Chapter 6
MADELEINE
The carriage swayed over the road, each revolution of its wheels taking me farther from the only home I had ever known. My stomach was knotted with a peculiar combination of anticipation and dread.
He was taking me.
The dark-eyed stranger. The man my father gave me to as if I were of no greater import than a painting on the wall or a mahogany chair.
As if I were an object rather than a daughter of flesh and blood and bone.
But then, perhaps to the baron, that had been all I ever was.
One more possession, his to do with as he liked until he grew weary of me and passed me off to the next household.
You will no longer be a millstone around my neck.
And the stranger, Lord Wheaton. The man who had examined me before callously declaring I would do.
For what purpose?
I still didn’t know.
I was afraid to ask. All I had to rely upon was Geraldine’s assurance that the marquess had told her he had no intention of ruining me. It had been at her urging that I packed what few belongings I possessed in a bandbox and climbed into Lord Wheaton’s carriage at dawn.
“You’re trembling.”
Geraldine’s voice pierced my thoughts. At least I had her for accompaniment. I wouldn’t be entirely alone. But my heart ached as I thought of Lydia, the sister of my heart, and our tearful parting earlier that morning. I would miss her dreadfully, as I knew she would miss me.
I twisted my gloved hands in my lap and met Geraldine’s kind gaze. “The day has been a trying one thus far. I’m a bit overset.”
Overset was a woefully inadequate means of describing the maelstrom within me, but my emotions were in such a tumult that I didn’t think I could properly make sense of them myself, let alone attempt to explain them to someone else.
“I expect you shall be far safer in the marquess’s care than in the baron’s,” Geraldine said, no doubt seeking to reassure me.
I wanted to believe her. But hope was a dying ember within me, scarcely capable of making flame. It had been for years now.
“Have you learned anything else of Lord Wheaton?” I asked her, wondering yet again about the man I had been given to.
He had at least provided us with the comfort of his carriage for the journey, and a more handsome conveyance I had never beheld.
The squabs were sumptuous and comfortable, covered in fine Morocco leather a deep shade of claret with silk trim.
The matching linings were of superfine cloth.
It was clearly new, a crest proudly emblazoned upon the door, and a far cry from the shabby old carriage the baron kept for his trips to London.
Wealth, however, did not suggest kindness.
“Little more than belowstairs gossip,” Geraldine told me, “but I’ve seen enough with my own two eyes to know that he’s nothing like the baron.”
Before I could respond, a commotion rose from beyond the carriage, masculine shouts followed by the whinnying of a horse. The conveyance drew to an abrupt halt.
Concern laced through me. For a breath, I suspected the baron had set off after us, changing his mind. I would be removed from the carriage and returned to Cliffwood. I wasn’t sure which I feared more, going back to my life of servitude or proceeding to whatever awaited me at Lord Wheaton’s mercy.
But suddenly, the door to the carriage burst open to reveal the marquess’s steward, his expression grave.
“Is something amiss?” Geraldine asked, reacting before I could.
“I’m afraid so,” the steward said. “It’s Lord Wheaton.”
ALEXANDER
I cursed as I tried to stand, my foot almost collapsing under my weight.
But my concern was for Knight. I had not been paying as close attention as I should, and he had stumbled on a large unseen divot in the roadside.
He lurched, throwing me from the saddle, and I landed with my foot bent at an odd angle.
I ascertained it wasn’t broken, but ye gods, it ached.
Edward was at my side immediately, and I waved him off. “Check Knight.”
He knelt beside my horse, examining his leg with a trained eye. He rose with a nod. “Lamed, but not broken.” He shook his head. “Much like you, my lord.”
The carriage had stopped, my servants waiting my direction.
“You need to ride in the carriage. It will be full, but there is not another option. You cannot ride Knight, nor can he carry you.” He flashed a smile, wanting to jest with me. “Unless of course, I walk and you ride.”
“Do not tempt me,” I grunted, not pleased with the idea of being trapped with the servant and the terrified girl. Every time she looked at me, I felt her trepidation and dread. I had not had the time to speak with her, soothe her worry, assure her that she would be safe.
Edward strode forward, opening the carriage door and leaning in to say something. Movement caught my eye, and I was shocked to see a strange girl rise from between the trunks and bags on the carriage roof. Her anxious gaze met my surprised one, and I shouted out.
“Edward! Above you!”
He stepped back from the carriage as the startled girl lurched, her arms acting like windmills as she tried to steady herself and failed. She toppled from the roof, and it was only by some sort of miracle that Edward caught her, holding her in his arms.
For a moment, the air was silent as he stared down at her. Then he set her on her feet.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you on about? Did Barnett send you?”
“No, sir,” she gasped. “Never.”
Miss Smythe appeared at the door of the carriage, looking shocked and confused. “Lydia?”
The girl, Lydia, I presumed, turned and gasped. “Oh, Maddie!”
“What are you doing here? Where have you come from?” Miss Smythe climbed from the carriage, embracing the girl. The two began a fast conversation I could not hear. Edward, however, seemed to know what they were saying, his countenance going from puzzled to shocked to almost delighted.
I shut my eyes, trying to seek my forbearance.
It had been a trying time since I left London.
The baron and his insufferable attitude.
His rude guests. The blasted card game and the acquisition of a guest I didn’t want and an older servant—both of whom I was now responsible for.
Sneaking away like a thief under the cloak of darkness.
Knight’s accident. Now, with the appearance of Lydia, I was at the end of my tether.
I was exhausted and sat down in the dirt on the side of the road, not caring about my breeches, my station, or anything else. It pained me too much to keep standing, and I had no idea what was about to occur next.
A moment later, Edward came over, hunching beside me. “Are you well, Alexander?”
“Explain to me what has occurred.”
“Lydia is, was, a servant at Barnett’s. When she heard Miss Smythe was leaving, she refused to stay. She wedged herself up on the carriage between the trunks.”
“And she planned to remain hidden the entire journey?” I asked in disbelief. It would be hot when the sun rose and awkward. Dangerous.
“She said she would rather die than stay.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “A bit melodramatic,” I muttered. “What is she seeking?”
“To stay with Miss Smythe. Wherever you take her.”
I looked past his shoulder to where Miss Smythe stood, her arm around her fellow servant.
Except she wasn’t truly one of them. Yet for the first time, I saw something other than fear in her gaze.
Determination. I sensed if I said no, she would refuse to travel on without her friend.
And I refused to leave her on a dark, lonely road.
“Fine,” I granted, in too much pain to argue. “But that makes the carriage even fuller.”
“I can ride on the box,” Lydia spoke up. “I hate being inside.” I waved my hand, indicating for her to do exactly that, watching as she scrambled back up.
Edward helped me to my feet, and I tried not to grimace as we hobbled to the carriage. I climbed in, sitting down, scowling as Edward lifted my leg to the seat opposite. Geraldine pursed her lips but sat next to me, leaving Miss Smythe no choice but to sit beside my rapidly swelling foot.
I glanced at Edward. “Take us to Wheaton. As swiftly as possible.”
Swift was impossible with Knight’s injury.
Inside the carriage, no one spoke. I had my eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain in my foot.
Miss Smythe was pushed into the farthest corner of the seat, not looking anywhere but her lap.
The only one to make any noise was Geraldine, who sat next to me, knitting.
On occasion, she stopped, lifting a hand to her mouth, then with a shake of her head, continued, her countenance drawn.
I was too preoccupied with fighting the ache in my foot to question her as to her welfare.
When she did knit, the click-clack of the needles was somehow both soothing and irksome, but I kept my mouth shut.
The carriage stopped, and Edward came to the door. “My lord, Knight cannot continue without risking further injury.”
“Bloody hell,” I growled. I did not wish him more harm.
“There is a coaching inn a short distance ahead. I can remain with Knight and a groom. Perhaps a fresh set of horses will take you on to Wheaton more swiftly. I will follow once Knight is rested and his leg attended to.”
I nodded in acknowledgment.
We arrived at the inn and disembarked from the coach. I refused to stay behind as Edward spoke to the innkeeper, making the proper arrangements, while the women went inside for refreshments.
We slowly headed in that direction, my foot feeling as if it were on fire. My gait was halting and painful, and we stopped for a moment to allow me to catch my breath. Lydia appeared from the inn and hurried in our direction.
“Bollocks, what now?” I breathed out.
Lydia curtsied in front of me. “Pardon me, my lord, but Geraldine has requested she remain behind with your, ah, Mr., ah…” She trailed off, unsure.
“Mr. Warwick. Why does she wish to stay behind?”
She leaned in. “She was bilious in the carriage and cannot continue.”
Edward shook his head. “I cannot attend her.”
“I will remain behind as well. I can’t be inside a carriage.”
“Blast it. And what of Miss Smythe?” I demanded.
“I will travel with you, my lord.” Her soft voice broke into our discussion. I had not noticed her approach, yet now that I saw her, she eclipsed anything else in my vision.
“You need a chaperone,” I insisted, meeting her unique gaze.
“It matters not. No one knows of me. Who I am, where I am going. I am but a lowly maid. I believe, from what Geraldine has ascertained, that you are a gentleman of the highest standing.”
I frowned at her brave words.
“Your coachman and servant will be there,” she added.
“And they would ignore any wrongdoing on my part,” I insisted.
She lifted her chin. “I am not afraid.”
The obvious solution was clear. We all would stay at the inn until Geraldine was able to travel again. I suggested it, but Lydia spoke. “Geraldine is worried that the master will awaken and regret his drunken wagers. He may be angry and perhaps chase after Maddie. She urges you to take her.”
I cursed Barnett as I watched the color drain from Miss Smythe’s face. It was plain that she feared her father.
And the truth was, I wanted to return to Wheaton today. To the quiet order my life had there. Away from all the excesses of the life someone of my station was forced to live with. I was weary. Tired of this journey and the constant twists and turns it had taken.
“Fine,” I ground out. “We leave as soon as the horses are ready.”
I settled into the soft leather of the carriage with a grateful sigh as we began to move.
Across from me, Miss Smythe was once again pressed against the farthest corner, her face pale, her gloved hands fisted on her lap.
I noticed how thick the gloves appeared to be—not the delicate type I was used to seeing ladies wear, but these appeared more protective.
I briefly contemplated why that would be, then dismissed my thoughts.
It was not my concern. Yet the words were out of my lips before I could stop them.
“Are your hands not warm in those gloves? It is a hot day.”
She startled at my voice, lifting her head to meet my eyes. I saw the worry and dismay in hers, and once again, it hit me fully in my chest, making me want to ease that distress.
“I am used to them,” she whispered, her fingers moving restlessly over her skirts.
“Fear me not, my lady. You are safe with me.”
“I am not a lady. Not any longer. I am simply a maid. You may call me Madeleine if you desire.”
I tilted my head in acknowledgment. The carriage went over a large bump, causing my foot to jump on the seat.
I bit back a groan, shutting my eyes. The pain was growing in its intensity.
Edward had wanted to fetch a physician, but I refused, knowing it would delay my departure.
I would see my own physician, Dr. Atwood, when we arrived at Wheaton.
“You are in pain, my lord.”
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Might you allow me to help you?”
I frowned in confusion. “May I ask how you propose to do that?”
She bit her lip and slid forward. “I spent a great deal of time in the stable watching the grooms work on the horses when he—my father—still had many. When an animal was hurt, they rubbed down the leg with liniment and bandaged it. I tried it once when I fell down the steps and injured my foot. It helped greatly. I practiced wrapping limbs on Lydia and Geraldine and the other servants if they were injured. Perhaps you would allow me to try to ease your discomfort?”
“You wish to rub horse liniment on my skin?” I asked, askance. It was strong and effective for animals—but humans?
“No,” she assured me. “It is not for animals. It will not harm you, I assure you, my lord.”
I paused. That meant she would touch me—a wildly inappropriate occurrence between an unmarried maiden and someone like me. I weighed the consequences.
“Perhaps if you thought of me as a ward and yourself my guardian, you would feel at ease?” she questioned, somehow knowing exactly my worries.
“Yes,” I answered promptly. “Until I decide your future, I am your guardian.” I indicated my foot. “Please begin.”