Chapter 4 #2
The general shook his head. “Not possible. We must move immediately.”
“Perhaps with an escort? The lives of many of our men may depend on it.”
The general frowned. “I tell you, it’s too risky. I don’t know your exact mission, Your Grace, but I do know that Whitehall is depending on me to keep you safe.” A brusque frown. “Besides, there are no men to spare. Perhaps in a few days you may journey to the coast—assuming luck is on our side.”
The duke clenched his hands. “May I at least send a letter through?”
The general gazed into the distance, his eyes riveted on the thin red lines that were moving through a ruined cornfield. “Nothing but military dispatches,” he snapped. “Can’t you see what is happening here? Gather the rest of your party and be ready to move in ten minutes.”
It was quite clear which rank took precedence on the battlefield.
* * *
Davenport rubbed his temples. Ye gods, the final tally given to him by his steward added up to a great deal of money. Yet if he were very careful, he could manage it.
But just barely.
His lips quirked in grim humor on recalling the last remark of the injured young woman upstairs about his scruffy appearance—indeed, there would be no new wardrobe from Weston or boots from Hoby, that was for sure.
Not that it mattered. The earl had no intention of venturing to Town any time soon. He had meant what he had said about being a farmer. It was time that someone of his lineage took on the responsibility of setting the ancestral estate to rights.
With that in mind, Davenport closed the ledger and reached for his jacket.
The feel of the coarse wool made him smile again.
He did have clothes befitting a gentleman, but these garments were more practical given that he intended to work alongside his tenants.
As well as keeping his mind occupied, it would show them that the new earl was not at all like his older brother, no matter the outward similarity.
But it was a sharp observation the stranger had made.
Davenport’s brow furrowed as he walked to the stable.
Who was she, he wondered, and how had she come to have such cuts and bruises?
He could have sworn he had seen a look of wariness cross her face for an instant when he had asked her who she was.
In fact, he was sure she had deliberately avoided answering his question.
His lips compressed. He had seen similar injuries on the face of a lady.
It sickened him, but he told himself that in this case, it was none of his business.
He planned to get her back to whoever was responsible for her as soon as possible.
Another helpless female was the last sort of distraction he needed in his life.
Jarrett was waiting for him outside the stable, holding the reins of the big black stallion who was tossing his head even more impatiently than earlier in the morning. Davenport patted the horse’s muscular flank.
“You shall have your run before the day is out, Nero,” he promised as he swung into the saddle. But he kept the horse in tight check as the two men headed out to the fields. There was still much to discuss concerning work to be done.
They approached an expanse of fallow land. A group of men, stripped to the waist and already covered with sweat, were toiling to clear the overgrown weeds from the soil.
“I went ahead and purchased seed. There is still time to get a crop in if we hurry,” said Jarrett.
The men looked up as the two riders slowed their pace. Some nodded a curt greeting to the steward, while most simply stood and regarded the earl with suspicion.
“You have your work cut out for you, milord,” observed Jarrett in a low voice as they dismounted.
The earl nodded grimly and began to remove his shirt.
* * *
The stallion’s flanks were lathered with sweat by the time horse and rider rounded the last turn as the late afternoon light began to fade.
Even though he was bone tired, Davenport enjoyed the hard gallop back to the manor house.
The cool breeze felt good on his parched skin and blew some of the dust from his hair.
It had been brutally hard work in the fields, but so far, he hadn’t disgraced himself.
Though the surreptitious glances cast his way throughout the day had seemed to expect—nay, wish for—his collapse, he had accomplished as much as any of the other men out there.
The tenants might not like him yet, he thought with grim satisfaction, but they were a fair way along to respecting him. That was what Jarrett had told him—he would have to earn their trust.
Which was fair enough, as long as they gave him a fighting chance.
Spotting the physician’s gig by the stable as he rode in, Davenport swore under his breath. Damnation. He had forgotten all about the mysterious stranger ensconced in one of the spare bedchambers.
Tossing the reins to the grizzled groom who shuffled out from the stalls, he hurried to the manor house and barely gave Fields a chance to yank the door open for him.
He was about to continue up the staircase when he paused for a moment and asked the butler for hot water to be brought up to his chamber.
For some reason, he found himself wanting to wash the worst of the dirt and sweat from his face and put on a clean shirt before he looked in on the young woman.
A mere farmer was perfectly respectable, but he balked at appearing a complete yokel, especially after the rather unfortunate first impression he had made.
The door to the room was slightly ajar, and as Davenport passed, he saw that Dr. Laskins had already finished tending to his patient.
Her face, its pallor emphasized by the white bandage around her forehead, showed some deep scratches across the cheeks and bruises around the eyes that were already mottling into an ugly purplish hue.
And yet, despite the injuries, it was an intriguing visage.
He had already noted her emerald eyes, which were now closed in repose.
As for her nose, it was classically straight, though perhaps a bit too long.
High cheekbones stood out as a dominant feature, while the mouth—rather wider than was thought attractive in a female—was full and firm and even now set in a look of determination.
An unusual face, and oddly attractive. Masses of honey-colored hair tumbled around it, spreading out over the pillow. The earl found himself wondering whether it would feel as silky as it looked…
He turned his gaze quickly to Laskins. “How is your patient this evening?”
The doctor regarded him over the top of his spectacles. “She seems to be resting comfortably, which is a good sign. I am loath to disturb her sleep, so I shall leave a draught of laudanum and ask Mrs. Collins to look in occasionally during the night.”
He looked down at Caroline’s sleeping form. “As I told you earlier, my examination revealed no broken bones, but as for the shoulder—the joint must be set back in place.”
Davenport frowned.
“Aye, it will be quite painful, but there’s no getting around it. I shall wait until she seems a little stronger.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to do it now, when she is unconscious?”
Dr. Laskins shook his head. “I dare not risk it. The shock to the system might be too great.”
Davenport’s frown deepened. “Any idea who she is?”
The physician shook his head again. “I’ve made a few discreet inquiries, but there’s no talk of a missing woman from this area.
I wonder…” He let his voice trail off. “It’s clear that she is gently bred, for her hands show no sign of manual work.
But whoever she is, she’s had a rough time of it lately. ”
“Has she been beaten?”
“It’s hard to say. There are bruises on her body, but it is impossible to tell for sure what caused them.” A pause. “If it’s a father or a husband, he’s a brute.”
The earl’s teeth set on edge as he remembered how Helen had looked once when he had arrived on an unexpected visit.
“I shall return in the morning,” continued the other man. “I don’t expect there to be any problems during the night, but if she wakes, Mrs. Collins should try to get her to take some nourishment.”
Davenport walked the doctor to the door and, with one last glance at the sleeping patient, shut it softly.
* * *
Caroline waited a few minutes to make sure they were truly gone, then slowly opened her eyes. Her head and shoulder were aching like the devil, but the laudanum had dulled some of the pain, and the sleep had at least allowed her to marshal her thoughts.
She looked around. It was a pleasant room, plain but light and airy.
From a window to her left, the last rays of the afternoon sun were slanting onto the oak floor, warming it to a soft, honeyed color.
The simple bed was more than comfortable, and as she settled herself deeper into its thick softness, she decided that, for the moment, she seemed safe enough.
But for how long?
She had seen her host’s expression this morning.
It would not be much longer before his questions began again.
And despite his rough appearance and shabby dress, he didn’t appear to be a slowtop.
No, there was a depth to those sapphire eyes that warned her that he wouldn’t be fooled by any shallow Banbury tale.
Caroline heaved a small sigh. So what, exactly, could she tell him? As she mentally recounted the actual events of the past few days, she realized that they sounded even more melodramatic than one of Ann Radcliffe’s novels—especially since she dared not offer an explanation.
The information she carried was vital to England’s war effort, so she would not—could not—trust anyone with her secret. She wouldn’t let her country, or her father, down.
If only her father had given her a clearer picture of the dangers. If she had been a man, if she…
Drat it! She was just as clever as Papa and Lucien, Caroline told herself. And certainly more so than dear Uncle Henry, who would be utterly at a loss as to how to deal with any conundrum whose origins were less than a century old.
Should she have put her faith in someone who barely managed to remember to leave the sanctuary of his library for meals?
No, she decided. Despite her father’s orders, Uncle Henry would be the last person she would look to for help.
She was going to have to rely on herself—and only herself.
Caroline thought for a moment on the snatches of conversation she had just overheard.
From what she could gather, it seemed the two men thought she was fleeing a violent husband…
Her lips pursed. Lucien had once told her that if one was going to tell a hum, it was best to base it as much as possible on the truth.
So perhaps it would be best to leave that impression, at least for now.