by Tessa Candle
“But you have not heard the rest of my confession.”
He leaned back into the seat. “Surely you are tormenting yourself over nothing.”
“I must proceed.” She should much rather be receiving his kisses, but she did not trust her resolve to continue, if he should kiss her.
“Very well.” He squeezed her hand. “What other egregious sins have you to enumerate?”
She swallowed. “As I have told you, my family's circumstances are less easy than they would seem. I wanted to do something to contribute to our recovery, so I decided to start investing the pin money I had saved, through a lawyer.”
“That is not so very bad.”
“I admit that I rather enjoy the excitement of it, but I have been further enticed.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“I have come up with a business idea—a good one—but still, if my proposed partner agrees, I shall in essence be in trade.”
“Good Lord! Well, that will no longer be necessary. You must give up any such venture as soon as may be, and never speak of it. I think we can conceal it entirely if you abandon it now, but you must give the scheme over immediately.”
Lydia shook a little. It was too much.
After all the strain her nerves had taken this evening, in the recent days; after all the ways in which her unladylike, unconventional behaviour had saved her and his friend, and even him, from the unscrupulous behaviour of people with very undeservedly elevated status among the ton, for him to look down upon the means she had found to save her family because of mere appearances was intolerable.
By what right did he reprimand her, order her about, and try to put her back into the petty little hypocritical cage to which proper society had relegated her?
Chapter 42
Tilly wrinkled her nose as the fine hairs of her mink coach blanket tickled it. She pulled the fur more closely about her, stretched out her legs across the carriage seat until she was in a proper slouch, and settled in for yet another lengthy voyage.
Although adventures and intrigues were diverting, all the bouncing around in cold carriages was insupportable.
She smiled at Mrs. Carlton, her patient and mercifully deaf companion, whom Tilly compensated well enough that the woman put up with almost any imposition, including being dragged out of a warm parlour and hustled into the carriage for an evening voyage.
Tilly had only stopped home briefly before embarking on this most recent journey. She was forced to be satisfied with biscuits and cold sandwiches, hastily constructed by one of the many servants whom she had ordered about so as to be on her way as quickly as possible.
She knew she must look a fright, but at least she was no longer wearing a servant's costume.
Tilly was destined for Essington Hall. It would seem that Aldley had ordered his brother-in-law returned to the countryside, without his wheelchair. There was definitely a story there.
She could not help laughing at the charming society Miss Delacroix was no doubt enjoying. However, Tilly could not countenance even a trouble-maker like Miss Delacroix being physically accosted, and she suspected that his lordship's only restraint would be his physical limitation.
Go she must, and make such a rescue as she could contrive. She would require some help however, and had written a few quick notes before she left. Do it as she shouldn't, she also scrawled off one unsigned note to that luscious Mr. Rutherford. He would know who it was from.
It was fortunate that her parents were away in Amsterdam. They were quite accustomed to their daughter's irregular mind, and in general were too self-absorbed to pay her much attention. But even pretending to accommodate an imaginary parental concern with pro forma explanations would add precious time to her travel plans.
She hoped she would have a chance to see Rutherford again, soon. Assuming he was still at Nesterling Lodge, he was not so very far out of the way.
She wondered, with a smile, if he still kept to his bed. With such thoughts for relish, she finished her sandwich and drifted off to sleep amid the rocking motion of the carriage.
Chapter 43
Lydia squared her shoulders and met Aldley's gaze with a look of such fury that her eyes almost glowed green in the gloom of the carriage. “I see. So your lordship disapproves.”
“Please, darling, call me Thomas. Do not be so. Surely you can see—” Aldley's plea was cut off by the imposition of Lydia's raised hand.
“Permit me to tell you a few other things, then, my lord. I was raised in the countryside, where I learned to climb trees with the local farm children. And I learned to fight, to ride astride—even bareback—and to find all the little shortcuts which got me places faster, but with torn and dirty clothes. I was not raised a lady, nor do I desire to emulate the supreme hypocrisy and unjustified self-congratulation that is the essence of behaving like a lady.”
Lydia drew a breath and gave the earl a look that made him abandon any hope of interrupting her, then continued, “You should know that much of my unladylike conduct has been my salvation in escaping the clutches and thwarting the schemes of so-called gentle folk, my lord. In saving your friend from dying at a gentleman's hands, for example, and in saving you from the clutches of that gentleman's sister. Yet she is a proper lady by the reckoning of the ton. And she is not the first woman whose schemes I rescued you from, as your lordship may recall.”
“How could I forget? You were magnificent. But—”
“I am still, and will remain, the person who does what needs to be done expeditiously, albeit with metaphorically torn and dirty clothes—or wine stained ones, for that matter.”
It seemed to him that she was sort of babbling. He wondered if she had come down with a fever.
She swatted his hand away from her forehead. “I am perfectly well, and I mean to tell your lordship that I shall not abandon my venture, nor shall I be ordered about. I can see now that my heart has misled me. My true destiny is to be a self-made woman.”
“You need not be so adamant. I am sorry to have given offence, my dearest Lydia. True, I did not mean to make you angry. This is perhaps not the time for either of us to be discussing such matters. We do not need to resolve everything right this moment.”
“I do not know what you have left to resolve, my lord.” Her chin jutted out.
“Call me Thomas, please.” He could not help being a little aroused by her anger. She was gorgeous and imperious. She would make a proper countess.
“But I have already made my resolution,” she said with finality.
“Lydia.” He was reaching for her when the carriage lurched suddenly to one side and then to the other.
Objects slid about on the seats, and the light of the carriage lamps flickered ominously. He grabbed Lydia's waist to steady her.
Lydia screamed and slipped suddenly from his grasp, as the carriage lurched downward and violently turned over, flinging their bodies abruptly into the ceiling as they were plunged into darkness.
He opened his eyes, puzzled. Where was he? Why was his face wet? He swiped his hand across his cheek, but in the darkness could not see what the liquid was. He was in a carriage, but on the ceiling, for some reason. Recollection came flooding back to him.
“Lydia!” The carriage lamps had gone out. He felt around for her body in the darkness. His hand grazed warm fabric. He grasped instinctively before realizing it was her breast. No response.
A cold sweat crept up his back. “Lydia, dearest, wake up now. The carriage has over-turned. Do not be afraid, but wake up, my darling.”
Where were the servants? He pounded on the door, though his right arm hurt him. “You there! Come help us!”
He tried to reach up above his head and find the door latch, but his arm gave him such a jolt of pain that he withdrew it. If it was broken, he would be utterly useless to help her. What if the servants were dead or so badly injured that they could not lend assistance?
“Lydia?” He touched her again, aiming for where he imagined so
me more neutral part of her body to be. He found her head and stroked it. It was wet. No, no, no.
Just then the door rattled and the little tiger who had been riding on the back opened it. Aldley became aware of the smell of smoke. “My lord, are you injured?”
“I am well enough, but Miss Norwood is bleeding and senseless. You must get us help. Don't worry about getting us out, we can wait in here, it will be warmer. Are the others injured?”
“Bigsby has a smarting eye and an ankle what will need looking at, my lord, but Pilch and me and the horses is fine. There's a fire in the area. Smoke spooked the team, then we hit a deep pothole and rolled into the ditch. But I don't think the fire is terrible close. Can't see it, at any rate.”
“Then perhaps there will be someone about to put it out. We shall wait with the carriage. Go get help. Only for the love of God hurry, lad!”
Chapter 44
Sometime in the wee hours her carriage slowed. Tilly stirred and stretched in her nest of fur. They had finally pulled up outside of Essington Hall. She threw off the blanket and rushed out before the servant could open the door for her.
Hurrying over to the Aldley carriage, she arrived just in time to intercept the dishevelled and harassed person of Miss Delacroix, who spilled out of the coach like a sack of onions falling off a cart.
Her wig had tumbled off and bits of hair clung to her face where they had wound their way out of the hair net. A horrid stench wafted out from the carriage behind her. The young lady collapsed on Tilly's shoulder.
“Oh Miss Ravelsham. Thank God you are here. I have been trapped in that carriage with such a ghastly man. He was drunk and vulgar, and he said the most horrid things,” Miss Delacroix sobbed.
“There, there. You are safe now, Miss Delacroix. I shall convey you to Dunston Hall, immediately. True, you are quite safe now.”
She led the distraught young lady to her own carriage, just as the servants began to carry the struggling, cursing and extremely drunk Lord Essington out of Lady Aldley's carriage.
The reprobate halted in his litany of oaths and bruising speculations about the servants' parentage just long enough to look over to Miss Delacroix and call out, “At least the bastard was kind enough to supply me a game pullet for the journey.”
He was swinging her red wig around on his index finger. “Adieu, my darling. Next time we meet I shall be ready for you, I assure you, for a slicker bit of herring I scarce can recall.”
Then he laughed and burst into song.
“He took this maiden then aside,
where they never would be spied,
And told her many a pretty tale,
And gave her well of Watkins ale...”
“You filthy beast!” Miss Delacroix seemed about to charge him, but Tilly hurried the distraught young lady into her carriage before the exchange could further escalate.
When they were safely on their way down the drive, Tilly handed Miss Delacroix a bottle of warm wine. “It will steady your nerves.”
The girl drank meekly and looked apprehensively at Mrs. Carlton.
Tilly introduced them, then added, “Mrs. Carlton is quite deaf, Miss Delacroix, so you must forgive her not contributing to the conversation.”
Miss Delacroix nodded. She sipped her wine for a few minutes, while Mrs. Carlton nodded off.
“He was utterly vile.” Miss Delacroix shook her head violently as if to dispel the memory. “Oh, Miss Ravelsham, it was dreadful. You really cannot imagine.”
“Just so. I really cannot imagine such a horror. It is very unfortunate that you should have been trapped in the carriage with such a man.”
“He terrorized me. He tore my dress.”
“And spilled wine on it, I see.” Tilly's nose twitched.
Miss Delacroix hesitated. “Yes. He was mad drunk, and kept drinking more and more, like a man possessed.”
“He did not…assault your person?”
“No. Thank God he is a cripple, so I could fight off his advances. Vile little worm. But he… soiled himself. Right there in the seat.” Miss Delacroix burst into tears. “And he laughed about it.”
Well, well. Tilly wished she could be there to see Lady Aldley's face when she discovered Essington's calling card in her best carriage.
She stifled a chuckle as she patted Miss Delacroix's arm and put a blanket around her shoulders. “There now, have another drink. That's right. Just calm yourself.”
“The stench was revolting. I thought I should die.” Miss Delacroix paused and breathed deeply. “Is that lavender?”
“I like to keep my carriages well-aired and scented. I find lavender quite soothing.” Tilly gave the sprig muslin sachet an affectionate squeeze.
“Yes.” The stunned woman took another deep drink between sobs. “Soothing.”
“There now. You will be safely back in the care of your brother in no time.” Tilly patted Miss Delacroix's arm. “He will decide what is to be done. Not to worry. He will handle it all.”
Miss Delacroix stopped crying and seemed to be thinking intently. She took several more drinks of wine. “You mean, I suppose, that something is to be done about it?”
Tilly nodded. “I assume, yes, that the head of your family will have to make plans for your future.”
“You mean, to defend my honour?”
“I… well, it will be entirely up to your brother, of course. But if I were he, I should prefer not to call out an already married, crippled man and draw attention to the fact that he had spent the better part of an evening locked in a carriage drinking with my sister.”
“But that was not how it was. I was there against my will.” Miss Delacroix sounded almost as though she believed her own protests.
“Lord!” Tilly exclaimed. “It is worse than I thought. Someone forced you into that carriage?”
“Yes.” The distraught girl raised her chin.
Tilly pretended to contemplate this revelation. “It could not have been Lord Essington. Who was it?”
“It was… Well, I was not exactly forced. It was more that I was lured.”
“Someone lured you into the carriage?” Tilly's brows raised in theatrical surprise. “Who?”
Miss Delacroix took another drink. “I do not wish to say.”
“Very well, I shall press no further.” Tilly smiled consolingly. “But I do not think that this sort of explanation will really help, do you?”
Tilly waited patiently while Miss Delacroix sank into silent tears and continued to drink for a quarter hour. Finally the weepy girl roused herself from the rumination. “How on earth did you come to be waiting at Essington's estate just as I arrived?”
“I happened to be outside the Aldley ball. I witnessed your stepping into the carriage, and its immediately departing in great haste—though it appeared you were wearing a wig at the time. But I digress. I could see that it was Lady Aldley's carriage, and I had just seen Lord Essington lifted into it before you arrived. I knew there had to have been some mingle mangle.”
“Yes. That it was, a mingle mangle.” Miss Delacroix nodded readily.
Tilly continued, “I have had a brief and unpleasant meeting with Lord Essington, which was enough to persuade me that his manners are less genteel than one might expect, so I had my carriage follow. I am glad I did, for I see that my instincts were correct.”
“I am glad you did, too. I should thank you, Miss Ravelsham, for putting yourself so far out of the way in order to rescue me. Indeed I do, from the bottom of my heart.” She hiccuped, and wiped a tear from her eye.
“Miss Delacroix,” Tilly paused for effect, as though fighting with her scruples about broaching the subject, “we do not have to speak of this if you do not wish to, but I think it would be greatly preferable if as few people as possible knew of what happened tonight.”
“Most certainly. But surely the servants will talk—even if that vile man does not,” Miss Delacroix sneered.
“I may be able to help your situation.”
“H
ow could you help me?”
“It will depend entirely upon whether or not you wish to keep quiet, to pretend that the events of tonight never happened, and create a plausible story quite to the contrary.” Tilly's face was a study in deceptive innocence.
“Of course I do.” Miss Delacroix rubbed her eye.
“And how far are you willing to go to achieve that end?”
The tipsy young lady drained the last of the wine. “Why not try my resolve, Miss Ravelsham?”
Tilly handed Miss Delacroix another bottle.
Chapter 45
Aldley halted in his pacing across the wooden floors of the inn to stare out the window onto the desolate roadway of the tiny hamlet below. Lydia had not wakened. He pulled at his hair with his fists. God help him, he could not bear that she was hurt. It was his fault.
They had been situated at the inn for days—long enough for his valet and three other house servants to arrive. Still she hardly stirred. She drank small amounts of water when prompted, but she never opened her eyes.
The doctor had come and put Aldley's arm in a sling and examined Lydia. His was but a sprain, and would likely heal quickly. Her injuries were much more severe.
The doctor believed her neck to be uninjured. The blood from her head was merely a flesh wound, but the blow had been severe. He did not know if she would awaken, but said that she should not be moved.
So Aldley had sent for a special physician from London, and sent word to her father, who was no doubt on his way. Aldley knew he would have a great deal to account for with Mr. Norwood.
He had also sent word to Rutherford, begging him to come if he were well enough, to give Aldley company and support. And he wrote to an acquaintance in the home office whom he knew would be discreet, enlisting him to take up the hunt for his mother, as the earl had hopelessly lost any possibility of doing so himself.
