Ridiculous

by D. L. Carter

  Everything went so well and so easily that she was not worried when the housekeeper brought a bundle of mail to the table. As the “man” of the house, it fell to Millicent to review all correspondence before passing it on to the ladies.

  “An invitation to an evening of dinner and cards,” read Felicity, opening the first letter Millicent passed to her. “From a Lady Whenthistle. Do we know her?”

  “We met at the assembly,” replied Mildred. “The widow of Sir Richard Whenthistle with the purple turban and astonishingly black hair for her age.”

  “And six flounces at the hem,” added Maude with a shudder.

  “We shall go,” declared Felicity.

  A discussion of who would be there occupied the ladies while Millicent opened and set aside mail from her various tenants. One letter written in haste and in a clumsy hand had Millicent putting down her knife and fork to read it a second time with greater attention. Maude noticed Millicent's frown first.

  “Is it bad news?” asked Maude.

  “From Yorkshire?” added Felicity in panicked tones.

  Millicent shook her head as Mildred rolled her eyes and grinned.

  “As it happens, the letter is from Wales,” said Millicent. “I have interests in several farms there. The tenant of the largest, a Mr. Prichart, informs me that this year’s spring floods are worse than usual and several of his fields have been inundated by rising waters. He wishes to discuss the situation with me as he suspects that it will reduce the amount of acreage he can bring under cultivation this year. There have also been drownings amongst his stock.”

  “Are any people hurt?” asked Mildred.

  “Strangely, there is nothing in this letter about people.” Millicent dropped the letter beside her plate. “Perhaps he believes Mr. North is not interested. He shall discover otherwise. Mildred, dear, please ring for Mrs. Hall. I need her to find out the mail coach schedule while I pack.”

  “Pack?” demanded Felicity, as Mildred complied. “Why? Where are you going?”

  “I want to meet with Mr. Prichart. I find it curious that he can already calculate the amount of acreage he can plow this early in the spring.”

  “But you cannot!” cried Felicity. “To travel alone, so very far. My dear Millicent, it is impossible.”

  “She's dead!” hissed Mildred as she rose and shut the dining room door. “As you well remember, Mother. Millicent is dead!”

  “But. But.” Felicity glanced back and forth helplessly between her two elder daughters.

  Millicent sighed when she realized the problem. While they were living in Bath, there was no real difference from the lives they had lived with their father. Millicent continued to obey her mother in most things, leaving the ordering of the household to Felicity. Millicent's task, as her mother saw it, was to go to the bank and fetch money and if she insisted on doing so while wearing trousers, well, Felicity pretended not to see.

  Millicent continued the correspondence with Mr. North's many tenants and business interests; Felicity was not involved in this activity and was unaware of the extent and amount of work it entailed. She was also unaware of the other masculine activities Millicent pursued.

  To test her disguise Millicent went to coffee houses and public rooms to chat with other land owners about their responsibilities. She even rented a horse twice to gain some experience in riding with a gentleman's saddle.

  Today was the first time Millicent truly planned to act as the male head of household in her mother's presence. For them to survive, for Millicent to truly become Mr. North, she must take advantage of the freedoms and responsibilities of being male. She arranged her features in a semblance of her father's when he had attempted to persuade her mother to some action and spoke firmly.

  “My dear cousin Felicity, I do appreciate your concern for my choosing to travel in the early spring. I am certain the roads will be dreadful. I hear that Wales has rain every second day even at the best of times. However, given the concerns expressed by Mr. Prichart, I must go immediately and see to this issue. I regret, now, sending our carriage back to Yorkshire, but we had no need for it here and I wanted to spare myself the expense of a place on the mews.”

  “You cannot travel in such a way. Impossible! I will not permit it.”

  Before Millicent could reply, Mildred seized Felicity's hands.

  “Mr. North, our cousin, can do what he chooses, Mother.”

  “But Millicent…”

  “Millicent is dead,” chorused her daughters.

  There was a soft knock on the door and Mrs. Hall entered at Millicent's invitation.

  “Mrs. Hall. It seems I must travel to Wales.” She consulted her letter. “Merthyr Tydfil is the nearest major town. Please send a maid and find out from the mail coach office where I must go and what changes are necessary.”

  Mrs. Hall nodded and paused with her hand on the doorknob.

  “Seems to me, begging your pardon, Mr. North, that you'd be better served with a post chaise. It’s a fair way by mail coach to Wales. You’d be better off setting your own path. You can change drivers when you get to Wales and get a local man to take you about.”

  Millicent fiddled with her knife and nodded. “You may be right, Mrs. Hall. I do appreciate the suggestion.”

  “No. You cannot go. I absolutely forbid it,” cried Felicity.

  Millicent froze. Mildred rose to her feet and Maude remained seated, eyes wide and shocked. When Millicent had gathered her courage and risked a glance toward the waiting Mrs. Hall, she could almost feel the tension flooding out of her body, leaving her weak and a little light-headed. Instead of glaring at Millicent with suspicion, Mrs. Hall politely had cast her eyes down as it was unseemly for servants to notice arguments between their employers.

  Whatever reason Felicity might have for objecting to Mr. North's travel plans, Mrs. Hall did not consider it her place to know.

  Thank goodness!

  “Mrs. Hall, if you would be so kind?” said Millicent, gesturing toward the door.

  The housekeeper gave a brief curtsy and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Millicent watched her leave, then gave Mildred a nod. Mildred went immediately to the door and rested her head against the wood.

  “She's gone back to the kitchen,” whispered Mildred, after a pause. “That woman has not a curious bone in her body.”

  “Bless her for it. Keep an ear out in case she comes back.” Millicent walked the length of the table to crouch down beside her mother. “Cousin Felicity, compose yourself. There is no reason for me not to travel. Many men do the same every day and come to no harm.”

  “But you are not a man. What if you are found out?” Felicity produced a lace trimmed handkerchief from somewhere about her clothing and dabbed at her eyes. “You might become ill on the journey and need to call a physician. You will be revealed!”

  Millicent rested her head against her mother's shoulder.

  “Oh, my dear, I cannot live my life hidden in a deep, dark room, forever afraid of what might happen. I cannot and you cannot ask that of me. I am Mr. North! God willing, I shall continue to be Mr. North for many years to come. And as Mr. North, if I must travel, just as I must learn to ride astride, I will do so. I must because these are the sort of things a country gentleman such as myself does.”

  “But…”

  “Hush!” cried Mildred. “Someone is coming!”

  Mildred leapt away from the door and hurried across the room to her place. Millicent walked back to stand at the head of the table. A moment later there was a tap and the kitchen maid entered.

  “I have come to clear away, ma'am,” she said with a curtsy to Felicity.

  “Oh, certainly.” Felicity glanced across at Millicent. “I believe we should all appreciate a cup of tea in the drawing room.”

  The family proceeded to the airy chamber that overlooked the busy thoroughfare outside their home. Felicity settled herself in the largest chair, immediately beside the fireplace, her back straight, and fo
lded her hands in her lap. Millicent settled on a couch and relaxed against the cushions ignoring her mother's disapproving look.

  Once the door closed, Felicity opened her mouth to continue her protests. Millicent did not permit her to utter a single sound.

  “Before I depart I shall make arrangements to pay the rent for the next six months and I will arrange for funds to be available to you at the Mercantile. What do you think, Mildred? Will four hundred pounds be sufficient for household expenses for the spring and summer?”

  Mildred’s eyes widened at the amount.

  “Oh, of a certainty, Mr. North. Much more than we would need.”

  Millicent gave a deep, husky laugh. “Oh, I know that. I just want to be certain that, should some emergency arise or my return is delayed, you need not wait to hear from me before dealing with the problem.”

  “Thank you. That is comforting,” replied Mildred.

  Felicity leaned forward and prepared again to speak.

  “And I shall ensure you have my directions,” said Millicent. “I think, since I am taking the time to travel all the way to Wales, that I shall visit all my interests there. If I remember correctly there is a coal mine as well as sheep farming. When I go from one to another, I will be certain to let you know.”

  “Yes, that is a good idea,” said Mildred. “To go and see just one tenant would be a waste of your time.”

  “Girls!” cried Felicity and Maude giggled. “I will not be ignored,” added Felicity.

  “We are not ignoring you, Mother,” said Mildred.

  “Yes, we are,” Millicent corrected her. “There is nothing she can say that will change my mind.” Millicent lowered her voice, glancing toward the closed door. “Were I the man of the family in truth, Felicity might protest some action of mine all she wished, but in the end I would do what I thought was right. Therefore, my dear cousins, I will leave you to your tea and your embroidery. I have much to do before I depart.”

  And she escaped leaving Felicity spluttering behind her.

  * * *

  Two Weeks Later

  Millicent, wrapped in three heavy blankets and fast asleep, landed hard on the carriage floor, her head a scant inch from the heated foot rest. She struggled to free herself from the tangle of blankets as she slid across the floor. Outside she heard the shouts of her driver and the screams of horses. The carriage tilted to one side, but to her infinite relief, did not fall. Instead it swayed and came to a crooked stop with Millicent pressed against the boxes tucked under her seat. She freed herself as quickly as she could, threw open the carriage door, extending her bare head out into the torrential rain.

  Somehow her driver had managed to stop the horses a bare finger’s width from a recently overturned vehicle. The damaged carriage’s wheels were still turning uselessly and the trapped horses screamed and thrashed in their traces as they struggled to regain their feet. The outriders attached to that carriage tried to calm their own mounts or sat staring open-mouthed at the wreck.

  When Millicent ventured out that morning, the rain had been little more than mist in the air and the road already wet and slick. In the current downpour the unpaved country road was little better than thick soup, and when navigating the sharp turn, the unfortunate carriage wheels either had caught in the mud or found themselves unsupported, resulting in the dreadful crash.

  Millicent dragged on her many-layered greatcoat, left her crushed hat on the floor, and leapt down from her carriage to land ankle deep in the mud.

  “Rogers,” she shouted to her lead outrider. “No, do not dismount. Go! We are only a few miles from Trenton Manor. Tell Mr. Prichart we need carts and men. Tell him to send for a physician and bring help back as quickly as you can.”

  With a touch of his mittened hand to his cap, the rider was off and Millicent turned her attention to the overturned vehicle.

  “Jacob. Ben. See to the horses before they injure themselves. Mike, find the driver and footmen.” Now that someone was in charge the other outriders shook off their confusion and aided Millicent's men. Orders given, Millicent slogged through the mud toward the carriage.

  “The driver's here under the horses,” shouted Ben. “He's dead, sir.”

  “Ah,” was all Millicent said, putting aside grief for a stranger as she climbed up the axle to the highly polished, slippery side of the carriage.

  It was necessary for her to grip the length of fabric that covered the heraldic device on the door to remain stable on the thin wood wall. Kneeling on the mahogany, she wrested the door up and open and let out a breath of relief. Inside three people, one man and two women, were attempting to untangle themselves from their belongings.

  Bruised, shaken, but alive.

  “Ahoy,” cried Millicent, knocking briskly on the open door. “Well met by moonlight. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  The carriage rocked as a liveried footman joined Millicent beside the door.

  “Stay out,” shouted the man within. “’Tis bad enough in here without a fool cluttering up the place.”

  Millicent blushed, but stayed where she was. A young woman in such a situation would weep and faint. A young man, despite insults, would remain to be gentlemanly and useful.

  “Are there any injuries?” she asked in a more formal tone.

  “I fear I have broken my wrist,” said the older woman, whose frilly lace cap had come askew and now the ribbons were over her left ear instead of under her chin.

  “I am well,” said the young girl, currently huddling against the far window.

  The man struggled to position himself under the open door and took the small girl by the hand.

  “I shall boost my sister up first,” he declared. “Are you ready?”

  Millicent glanced across to the footman, who nodded.

  “Boost away,” said Millicent.

  The gentleman put his hands under the girl’s arms and lifted. She, however, struggled and protested when he shifted his grip to her behind. Millicent and the footman leaned in to seize her hands, but their wet leather gloves would not grip.

  Muttering imprecations against the weather, Millicent seized the tips of her gloves with her teeth, pulled them off, and leaned in again, gripping the girl’s hand in one hand and wrapped an arm about her waist with the other. At her cry of shock, Millicent grinned.

  “May I have this waltz, my lady?”

  With the footman gripping the back of Millicent's coat they raised the girl to the level of the door. Lacking any better leverage Millicent threw herself backwards onto the carriage. With a cry the girl popped out of the door and landed hard on Millicent's lap. The watching footman winced.

  “Ah, I realize we have not been properly introduced,” said Millicent to the dark haired creature who sat shivering on her lap. “But I fear you have hopelessly compromised me. We shall have to be wed.”

  “Here is her cloak,” shouted the gentleman in the carriage and tossed it up. Millicent wrapped it around the girl and before she could react, Millicent sat up and slid them both to the edge of the carriage.

  “Ho there, Benjamin. Be a good fellow and carry this little girl across the mud. It will not do to have her boots ruined. Tuck her away in my carriage.”

  Ben, a tall, broad-shouldered creature that Felicity would have regarded as the figure of a true man, caught the girl and stomped off across the mud with her in his arms. Dismissing the girl from her mind, Millicent returned to the door and gazed down into the most magnificent blue eyes she had ever seen. Heat ran through her sending a tingle burning under the skin of her cheeks and catching her breath in her throat. The gentleman below paused in his tending of a woman who could only be the girl’s chaperone, to stare up at Millicent. The rain pelted down upon dark curly hair granting his locks a brilliant sheen. When Millicent's head returned to block his light, he glanced up at her with such force of personality that she felt the shock through her bones and down to her chilled toes.

  He was amazing. His hands were graceful as they m
oved over the chaperone's limbs. His voice, deep and gravelly, spoke soothing words and Millicent longed to be the recipient of that soothing, that comfort.

  Millicent fell into lust without regret. If her foolish, hidden female heart must bestow itself on someone, why not on a man with the body of a Greek god? So beautiful. She sighed and gazed at him, open-mouthed.

  “She is not badly hurt,” said the Greek god. “Merely, her wrist. I suspect a sprain, rather than a break, but we should be careful, nevertheless. Mrs. Fleming, I shall boost you up, as before. This gentleman shall catch you.”

  “I cannot do it,” wailed the woman, huddling against the Greek god's chest. “I cannot.”

  The gentleman and Millicent exchanged a glance of fully male accord at this display and Millicent reluctantly shook herself out of dreams of kisses and moonlit walks in darkened gardens to consider solutions to the impasse.

  “Pass up a couple of those boxes,” she ordered. “’Twill clear the floor and give you better footing.”

  He nodded and started shifting the debris.

  “And you,” said Millicent to the footman on the other side of the door. “As soon as the floor is clear, go down. Sir, I suggest you take up that pretty scarf over there and use it to wrap the injured limb against the lady's chest. Leave the good arm free.”

  He considered for a moment, then nodded his concurrence.

  “Whatever for?” asked the chaperone.

  “To protect your arm and ensure you will not be tempted to use it,” said Millicent. “We will need that strong blanket I see there as well. We shall make a sling of it and raise you up.”

  The carriage rocked as yet another footman climbed up to sit opposite Millicent. The rescue went as Millicent planned right up until the moment that the chaperone emerged from the carriage. Mrs. Fleming did not know how to climb out of the sling without revealing her lower limbs.

  “For God's sake,” growled Millicent as her arms ached and chest burned from the effort. Surely now she would be revealed as a weak woman just because another, damned female was too proper to show an inch of ankle! “Swing your legs, your limbs, rather, across that way. Slide off the blanket.”