by Anne O'Brien
And Thea? When Lord Nicholas finally made his way to her side, she simply stood in the road in a paralysed state of shock. Eyes glassy and unfocused, skin pale and clammy, she appeared not to recognise her rescuer when he took her arm and gently led her toward his horse. He mounted.
‘I’ll take her. She is not fit to ride alone. If you will lift her …’
Dacre steadied his mistress in his arms and lifted her, allowing his lordship to take her and settle her in the saddle before him. She made no response other than a little sigh as she allowed her head to rest against his shoulder. But her whole body was tense and rigid, as if held in check against some unseen enemy. And although he spoke, soft words of comfort and reassurance, she made no response. In the end he simply held her, one arm firm about her waist, aware of nothing but the rapid beat of her heart against him, as a helpless bird would flutter for its freedom from a trap.
And on that journey back to Aymestry Manor, in a blinding revelation, Lord Nicholas Faringdon knew that all he had ever wanted in life, all he had dreamed of, lay at that moment in his arms, held tight and safe against the world, her hands clutched in the material of his riding coat. He could do nothing but take her back to Aymestry. He had persuaded himself that Theodora should have no place in his life. He had made that decision. But now, for better or worse, fate had determined that he have no choice in the matter.
At Aymestry Manor, Lord Nicholas sent servants scurrying with brisk and practical instructions that hid the depth of anger and fear which still rode him. Jed was ordered into the house at a run to warn Mrs Grant of the urgent needs of their guests. The little grey, limping and distressed from a severely strained fetlock, was dispatched to a vacant stall in the stables with orders to one of the stable lads to prepare and apply a hot poultice to reduce the swelling in the injured leg.
Mistress Drew was helped from her horse by Furness, who took it upon himself to escort her into the house. There she was immediately taken under the wing of Mrs Grant, ushered up to her bedchamber with promises of tea and a sympathetic ear. A housemaid was sent for hot water and bandages. A bottle of spirits. And Mrs Grant assured the lady that Furness could set a broken limb as well as any doctor, as she would soon see for herself. In a little while, the pain would be eased and then all Mistress Drew would have to do would be rest and allow the bone to knit. There was no need for her to concern herself over Miss Thea’s well-being. They would take good care of her. Just the shock of the events. The young lady would soon feel more the thing and Mistress Drew could visit her as soon as she wished. What was the world coming to, that law-abiding citizens were not free to travel the king’s highway without fear for their property and their lives from men who should know better … The Maidens, indeed! The sound of Mrs Grant’s soothing voice disappeared into the echoes of the upper landing.
Meanwhile Lord Nicholas carried Thea into the entrance hall where he gently stood her on her feet and allowed his arms to fall from around her. She still appeared strangely disoriented and clung to his arm with rigid fingers. Her face was unduly pale with a slight sheen of sweat on her brow and upper lip. The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered light and fast. When she raised her head to take in her surroundings, her eyes still lacked focus and she appeared not to recognise where she was.
‘I … I’m sorry. I don’t …’ She gazed at him as if unsure of his identity. ‘I don’t quite remember …’
Nicholas frowned. Shock at the attack, yes. But this was more than could be expected. What had happened to cause her such distress? He made a rapid decision. ‘Elspeth.’ He summoned one of the hovering maids. ‘Fetch tea and a bottle of brandy. Hot water and towels. Bring them up to Miss Thea’s room. She needs to rest.’
‘No …’ Thea’s reply was strained, hesitant, quite unlike her usual firm voice and manner. ‘I shall be quite well if I can just sit … Poor Agnes needs more care than I … I must see her …’
‘You will rest.’
‘But I …’
Ignoring her reluctance, and with a suppressed oath at his inability to deal effectively with this situation, Nicholas simply swept her up into his arms again, up the staircase and into the room that she had previously occupied. There he lowered her feet to the floor, noting that any resistance had disappeared. She frowned a little as if unsure what she should do next, so, with a typical masterful demonstration, he made the decision for her and began to unbutton the velvet jacket of her riding habit and ease it down her arms. She allowed him to do so, standing before him as lifeless as a doll. Eyeing the lace ruff at the high neckline, he contemplated dealing with the tiny pearl buttons. No. He would not. But he unpinned the diamond-and-sapphire brooch at her neck and laid it on the dressing table. Then, with gentle sensitivity, he took her by the hand and led her to the bed where he pushed her to sit. When she obeyed, he knelt before her to pull off her soft riding boots, all the while keeping up a steady stream of comment in a calm voice, notwithstanding her wordless acceptance of all his actions, however intimate they might be. The little grey would soon recover—it was a sprain only and she would be sound enough. Furness was a worker of miracles. Mistress Drew would no doubt find cause to complain, but Furness would have her put to rights. A man of great skill, with horses and humans. They could stay comfortably at Aymestry under Mrs Grant’s care. He would dispatch a message to her cousin in Tenbury that very hour, that she would not worry, and perhaps send clothes and other necessities back for the ladies. The dangers were over. She was quite safe here.
Thea did not answer, but sat and watched him with utmost concentration.
As soon as Nicholas had removed her boots, he sat beside her and lifted her inert hands from her lap. He found them cold, shockingly so in the warmth of the room and despite the perspiration on her face, as if all the blood had retreated from the surface of her skin. He enfolded them to warm them between his own.
At that she looked up at him. Bloodless lips parted, eyes wide and anxious.
‘I have to thank you.’ Her voice caught. ‘I think … I think that you saved our lives.’
‘Nothing so momentous.’ He tried to reassure with a smile and a gentle pressure on her fingers. ‘But it was a timely intervention. You were unlucky to be there at the moment that the Maidens fired the ricks.’ Despite the lack of comprehension in her gaze, he continued to explain, hoping that the sound of his voice and the calm that enveloped them in the sunny room would help to restore her composure. ‘I had your little party followed—to be certain of your safe-passage to Tenbury. When one of my grooms saw the dangers he rode back. So I was able to be there before more damage could be done.’
‘Yes …’ Her eyes continued to search his face as if for enlightenment. ‘I am sorry to be such a trouble to you. To return here when you did not wish me to do so …’
And Theodora promptly startled both of them when she pulled her hands free of him, covered her face with her hands and disintegrated into tearful sobs.
Nicholas had no choice. He did the only thing any man could do faced with such distress. He drew her into his arms and let her cry against his chest, holding her close, his cheek resting gently against the crown of her head. Saying nothing, but just holding her and allowing her to sob out all the fear. She seemed so fragile, so vulnerable. All he wanted to do was protect her, hold her, keep her unknown fears, whatever they might be, at bay. There was nothing that he could find to say to her in this situation as, without doubt, she was not receptive to any words of comfort. So he simply kept silence, submerging an urgent need to pour out his own love and his desire to protect her for ever. That was not what she would wish to hear.
Gradually her sobs quietened. Only then did he ease her away. With a hand beneath her chin, he made her lift her face and used his handkerchief to wipe away her tears, when Elspeth arrived with another of the Aymestry maids and a loaded tray.
Nicholas stood, admitting to some relief. Oh, he would have stayed and held her in his arms for ever if she had need of him. But
she needed a woman’s ministrations more and would not thank him for lingering. It would be too humiliating for her when she came to her senses, realising that he had seen her when her distress had overcome her pride and reduced her to such desolation in his arms.
‘Elspeth.’ He stepped away from the bed, putting a distance between them. ‘I will leave Miss Thea in your care for now. She needs to eat and drink. Then let her sleep. But leave one of the maids with her.’ He did not want her to awake alone and be afraid.
‘Of course, my lord. The young lady will do very well.’
‘Let me know if there is any problem—if the lady needs anything.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ Elspeth almost swept him from the room. Clearly in her eyes, this situation held no role for a man.
With a final glance towards Theodora, who had raised her hands again to hide the ravages of her tears from him, Lord Nicholas took his leave.
He took himself to his own rooms where he proceeded to strip off his soiled and damaged coat and shirt, to flinch as the movement put pressure on his arm and shoulder. There were already signs of livid bruising, as he could see, although the skin was not broken. As he shrugged carefully into his clean linen, he let his thoughts roam over the past few hours. A serious affair, perhaps more serious than he had first believed. It had been diffused of course, thanks to Lewis Bates, and he was not the target of the violent hatred, but it was not a situation he could ignore when he and his guests came under attack. There were troublemakers amongst that little gathering who might not be willing to listen to the dictates of reason and the law again in the future. Samuel Dyer was a name to remember, perhaps. And the deliberate disguise of women’s clothing showed a depth of organisation that he would not previously have considered. Perhaps he should talk with Lord Westbourne to find out the background. But Westbourne was known as a harsh landlord, with little sympathy for those who might stand in the way of what he saw as progress. Nicholas grimaced as he worked his arm back into a coat. Whatever the cause of today’s disturbance, he did not want such discontent to spread to the Faringdon estates.
But such matters, serious as they might be, did not retain his attention beyond the changing of his clothes.
For there was Theodora. The complications and contradictions of that beautiful girl swamped his thoughts. There was so much that he did not understand.
As he headed towards the stables to check on the progress of The Zephyr, he remembered Thea’s first reaction to him when he had intercepted her horse in Hyde Park. Not as extreme as this, of course, but the same uncontrollable panic that robbed her of thought, the same inordinate amount of fear. When he had asked her before, she had refused to explain further than that one obscure statement. Shrugged it off as of no account. Obviously it was not.
Well, if Thea would not tell him, he must use other means to discover the truth. He would have an honest and direct conversation with Mistress Drew. Because he was forced to acknowledge the fear in his own heart at the thought that she might have been injured, a fear that had been sharp and lethal when he saw her at the mercy of that rabble of a drunken mob. His blood still ran cold as the scene replayed itself in his mind, when he had been helpless and outnumbered against their hostility. He could no longer deny the strength of his feelings for Theodora. It would be foolish to even try.
Thea woke from a restless sleep where dreams had chased her relentlessly. Of faceless riders who shouted orders at her. Forced her to rein in her horse and dismount. To stand under the beating desert sun. Riders wrapped in the loose robes of the desert meshed into men who wore skirts and shawls, men with hard, merciless hands and cruel smiles. It was a relief to escape into reality, into the still quietness of the familiar room. She lay for a little while, allowing her fears to subside, her breathing to quieten, enjoying the rays of sunshine through the window. She could not remember where she was at first, but it did not seem to matter. The bed was soft, the air warm and comfortable, the atmosphere still. She lay and drifted, making no attempt to draw her thoughts back to the present. Until she heard a little movement. Turning her head, she saw a maidservant sitting beside her, with sewing in her lap. The young girl smiled as she waited for Thea to speak.
‘Hello.’
‘There, mistress. You look so much better.’
‘I don’t remember very much.’ Did not wish to remember!
‘You fell in with some of the rioters from Lord Westbourne’s estate. The Maidens, Mr Furness said.’ The word had spread around the household with the rapidity of a heath fire. ‘Lord Nicholas came to rescue you. You were a bit shocked, that’s all. You fell from your horse. But now you are safe.’
‘Oh.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Am I at Aymestry Manor?’
‘Yes, miss. Don’t you recognise the room?’ The girl smiled with gentle encouragement.
Of course. She remembered everything, allowing the vivid pictures to slide back into her mind. And how frightened she had been, how useless when Agnes had been struck, incapable of doing anything of any value to help herself or her escort. The humiliation and shame ran deep. What on earth would Nicholas think of her? And had she really wept in his arms? She feared that it was so.
‘I must get up.’
‘No need.’ The maid’s voice soothed with its Marches’ burr. ‘You did not sleep for very long, miss. His lordship says you need rest. There is nothing to get up for. Lord Nicholas will take care of everything, you’ll see.’
‘I suppose he will.’
Which she accepted, and allowed herself to sink once more into sleep. Deep and dreamless and healing. For some strange reason that she could not comprehend with her tired mind, she felt totally reassured that Lord Nicholas would indeed take care of everything.
‘Mistress Drew. Are you sufficiently restored to talk to me?’
Agnes Drew sat in Mistress Grant’s little parlour, that lady having taken herself off to overlook preparations for the evening meal, giving his lordship the opportunity for a private conversation as he had requested. Agnes’s wrist was bandaged and immobilised against her flat chest. The wound in her hairline had been bathed, but she had refused a bandage. The headache was unimportant, she would simply ignore it. A restorative glass of claret stood at her elbow, a book lay open on her lap. Perhaps there were lines of strain around eyes and mouth, and a faint frown between her brows, but, considering her ordeal, she was remarkably composed.
‘Of course, my lord.’ She would have struggled to her feet, but Lord Nicholas restrained her with a gentle hand to her undamaged wrist. ‘It will take more than that rabble to see me off. I have to thank you. And for Miss Thea. If any harm had come to her …’ For the first time there was fear in Agnes Drew’s eyes.
‘It is no matter, Mistress Drew.’
‘It is. I know the dangers we were in today. I have been to see my mistress. She is resting well.’
‘It is about Thea—your mistress—that I wish to speak.’
Agnes’s brows rose a little in some surprise at his direct approach, his use of Thea’s name, but she waited for him to speak.
He did, without preamble. ‘Will you tell me what happened to her, Mistress Drew? Some time in the past. Something that causes her to react with such withdrawal, such extreme shock, when faced with certain situations.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I have seen it twice. I know that I have not imagined it. Please do not denigrate my intelligence by denying the existence of any problem. Thea herself once hinted at it.’
Mistress Drew flushed at the gentle criticism. ‘I think that Miss Thea would not wish me to say. It is not my story to tell. My loyalty is to her, my lord, not you.’
‘But it causes her considerable distress. I would know what it is.’
Agnes pursed her lips, sharp eyes considering his lordship. Here was a man of strong will, as wilful as Theodora. And there was undoubtedly that connection between them. But should she tell?
‘I will not tell her what you tell me, if you do
not wish it.’ Nicholas’s lips twitched into a dry smile as he acknowledged Mistress Drew’s silent and frank assessment of him. ‘But I find that her well-being has become a concern for me.’
Such honesty! Perhaps he deserved to know. And there was no doubt that they owed him much.
‘Very well. I will tell you what I know.’ Agnes waited as his lordship pulled up a chair. ‘I was not there when it happened. But I can tell you of the effects that I have seen for myself. As have you, my lord.’ She took a sip of the claret as she marshalled her thoughts, then proceeded to tell him of Theodora’s terrifying experience in the desert near Palmyra as a child. ‘It was a frightening experience for a young girl and has left a lasting fear, a weakness if you will.’ Agnes hesitated. ‘Miss Thea is as brave as a lion, but not when surrounded by noisy yelling crowds who might be interpreted as a threat. In Constantinople she was caught up in a large family group who were celebrating a wedding. Her reaction was just the same, even when there was no threat at all to her, only noise and high spirits. She has no control over it, poor girl, but then recovers as if nothing was amiss. That is all I can say—but it explains her withdrawal from reality today.’
‘Yes. It does.’ It explained much. ‘Thank you, Mistress Drew. I value your confidence.’
‘I would rather you did not say that I told you.’ Mistress Drew’s face was stern even as she asked for Nicholas’s silence. ‘It embarrasses her—because she can not control it. She sees it as a fault, you understand—and would not have it known.’
‘No.’ He smiled at the lady, deliberately taking possession of her good hand and raising it to his lips. ‘I will not tell her. Your secret is safe in my keeping.’
Agnes found herself blushing—as if she were a young girl, indeed!—at the unexpected and completely charming gesture, but her voice was firm, her gaze direct when she made her answer with deliberate honesty for her reading of the situation between her mistress and Lord Nicholas Faringdon. ‘Take care of her, my lord.’ Their eyes held, united in understanding and concern for Theodora. ‘She is worthy of your love.’
