Chapter Eight The Catastrophe at Rotten Row #3
"Oh! Yes! Of course!" Charles attempted to shake the dog loose. It held firm. "Should I bring the dog?"
"No, Mr Bingley. Go. Now."
Charles, with one final heroic shake that dislodged the demon, scrambled onto his horse and took off towards the gates at a pace that implied his mount was equally eager to escape the morning's events.
The Colonel watched him disappear, then turned back to Caroline. "We shall proceed slowly. By the time we reach the gates, your carriage will be waiting."
"And if it is not?"
"Then I shall carry you home and leave you on your doorstep like an abandoned parcel. But I suspect your brother, for all his failings, can manage to send a carriage."
"Your faith in him is touching."
"My faith in basic human competence is minimal. But even Bingley cannot fail at pointing a driver in the correct direction."
The walk back to the park gates took more than twenty minutes.
The Colonel led the beast by the reins, his stride slow and steady.
Caroline sat in the saddle, attempting to restore some semblance of order to her hair whilst simultaneously calculating how long it would take for this incident to reach every drawing room in Mayfair.
Answer: three hours, maximum.
By teatime, she would be the mad Bingley woman who could not control her horse. By tomorrow, the story would evolve into her attempting to elope with a chimney sweeper. By next week, she would be banned from owning livestock.
She was considering emigration when they reached the gates.
The Bingley carriage waited in the lane beyond, and Schmidt stood beside it, wringing her hands and scanning the path for her mistress.
The moment she spotted Caroline, bedraggled, hatless, and mounted on a horse capable of crushing buildings, the maid let out a strangled gasp and rushed forward.
"Miss! Oh, Miss! What has happened? Are you injured? Is that blood? No, it is mud. Thank the Lord! Though mud is still quite serious. Your habit is ruined! Completely ruined!"
The Colonel brought Black Thunder to a halt and reached up to help Caroline dismount. His hands settled at her waist, steadying her as she swung her leg over the saddle. For a moment, she was suspended again, his arms the only tether to earth.
Then her feet touched solid ground.
"I am all right, Schmidt." Caroline brushed dust from her sleeves. "Do not fret."
Schmidt blinked. "But Miss—"
"Truly. I am unharmed. The Colonel was kind enough to prevent me from becoming intimately acquainted with a tree."
The maid's mouth opened and closed, a fish attempting to understand philosophy. Then she reached out and gripped Caroline's hands, squeezing them tightly.
"Thank Heaven," Schmidt breathed. "I was so worried. When Mr Bingley came back without you, ranting about a dog and a catastrophe, I thought—" Her voice cracked.
Caroline squeezed back. "I am here. Whole and unbroken. Go fetch my cloak from the carriage. I look like a vagrant."
Schmidt nodded, scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve, and hurried away.
The Colonel stood very still, watching the exchange. His face had shifted into territory Caroline could not quite decipher. It was not mockery. It was not amusement. It was... confusion. As if he had witnessed a rare bird doing arithmetic.
She turned to face him, tilting her chin up. Ha! she thought with vindictive satisfaction. I have made your brain turn to mush! What do you think now, Colonel, to see that my maid loves me genuinely? That I am not simply a harridan in expensive velvet?
"Thank you." Her voice came out clipped and crisp. "For the rescue. Though I maintain I would have managed perfectly well on my own."
"You would have collided with the tree, fallen off, and been trampled by the horse on her victory lap. But certainly, you would have managed."
"Your faith in my abilities is overwhelming."
"My faith in natural science is sound. You were going to lose that fight, Miss Bingley."
She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because he was still looking at her in that strange, assessing way. And because Schmidt was returning with the cloak.
"Same time next week?" he asked, his mouth curving.
"Absolutely not."
"I shall take that as a yes."
"You are insufferable."
"You are bedraggled."
He bowed, collected Black Thunder's reins, and swung into the saddle in one solid movement. The horse snorted, clearly relieved to be carrying his preferred rider again.
"Until next time," he said, touching the brim of his hat.
And he rode away, leaving Caroline standing in the lane, covered in dirt, hatless, and utterly incapable of deciding whether she wanted to swat him with a bat or demand an immediate rematch.
Schmidt draped the cloak around her shoulders.
"Shall we go home, Miss?"
Caroline watched the Colonel's retreating form until he disappeared around the bend.
"Yes," she said finally. "Home. And Schmidt?"
"Yes, Miss?"
"Find out which stable Seraphina came from. I wish to send them a very strongly worded letter."
"Of course, Miss. Will you mention the oak tree?"
"Absolutely. And the dog. Especially the dog."