of the carriage, it will counteract the pull on this chain. And pull the carriage upright.’
He deliberately blanked his expression, hiding his amusement at her indignation as she drew herself up to her full height—which was considerable, for a woman. She was barely four inches shorter than his own six feet. Her bright blue cloak had swung open to reveal a curvaceous figure, which Matthew perused appreciatively before returning his gaze to clash with her stormy, tawny-brown eyes. Her dark brows snapped together in a frown.
His interest had been aroused the minute he had leapt from his curricle and stared down into her face, pale with shock. She was strikingly attractive, although not a conventional beauty—courageous, too, leaping in front of his horses that way. His heart had almost seized with terror as he had fought to avoid her. Admittedly, he had been springing the horses—keen to test their paces—but that fact had not mitigated his fury, which was fuelled as much by the fear of what might have happened as by anger.
Now his interest was still there, but tempered with reality. He could admire her beauty, as one might admire, and even covet, a beautiful painting or a statue. But he would admire from a distance. He was no longer part of her deceitful world. He turned his attention once more to the stricken carriage.
‘We will need some poles to lever the carriage as the horses pull,’ Eleanor declared some minutes later.
Matthew once more stopped what he was doing. He took a pace towards Eleanor, catching a glimpse of—was that fear?—in her expression as she retreated. Then her lips tightened, and she stepped forward, bringing them almost nose to nose. Pluck? Or was that merely her innate feeling of superiority?
‘If—’ he kept his voice low, in order that the others shouldn’t overhear ‘—you are so keen to help, might I suggest you go and hold the horses so Henry can come and assist? Unless, that is, you really are capable of putting your shoulder to the carriage as the horses pull? I would suggest, with the utmost respect, that you are neither built, nor dressed, for such an activity.’
‘Hmmph!’ Her gaze lowered.
‘Good point about the poles, though, my lady.’ He waved an arm to the rear of the carriage, where two stout poles lay on the ground. ‘The farmer, as you can see, has thought of everything.’
She followed the direction of his gesture. A flush coloured her cheeks.
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. Then, ‘I hadn’t noticed them.’
Shame pricked Matthew’s conscience. He had not meant to make her feel foolish. He should not have risen to her arrogance—it was not her fault she was a part of that world he so despised. He reminded himself she must still be in shock after the accident.
They were still standing very close, her perfume tantalising his senses—floral notes interwoven with the undeniable scent of woman. A wave of desire caught him off guard and he spun away, forcing his attention back to the problem at hand.
The carriage was pulled upright with much heaving and straining, and they examined the extent of the damage. One wheel would need replacing, but the rest of the damage could be repaired. Try as he might to ignore her, Matthew was constantly aware of Eleanor’s presence. He could feel the frustration radiating from her as she peered over his shoulder at the carriage.
‘There’s a wheelwright in the village over yonder,’ the farmer, who had introduced himself as Alfred Clegg, said. ‘I’ll send word. The horses can go in the home paddock for the time. Where’re you folk heading?’
‘We have rooms bespoke at the White Lion in Stockport,’ Eleanor replied.
The farmer scratched his head, peering at the sky. ‘That’s a tidy way, mum. And it looks like rain.’
‘Do you have a carriage or some such that you could loan or hire to us?’
‘’Fraid not, mum. The missus is to market today in the gig. Hay wagon is all I got.’ He looked at her dubiously. ‘It might do for your luggage, and mebbe the maids there wouldn’t object, but...’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘Anyways, my horses couldn’t get all the way to Stockport and back—they’m built for power, not speed.’
‘It so happens that I have a room reserved at the Green Man in Ashton tonight,’ Matthew said. ‘It is much nearer than Stockport and it is clean and comfortable—I’m sure there will be enough accommodation for us all. The hay wagon is an excellent suggestion for the luggage and the servants and I can take the ladies in my curricle, if they have no objection to squeezing in.’
He looked around the group as he spoke. Approval shone on the faces of the majority, the exceptions being the baroness, who looked mutinous, and Fretwell, who was eyeing him with deep suspicion. Lady Rothley had joined them in time to hear Matthew’s proposal.
‘That sounds an excellent suggestion, Mr Thomas. Do you not agree, Ellie?’
Matthew returned Lady Rothley’s smile, praying she would not recognise him. He had known her sons, of course—wild rakes, the pair of them—but he was certain he had never met the marchioness. It was many years since he had been cast out from the world these ladies inhabited and, although in his youth he had borne a striking resemblance to his mother, he had lived a full and eventful life since then. He suspected the similarities were no longer so apparent. At the thought of his mother, his heart contracted painfully before he dismissed his weakness with a silent oath. His family had not believed his innocence; they had banished him from their lives and forgotten his very existence. Bitterly, he forced his black memories into the box where he confined them and slammed the lid.
‘I should prefer to continue as planned to Stockport, Aunt,’ Eleanor was saying. ‘Fretwell, you may as well stay here—if Clegg does not object—and then take the remaining horses home tomorrow, as planned, as long as they are all fit.’
The farmer nodded his consent.
Fretwell scowled, shooting a suspicious glance at Matthew. ‘I think I should st
ay with you, milady. For protection,’ he muttered.
Matthew felt his brows shoot up. What was he missing here?
‘No, Fretwell, I will not alter my plans. I shall hire another carriage to convey us to London. Joey, you can also stay on here and oversee the repairs. I shall arrange for a team to be sent out so you can follow us down to London with the carriage.’
She was certainly a lady used to having her own way, Matthew thought, listening as she set out her expectations. Fretwell was clearly unhappy with her decision, but he raised no further objections.
‘I shall hire a chaise at Ashton to take us on to Stockport,’ Eleanor continued, ‘as Mr Thomas has offered to transport us as far as there.’
Her clear reluctance to spend the evening in his company irritated Matthew. Who the hell was Lady Ashby to dismiss him as a nobody? She appeared to believe that he was not worthy of her time or attention. Tempted to just forget her and be on his way, he paused. Lady Ashby needed dislodging from that high perch of hers. Besides, some female company that evening would be a welcome change to his planned solitary dinner. And she was without doubt prettier than the locals in the taproom of the Green Man, where he would most likely end up after his meal.
His devil got the better of him. He lifted one brow in deliberate provocation before directing his words at Lady Rothley.
‘With everyone so shaken, you will be far better advised to remain at Ashton tonight, my lady. I’m sure you will find the Green Man to your liking, and, forgive me, but you look as though you would welcome a fireside to sit beside and a warm drink.’
‘That is an enticing prospect, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, with a warm smile.
Eleanor’s lips tightened.
‘Excellent,’ Matthew said. ‘That’s settled, then. I shall convey you and your niece in my curricle, and the servants and luggage can follow on in Clegg’s wagon.
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