by Jo Beverley
"'Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,'" quoted Marian dreamily, "'In all the wide Border his steed was the best...' Do you think she found his name in the water, Cressida?"
"I suspect she probably did," Cressida replied.
* * *
The day was dreary, with heavy clouds making the increasingly rugged scenery bleak. Juno's book couldn't distract her from her unhappiness, but there'd been no alternative. She'd had to escape Chart. She'd had to save him from folly.
They turned off the main road, which had been poor enough, and the land around became more rugged and isolated, inhabited only by sheep. She hoped not to have to stay another night before reaching her uncle's, for there were few habitations. There hadn't been an opportunity to change the horses for some time so no wonder their pace was slow. The coach halted in the middle of nowhere and one of the postilions came to ask her to walk up the hill to ease the burden on the horses.
She wouldn't have thought her weight would make much difference, but to get into the open air and stretch her legs appealed. Sitting and thinking was making her blue deviled, sure that her future would be in the just such a bleak, isolated area as this, with only crusty old Uncle Augustus for company.
She climbed down and set off briskly, leading the way, swinging her arms, inhaling the crisp air and telling herself all was right with her world. Or would be.
She was half way up a hill when she became aware of something not quite right. The coach had stopped again. She looked back and saw one of the postilions was off his horse. Was there a problem? He wasn't checking the horses or the vehicle, however. He was approaching her stealthily with a long knife in his hand.
When she turned fully to face him, he stopped, startled, but then after a moment he grinned, showing darkened teeth, and continued to approach.
"What are you doing?" Juno asked, though it was a silly question. She couldn't quite believe such wickedness. He laughed and Juno came to her senses. She backed away and pulled out her pistol.
"It's loaded," she said, struggling to keep her voice hard and calm. 'Tone of voice is most of the battle,' Aunt Clarabel had told her.
He stopped, looking at the pistol as if it were a snake. "What yer doin' with that?" he demanded, outraged.
"Pointing it at you. And I'm going to shoot you with it unless you put down that knife."
He laughed. "I don't reckon it's loaded. Or that you know how to use it."
"Drop the knife or you'll find out."
Juno managed to speak confidently, but inside fear was taking a chilling hold. She only had one shot and there were two of them. The other man was still on his horse, but once she shot this man he'd be bound to act.
She was going to be murdered here.
Her hand began to tremble, with fear and with the weight of the gun. She used her other hand to steady it, but movement forced her to flick her eyes sideways. The other man had dismounted.
She turned her full attention to the man in front of her and snapped, "Put down the knife!"
The man obeyed, but with a smirk. The other man was coming at her from the side.
"On your faces, both of you!" she barked, switching her eyes quickly between the two but trying to project confidence and the assurance that she would kill the one who hesitated.
This was the crucial moment.
She raised the gun slightly at first one man, then the other.
After a moment of feral fury, they both fell to the ground.
Juno felt as if she would faint from relief, but she was still a long way from safe. How did she get away from them? She eyed the coach. If she could ride perhaps she could mount one of the front horses and travel onward. But she couldn't. She couldn't even imagine how to get on such a beast.
She looked around at the scrubby landscape, peopled only by sheep. Nowhere to run and hide.
Then she came up with the solution. She backed away until she reached the coach. From there, she commanded, "Get up and walk."
The two men looked up, then scrambled to their feet.
"Walk where?" one asked.
Juno didn't care. "That way," she said, "pointing in the direction they'd been traveling. Walk that way and keep walking. I'll be able to see you and will be able to hit one of you if you stop."
That was a lie. She was a good shot at close quarters, but only luck scored a hit at thirty feet or more. But surely another traveler had to come by sooner or later and she only needed the two villains to be far away from her. They eyed her and one other, but they were cowards and neither trusted the other, so in the end they walked.
Juno felt safer with every step.
She watched as they grew smaller, but then they stopped and turned. Oh, no. They'd decided they were safely out of range and now they were planning.
She realized that they couldn't walk away. They must have had some plan to account for the absence of their passenger, but if she was rescued and told her tale, they'd hang.
So they had to kill her.
Why didn't another vehicle come?
She tried to remember how long it had been since she'd seen another vehicle.
Too long, and this felt like the middle of nowhere. She saw no sign even of a farmhouse. Worse, at this time of year the first hints of darkness were settling out of the gray skies, making the men harder to see. In fact, they'd disappeared. Was that shape one of them or a bush, or perhaps a black sheep? Where were they?
She tried to watch all sides at once, praying for divine protection.
A sudden movement close by almost made her fire. It was only a sheep, which bounded onto the road and across.
But then she saw why. One of the men had startled it, and he now climbed up onto the road. The other must be coming from the other direction. This time they would not be so easily awed.
She pressed her back against the coach, knowing she was going to die out here in the cold and gloom and that no one would ever know what had happened to foolish Juno Rathbone. Despite all her attempts to be brave, she trembled and tears escaped.
At first she thought the shaking was part of her tremors, but then she realized that at last a vehicle coming up the road.
She ran out, waving and crying, "Help! Help!"
The horses were already drawing up.
A glance behind told her the men had disappeared into the gloom.
She turned back to the coach, praying this wasn't some new threat. A distinguished gentleman stepped down, looking warily at her pistol.
"You have some trouble here, ma'am?" he said, and raised his beaver. "May I be of assistance?"
Juno burst into tears and, to her everlasting shame, dropped the pistol. It went off, setting his coach horses plunging and sending hers wildly off up the road, empty coach rattling behind. Fortunately the ball shot off across country and didn't even hit a sheep.
Juno soon found herself in the steadied coach, wrapped in a rug and taking a sip of medicinal brandy. Eventually she managed to give fairly coherent account of her ordeal.
"You appear to be both brave and resourceful, my dear," said her rescuer. He leaned out of the window. "Pudlow has asserted control over your conveyance, but there seems no sign of the rascals. I shall take you back to Welshpool where this can be reported to the magistrates."
"I would much rather go on," Juno said. Welshpool was back in the wrong direction, and she had no doubt people would be looking for her.
"I'm sorry if your journey is urgent, ma'am, but that is out of the question. For one thing you no longer have postilions. My groom can ride your leader as far as the next town, but no farther. If you insist on continuing your journey tomorrow, you will be able to hire new horses and postilions then." Without waiting for her consent, he gave the order and the coach began to execute a tricky turn.
"May I know your name, ma'am?"
Juno thought of lying but was too exhausted. "Juno Rathbone, sir. Of Oakham."
"And I am Lord Whittington of Madeley. May I ask why you are on the road al
one, Miss Rathbone?"
"You are traveling alone, my lord."
"I have my own coachman and groom, and a valet who has discreetly gone to travel in your vehicle so we can be private."
Juno shrank away, and he quickly apologized. "I have no designs on you, Miss Rathbone. I merely suspected you might have some secret story to tell."
"I simply need to reach my uncle's house, my lord. I thought I could travel alone in safety. And so I could have done, if I'd had the forethought to purchase a double-barreled pistol."
He studied her. "Would you really have shot them both?"
"I hope so. It would be rather foolish to let them cut my throat for want of resolution, don't you think?"
"It would indeed," he agreed with a smile. "Can I persuade you to tell me why you are making this hazardous journey? I fear someone has been cruel to you."
"Oh, no!"
"You are not happy."
"I…. That's true, sir, but it wasn't his fault."
"Some man has abused your trust."
Alarmed by a dangerous look in his eye, Juno said, "No, truly, sir. He asked me to marry him, but his family wouldn't approve and I saw that we'd be terribly unhappy. And anyway, he doesn't really want to marry me."
"When men ask women to marry them, they generally mean it."
Juno blushed. "He... he kissed me in the conservatory. And then he felt he had to."
"Ah. Chivalry."
"Not just chivalry. Mrs. Pyne discovered us."
A touch of humor lightened the severe face. "I see, but if you don't want to marry this ardent suitor, you have only to tell him so."
'Women want a lover and protector; and behold him kneeling before them -- bravery prostrate to beauty!'
"He can be very persuasive," she said in despair.
"So you thought you'd leave before he proposed and you so far forgot yourself as to say yes."
"It isn't funny!" Juno protested.
"Forgive me, but it does seem so...." He broke off at the sound of hooves, and a horseman pounded by. A moment later the hooves pounded back and the coach drew up sharply. The rider dismounted and flung open the door. "Juno! Thank God. You must be mad! And who are you, sir?"
Lord Whittington raised a hand. "Merely the first rescuer." He rose and left the coach by the other door. "I'll travel in the other vehicle and tie your horse behind, sir. You love her. She loves you. But if she's not entirely happy by the time we reach Welshpool, you'll have to discuss the matter with me."
So Juno, speechless, found herself alone with Chart as the coach moved on.
"I could wring your neck," he said. "Even a middle-aged lady pugilist wouldn't set out on such a journey on her own! Anything could have happened."
Juno decided this wasn't the moment to tell him it almost had. "I'm sorry. But did you chase after me just to berate me?"
"Of course not," he said and kissed her hard and fast. "I came to ask you to marry me. And if you don't, I probably will wring your neck after the fright you've put me through! I went to Oakham first. Then I had to trace you from Derby. If you ever do anything so cork-brained again..."
Juno giggled. "I told Lord Whittington you'd be very persuasive."
"Who is he?" he demanded. "What is he to you?"
"Merely my first rescuer." She put her fingers to his lips. "Don't ask. You'll only waste time berating me again. He seemed to think you loved me."
"Of course I do, you little idiot, and I'm going to marry you. As if my family has anything to say about it. And don't start talking about good sense and moral qualms. I know your Secret Vice."
"Vice? What do you mean?"
"Lord Montboddo revealed all. I'm not going to have to do a complete turnaround to make you happy, am I? Will you be able to endure being cosseted a little, my darling finger-snapper?"
"A little," she agreed, fighting a smile.
"You won't smash china if I bring you roses every now and then?"
"Probably not," she said, and found herself snuggled in his arms.
He slipped off her bonnet. "You'll come with me to balls and parties without lecturing me on frivolity, and let me dress you in silk and diamonds without taking affront?"
She looked up. "If it's essential to your happiness, sir, I suppose I must endure it."
He turned serious. "No. You'll never have to do anything you don't like. Promise me you'll always do exactly what you want, love."
"I promise, though you might regret that. But this is what I want to do right now."
Juno kissed her perfect hero, knowing that novels weren't always nonsense and love was undoubtedly true.
* * *
Mrs. Davies read the letter aloud.
My dear Mrs. Davies and Elly, I fear you will be surprised and perhaps shocked, but I am to marry Mr. Ashby.
"Oooh, that's fine!" Elly said.
"Shocked indeed," Mrs. Davies said, rolling her eyes.
We are to wait a little while so I can meet his family, and a cousin of his, Lord Randal Ashby and his wife Lady Randal are to introduce me to Society. It is likely that we will marry in London, but I hope you will feel able to attend. I fear Aunt Clarabel might not have approved, but Mr. Ashby is a good man and I love him.
We will keep the Oakham house for now in case Mr. Ashby wishes to use it as a hunting box, but we are also to have a house in London for a good part of the year. I am wondering if you both would wish to have situations there as well as in Oakham. I would delight to have you with me.
"Oooh!" Elly exclaimed again.
"You fancy London life?"
"I've always wanted to see a bit of the world."
"It'll do no harm, I suppose. And I'd like to keep an eye on Miss Juno, just in case."
"He'll do right by her if you're around," Elly agreed. "What else does she say?"
You may like to know that Miss Langley's lieutenant has arrived in Valentine Parva, with leave for three weeks, so all is in a rush for that wedding, and their joy is a wonder to behold. I have given Mr. Ashby leave of absence of his own to enjoy some hunting, for I mean to be an agreeable wife, and his returns are all the more delightful.
I did think with all these hearts and flowers in the air that Cressida might find a swain, but she assures me she has no intention to marry again. She says she does not believe she could find a gentleman to replace her husband, and when I consider the dreadful prospect of Mr. Ashby dying I understand completely.
I have considered matters carefully and I think Mary Wollstonecraft was in error on many points. It is not weakening for a woman to link her life to that of a man, for a good union enhances both.
I see my betrothed riding up to the manor and much finish now.
Your very happy
Juno.
* * *
The End
* * *
Would you enjoy a little more of Chart and Corny? This scene is from the Regency romance Emily and the Dark Angel, set in Melton Mowbray in October and November, so ahead of the events in the story you just read. There's more about them in the book, which won a RITA from Romance Writers of America and a Romantic Times award for Best Regency Romance.
At the time of Chart and Juno's story, Harry Crisp is temporarily called home. His story is told in The Fortune Hunter.
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON Piers Verderan left the building on Burton Street which housed his uncle’s solicitor a trifle bemused by the tangle in which Casper had left matters. It wasn’t as if it were a grand estate. Compared to the property he had inherited from his father, and that purchased on his own behalf since, this was a mere nothing and yet someone had to sort it out. That was the trouble with inheritances. They generally brought more labor than profit.
“Ho! Verderan.”
He turned and sighed slightly as he saw three young bucks making eagerly towards him. Chart Ashby, Harry Crisp, and a stranger. The three young men were dressed identically in the latest fashion—blue jackets with brass buttons, buff breeches and top boots.
They all had high beavers, leather gloves, and riding crops—and an air of excitement. Three young men hopeful of making their mark during the hunting season, hopeful of becoming accepted as true Meltonians, the elite of the hunting world.
He couldn’t cut them, of course. Chart and Harry were cousins to his friend, Lord Randal Ashby, and Harry had been Verderan’s fag at Eton.
“Good day, Harry, Chart.”
“Day, Verderan,” said Chart, his grey eyes shining with the untarnished exuberance of youth. Verderan wondered if he himself had ever been so damned youthful.
“Beg to present my friend, Terance Cornwallis.”
Verderan acknowledged the existence of the rather round young man who seemed out of place with the handsome, muscular cousins. Apart from the fact that Chart had dark curly hair while Harry’s was tawny they could have been twins. Chart casually informed Mr. Cornwallis, “Piers Verderan, Corny. A regular neck-or-nothing. A true Meltonian.”
“Honored,” said Mr. Cornwallis, his ruddy face growing redder.
Verderan turned to stroll with the trio down the street. “In the Shires a bit early, aren’t you?” he remarked. “Unless you’re here for the cubbing.”
“Oh no,” said Harry Crisp, quickly denying any interest in such tame training work. “Come to look at Corny’s place. He’s inherited a bit of property between here and Oakham.”
Verderan glanced at the bashful young man, at last seeing why Chart and Harry had taken him up. “Remarkable good fortune, Mr. Cornwallis.”
“Old aunt,” blurted Cornwallis. “Only a small farm, really.”
“Still. A place like that near Melton will save you, and your friends, a fortune. Last count, lodgings here were at least two hundred for the season and stabling costs a guinea a week. You’ll be bringing, what?—at least six horses each?”
“At least,” Chart said blithely. “Father would never sport the blunt for Melton, but now . . .”
“But now you’ll be able to pool your resources,” Verderan completed. “Excellent idea.” He looked pointedly at Harry and saw his school-day training still held.
