Madcap Miss

by Claudy Conn

  “The duke? The Duke of Somerset?” she cried in distress. “As close as Northport? Oh, no. Oh, no … no! She turned to her friend. “Scott, he is coming for me. I shall die if he makes me go with him.”

  Scott patted her shoulder and said as he stood tall, “Never you mind. Know just what to do.”

  “You do?” She was surprised. She was usually the one that guided them from one moment to the next.

  “Aye,” he answered and waved the urchin off.

  In spite of her distress, Felicia noted that the groom only left reluctantly. Apparently he wanted to know what Scott meant to do as well.

  “Take you to my aunt in London. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. She will see to you. Give you a season. I will stay and visit with her for a while—keep you company. Besides, I have a fancy to see London.”

  Felicia saw doubt in his eyes and knew he wasn’t sure his aunt would appreciate her being foisted into her household. She knew his aunt Matilda well, for his aunt had been a frequent visitor at Scott’s home. She had always been in awe of the older woman.

  “Your aunt? You do mean your Aunt Matilda?” Felicia asked, just to be certain.

  “Yes, only aunt in London, you know,” he added thoughtfully.

  No choice, her inner self told her. If it was between the old duke taking her to some outlandish place or Scott’s stern aunt in London? Well, it was London. In another two months she would have control of her money, and the duke’s guardianship would be at an end. Two months was not so very long, after all?

  “Yes. That is quite an excellent solution, but for one thing, Scott,” she offered. “She might refuse to let me stay.”

  “What? No. She might balk at first, but I have a notion what to say to her about it. You know she is highly respected in the haute ton and has no children. Think this might be just what she will like.”

  “Yes, but the duke might not like it and come after me …”

  “Why would he do that? Sounds too smoky by half. You’d think he would be happy to be out of it,” Scott returned frowning.

  “Well, it might not appear quite the thing you see. Me, running away from him, to go to your aunt. Looks …”

  “Aye, aye. I see what you mean.” Suddenly dawning lit up his pale blue eyes. “Got it!” With this statement, he took her arm and led her to the house.

  “Do you?”

  She listened raptly as he laid out his plans and then scrunched up her face as she gave it some thought. She still had her doubts and told him, “Well, I don’t know how and what your aunt Matilda will say when we show up at her door.”

  “Never mind that now. First things first,” Scott answered, obviously having made up his mind.

  She laughed at all this newfound manhood and said, “Why, Scott … I am impressed.”

  “Aye, so you should be.”

  * * *

  Quaint and well appointed, the Northport Inn, was, Lady Daphne felt, at least a respectable establishment. This, however, did not stop her from stomping around her charmingly decorated bedchamber and advising her middle-aged, placid-tempered maid that her brother the duke was a villain of some stature.

  “For wouldn’t you know he would send me off in a Somerset coach that was too decrepit to make the journey!”

  She folded her arms across her ample bosom and seethed. “Does he accompany me? Oh, no. Off he goes to London on some last-minute nonsense while he sends me to do his work for him. Well, when next I see him, he shall answer for this.” She was, in fact, sadly agitated, for she missed her Freddy and heartily wanted to return to him and her life in London.

  “I am very sure he will, my lady,” answered her maid with a certain twinkle, for she was well acquainted with her ladyship’s volatile brother.

  Lady Daphne eyed her suspiciously for a moment but continued in this vein for a time before she allowed herself to sit and sip the tea her maid had poured for her refreshment.

  “Is the coach nearly ready, do you think?” her ladyship asked after the soothing brew had found its way to her lips and down her throat.

  “I will go and see, my lady.” Her maid started to rise.

  “No, no, sit back down dear and have a cup with me. I shan’t ill use you the way my brother uses me.” She sighed and added, “I am certain they will send us word as soon as it is ready for us to proceed on this blasted journey.” She eyed her maid, who picked up a pastry and took a hearty bite.

  Well, there was nothing for it. She had given in to her brother’s winning charm, and just look where she was. It was always this way with him.

  It was at that very moment the duke tooled his perfectly matched pair of bay geldings down the Post Road, totally unaware that his sister had been left kicking her heels at an inn while the Somerset Coach was under repair. She had made the journey from London with him in his own curricle, and it had never occurred to him she might have any trouble on the trip to Easton.

  London was left at his broad back and ahead, ahead lay some countrified twenty-year-old child, he thought as he grimaced to himself. Egad! Whatever would he do with her?

  There were, of course, several alternative solutions that he could have utilized. After all, he wouldn’t even be her guardian in two months. He could have just allowed matters to continue as they were. But, no, conscience was a heavy obstacle. His late uncle’s wishes, he found, were not something he could ignore. The chit had been his uncle’s ward, and he must do right by her. So be it.

  Whatever Curtis may have said, however, did not alter the fact that he was a bachelor and one with a reputation for being a bit of a rogue with the ladies. He needed his sister’s help in this blasted matter and was thankful that she had finally consented to fetch the child and take her to Waverly House.

  This entire mess was a damned nuisance.

  That was another thing. He had arranged to move into the Somerset Town House, but he bloody hell didn’t want to. He had enjoyed his life in his bachelor lodgings. There, he had been used to having friends drop by at all hours …

  Now, he was just down the avenue from Waverly, his sister’s residence in Kensington. The very best locations … and yet, he would miss his old place.

  Damned annoying.

  Now he was a duke.

  Also damned annoying.

  It was a good four hours to Easton from London, but he couldn’t leave his sister hanging there with his ward. He had promised to join her as soon as he could, and that was his honest intent.

  He changed his horses at the posting house and was determined to make the trip in one day; two hours for each team was just right.

  With any good luck Daffy had reached Easton as planned and perhaps had even struck up a rapport with the Easton chit. He certainly hoped so. Aye, then, that would make things move smoothly. Indeed, if Daffy took the chit under her wings he might actually slip through this entire mess quite comfortably.

  ~ Four ~

  “SCOTT, ARE YOU sure this is the correct road?” Felicia peered through the dark of night, squinted, and made up her mind that it was not at all the right road. She didn’t know why she had listened to him. They should have backtracked to the fingerpost and made certain of their direction.

  Her friend sighed unhappily and kept his horse in a forward jog. He apparently did not plan on answering her.

  Felicia’s eyes narrowed. They had taken the wrong road. She was sure of it. She could see that Scott was worried. He couldn’t fool her; she knew him too well. He probably thought it was the honorable thing to keep the fact that they were lost to himself.

  Well, she didn’t give a rap for honor and intangibles. What she needed was an answer. “Scott, tell me do, are we lost? It is easy enough to turn back now and—”

  “It is already past seven, you know. Wish we had managed to get off sooner,” he replied, sounding grumpy. “Not turning back. No time for that.”

  She snorted. “No time to turn back, but time enough to wander around on the king’s roads without having a not
ion where we are?” She wagged a finger. “We must backtrack to the fingerpost. ’Tis the only logical thing to do.”

  “We are not backtracking!” Scott responded. He eyed her as he came up close and added, “Deuce take it, girl. I have already told you that I am sure about the road and I did read the fingerpost. No point losing more time going back to read it again.”

  She sighed. He had an obstinate streak, and usually it was about directions. He had no sense of direction. This was her fault because she knew it and should have studied the fingerpost herself. She sighed and said despondently, “This is slow going in the dark.”

  “Aye. What we want now is the Northport Inn, and if we don’t concentrate and pick up our pace, we won’t get there for another hour or so!”

  She sniffed and stopped her unruly tongue from making its way out of her mouth. Childish, she told herself. Indeed, she was a grown woman now, and although he deserved that she stick her tongue out at him, she refrained. Instead, she arched a regal look at him and then relented. After all, he was doing all this just for her. She said, “Yes, well, I can’t see a thing, Scott, so I don’t know how we can pick up the pace. I don’t want Whiley here to land in a hole, you know.”

  “Hen-witted and chicken-hearted,” Scott pronounced and laughed. “Any ninny can see that the road is as smooth as silk.”

  Her resolve to treat him with respect was lost somewhere in the word ‘ninny’. She said on a warning note, “Chicken-hearted? You big oaf. You are much like all your kind.”

  He chuckled. “My kind being men?”

  “Indeed,” she said, the humor returning to her voice.

  “Well, I don’t know how you would know anything about ‘my kind’. You don’t know very many men besides me.”

  “Oh, is that so? Well, you are very wrong indeed. My friends and I were acquainted with any number of so-called men when we were up at school. I have a superior knowledge of your kind,” she said and laughed at his expression. “And here at home, Scott, well, my latest flirt has been Daniel Waters, who you often refer to as a top sawyer!”

  Scott seemed struck dumb with this information. He opened his mouth but was apparently unable to speak. Finally he exclaimed, “Danny? But … are you telling me … you have a tendre for Danny?”

  She laughed. “No, I am telling you that I know enough young men to form a judgment about your gender. And Danny had a tendre for me.”

  “Never say so!” Scott seemed astonished. “Damn his soul. I warned Danny to stay away from you. He is the biggest rogue ever when it comes to the ladies. Told him he had no business near you. Why, I should head back and land him a facer. Tell you what—when we are done in London, mean to do just that.”

  She giggled, for he seemed stuck on this point. “Well, he says that you are rather accomplished with the ladies,” she teased with a smirk of sorts.

  “He said that?” Scott appeared to be torn between being annoyed and flattered. “Well, that is neither here nor there, for I don’t go around breaking their hearts. He does.”

  She said, “Well, he is a rogue, for after he kissed me, he did try to become even more … familiar with me, and I had to slap him to get him to stop.”

  Scott appeared at this juncture to suffer severe palpitations and finally uttered with disbelief, “He tried to force himself on you? I shall pound him into the earth and then pick him up and do it again.”

  She laughed. “Oh, stop, Scott. ’Twas the veriest nothing, and I told you, I gave him a good hard slap. His cheek was absolutely red.”

  “I can’t believe he would … would …”

  “Why, Scott, don’t you think me pretty?” she teased.

  “What has that to say to anything? I told him to treat you as though you were my sister. I shall wring his neck!”

  “After or before you pound him into the earth?” she said and giggled.

  “Damn him!” Scott continued to rage.

  “Well, it wasn’t all his fault. It was the mistletoe and me … encouraging him.”

  “Well, don’t do that. Don’t be encouraging men to kiss you under the mistletoe. Not the thing,” he snapped.

  “Oh?” She dimpled saucily. “Where should I let them kiss me then?”

  “Flip!” he reprimanded her in severe tones. “Don’t sass me.”

  She sighed loudly. “I suppose there must be other places one should allow handsome gentlemen to kiss them?” She was in full banter mode and laughed at his expression before adding, “Don’t be such an old fidget. One must accumulate some experiences, after all. Men do.”

  “Men do? Well, yes, but that is very different.”

  “How, Scott? How is it different?”

  “It just is,” he answered roughly.

  “Well, I don’t think so, and that is why I moved on to Thomas Brookes and let him kiss me last month.”

  “Flip!” Scott appeared genuinely shocked. “Flip, how could you? He is nearly thirty-nine! And how dare he take advantage of a young innocent!”

  She laughed. “I was the one who took advantage of him, Scott. I am very curious, you see, about the art of dalliance, about kissing and such things, and Thomas is sophisticated and intriguing. Yes, I enjoyed his kiss very much, but I found I didn’t love him … so that was that.”

  Scott blustered out some incoherent sentences and then fell silent. She waited because she knew it was coming, and it did. He said, “Flip, you can’t go about the country kissing men. If your dear stepmama were alive, she would put you in the right of it.”

  “My dear mama was wise and brilliant, and she told me she kissed any number of men before she kissed and fell in love with my father.”

  He had nothing to say to this, and once again his mouth remained open for a time.

  She broke the silence purposely by telling him, “Funny thing …”

  “What is a funny thing?”

  “I never wanted to kiss you, Scott. Thought about it, but immediately knew … no … didn’t want to.”

  He pulled himself up straight, and his tone indicated relief as he said, “Well, I should hope not.” He looked away from her and then turned back to add, “Why the devil not? Many girls have wanted to kiss me!”

  She gurgled enthusiastically, as her remark had been designed to this end. “Ha! Who?”

  “Mary Wiggens for one. She wants to kiss me all the time,” he answered pugnaciously.

  Felicia, instead of laughing to this, however, put up her hand to silence him when a shot rang out forcefully through the atmosphere.

  They brought their horses to an immediate halt and regarded one another with only the moon to light up their expressions.

  “What the devil?” Scott said on a hushed note.

  Instinct moved Felicia, and she whispered, “Gunshot. That was a gunshot, Scotty. Let’s get off the road.”

  “We can barely see our footing now. In the woods, we won’t get enough moonlight.”

  “And still, that is where we should go,” Felicia insisted.

  Instead, dumbfounded she watched him urge his horse forward as he told her, “Damn, if someone isn’t in trouble!”

  Felicia was as stout-hearted a female as he was a male, but she was also made of practical stuff. Running one’s horse and oneself willy-nilly to the rescue without a plan was not exactly how she would have handled the situation had she been consulted.

  Thus, with an unladylike oath under her breath, she too urged her horse off at a much too heady pace, if only to prevent Scott from getting himself killed.

  “Scott!” she called out, trying to stop him. It would be so much better if they approached from stealth.

  He apparently did not hear her—not, she thought, that he would have stopped to listen. Shots blasting on the open road made her heart quake. Only one reason she could think of for this: highwaymen!

  She and Scott had often been told by his father, the squire, that these men were the worst kind of bloodthirsty men, sneaking about in the dark, attacking women and invalids on
the king’s roads.

  It was Scott’s father’s opinion that every last one needed to be put to the dust.

  Felicia arrived to find that Scott had charged onto the scene where high tobys were in the midst of their crime. They had brought a coach and four ill-matched horses to a standstill, and their horse pistols were held high and threateningly.

  The driver of the vehicle had his hands up and was reciting in frightened accents that he was not armed.

  One of the highwaymen pulled an elderly gentleman out of the coach. This gentleman appeared to be sadly foxed and fell to the ground in a drunken stupor, which caused the four highwaymen to roar with mirth.

  Scott raced his horse forward and demanded, “Hold, you blackguards. I am armed!”

  One toby turned and let off a shot, appeared surprised when it hit its mark. He called to his men to hurry it up and put away the jewels and the ready.

  A moment later they rode their horses hard into the night.

  The driver of the coach picked up his employer, stuffed him back into the coach, and climbed up into his seat. Felicia rushed her horse forward. Scott was lying sprawled and unconscious on the ground, and even as her horse was still slowing to a walk, she nimbly jumped off and raced to his side.

  With a shock she heard the driver start his team off, and she looked up to call after him, “Stop, you, we need help!”

  “Can’t … have to get sir home … now,” he answered as his coach rolled onward.

  From what Felicia could see, Scott had taken a shot to the shoulder and had the wind knocked out of him when he had then fallen off his horse.

  He made a valiant attempt to smile at Felicia, but as she watched in horror he closed his eyes and went unconscious.

  * * *

  “Scott!” she cried desperately as she tore off a piece of her underclothes and applied it to his wound, where blood was flowing freely.

  Blood! Blood had stained his coat and was already forming a small pool near his upper body. What was she supposed to do? She knew about wounds. She had witnessed two hunting accidents when her father was alive. She had to keep him still, but what … what could she do, out here in the middle of nowhere without help?