Chapter 12
Twelve
Caroline awoke to a pale glimmering of dawn on the horizon. With a stab of guilt, she sat up, careful not to disturb the sleeping earl. The gig was moving at a faster clip, she noted with satisfaction, but poor Mr. Leighton had been driving for hours. He must be exhausted.
“Mr. Leighton,” she called softly. “Forgive me—I fear I have abandoned you all night. Surely you need some sleep yourself. I could take the reins for a time.”
Jeremy turned and gave a quick grin. He looked a trifle peaked, but there was also a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
“No need. We’ll be arriving at our destination shortly.
And actually, I find that I’ve enjoyed the task.
It’s rather exciting to be able to partake in an adventure again.
” His gaze shifted to the lump beneath the blanket next to Caroline.
“I take it Julian has not taken a turn for the worse?”
“He seems to be resting comfortably enough, but I think his wound should be properly cleaned and bandaged soon, lest a fever set in.”
“Yes, well, that won’t be a problem. But let us also hope that his temper doesn’t become even more inflamed. I’m afraid he won’t be overly happy with our destination, but I couldn’t think of where else to go.”
Caroline wondered what he meant, but Jeremy seemed loath to elaborate. With a shake of the reins, he turned his attention back to the road and began whistling a lively country melody.
The air had taken on a tang of salt. They must be near the sea, she thought as she leaned back in the hay and stared up at the lightening sky.
The question was, had they managed to come any closer to London, and how would she continue with her vital mission?
Caroline fervently hoped there would be a carriage, a horse, a mule—any sort of transportation—to get her to Town.
A sigh slipped from her lips. Despite the earl’s growls and snaps, she would miss the reassuring strength of Davenport’s presence, for, surely, he would now cry off from their bargain. Indeed, she would insist on it. He couldn’t be allowed to risk his life any longer.
So from now on, she would be back on her own…
Davenport stirred, bringing her thoughts back to the moment.. His eyes fluttered open, then narrowed as they took in the flickering daylight. “How long have I been asleep?” he demanded.
“Hours. But Mr. Leighton says we’re nearly there.”
“What is our destination?” he demanded.
She shrugged. “He hasn’t told me that.”
“Jeremy,” called Davenport. “Where are you taking us?”
There was a long silence.
“Jeremy?”
After a slight hesitation, the earl’s friend seemed to concede that there was no point in trying to hide the truth. “To Lymington.”
Davenport frowned. “Who do you know in Lymington?”
“L-Lady Helen.”
The earl sat up, a spasm of pain passing over his pale face. “No!” he snapped as he began trying to untangle himself from the blanket. “I—”
Caroline placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down onto the hay.
“Julian, there was no other choice,” said Jeremy. “We needed a place where you could get treatment for your wound, and I didn’t think we could risk anywhere close to my lodging house.”
A pause. “I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet with your approval, but, in truth, it’s the perfect place—it’s quite isolated and away from prying eyes. It will give us a chance to decide how to proceed.”
Davenport looked about to argue, but Caroline fixed him with a glare. “If you so much as twitch, sir, I shall be forced to sit on your chest to keep you from making a fuss. You heard Mr. Leighton. His reasoning makes great sense.”
The earl muttered several very ungentlemanly words but ceased his struggling.
Caroline couldn’t help but remember the stunningly beautiful lady in Jeremy’s drawing, and she found herself wondering why the earl should be disturbed about the prospect of ending up on her doorstep. How romantic to arrive—the bloodstained hero—in need of help from one’s beloved…
At that moment, she found herself taking a distinct dislike to Lady Helen.
The earl was still glowering at her, but after an aggrieved huff, he turned away to stare off into the trees.
The gig turned onto a long, winding drive that carried them through a stand of ancient beech and elm.
At the crest of a hill was a modest stone manor house that overlooked a rocky inlet.
Jeremy pulled the exhausted horse to a halt in the courtyard as an elderly groom shuffled out from the stable to eye the vehicle with a mixture of curiosity and surprise.
Davenport climbed down stiffly from the back, brushing wisps of straw from his rumpled coat. “Kindly inform Lady Davenport that she has some visitors, Davis.”
The man stared in open-mouthed confusion until it suddenly dawned on him who it was. “Y-Yes, Mister Ather—that is, milord. Right away.” After bobbing a hurried bow, he scurried away.
“Oh, the Devil take it, we might as well wait in the drawing room,” muttered the earl after a quarter hour had passed. Crossing the courtyard, Caroline and Jeremy trailing in his wake, the earl mounted the stone stairs, and, without knocking, he yanked open the massive oak door and stepped inside.
The entrance hall was small but charming. The dark woodwork exuded the pleasant scent of beeswax, a vase of wildflowers decorated the side table and a large, ornately framed painting of the sea dominated the wall opposite the curved staircase.
Caroline recognized it as a work by Jeremy.
A man she assumed to be the butler hurried out of the corridor. His carefully schooled features betrayed no hint of his emotion at seeing the odd little party in front of him. “Milord, I have sent word to Her Ladyship of your arrival. If you would care to wait in the…”
“Julian!” There was a rustle of silk from the top of the stairs, and an instant later, a slender figure appeared around the curve of the banister. The lady paused for a fraction, allowing a muted gasp, then rushed down the remaining steps. “Dear heavens, what has happened?”
“I apologize for intruding on you in such an unseemly manner—” began Davenport.
“It’s my fault, Lady Helen,” interrupted Jeremy. “You see, we had an incident—”
“Have you basilicum powder, hot water and clean linen?” In no mood to let the two men stumble through long-winded explanations, Caroline took matters into her own hands.
The earl was looking decidedly pale beneath all the travel dust, and she didn’t like the look of the new splotch that was spreading out from the tear in his coat.
Lady Helen turned, taking in the sight of Caroline’s muddy boots, ragged breeches and torn shirt, as well as the curls of honey-gold hair that had escaped the tattered hat and were now hanging in tangled disarray.
Her mouth fell open in shock, and it took a long moment for her to recover her wits. “I…I imagine so. Mrs. Dawkins would know—”
“Then please, let us summon her without delay,” interrupted Caroline.
Lady Helen looked confused, then nodded at the butler, who hurried off.
Davenport shot a reproachful look at Caroline before offering a halting explanation. “I’m afraid we’ve gotten into a bit of a scrape. I’m sorry that Jeremy saw fit to come to you, but now that we are here, perhaps we might clean ourselves up and have a bit of breakfast.”
“Julian, you know I would be glad to do anything to help.” She approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was then that she noticed the damage to his coat. “Why, you’re hurt!”
“Just a scrape,” he muttered.
Lady Helen shrank back. “Oh, but there is…blood. Shall I send for a physician? Or…or perhaps Mrs. Dawkins will know what to do.”
“I don’t think a physician will be necessary,” interjected Caroline. “I believe I can attend to His Lordship, if you will show us to a room where he might lie down.”
The butler reappeared, followed by the housekeeper bearing a large tray that was holding all of the items Caroline had requested.
Lady Helen let out a sigh of relief. “Dawkins, please take His Lordship right up to the bedchamber overlooking the garden.” She faltered, then added, “And perhaps his…friend would like to make use of the one next to mine.”
As everyone moved toward the stairs, Lady Helen held Jeremy back. “Who is that…urchin with Julian?” she whispered in his ear.
“It’s rather a long story…”
* * *
Lucien reined his horse to a halt and stared in frustration at the raging waters.
“Lucien!”
“Over here, Uncle,” he called out. With a last, helpless look at the swollen river, he spurred his mount back to the group of riders that was waiting on the crest of the hill.
“I’m afraid there’s no chance of crossing here,” he reported. “The currents are much too strong.”
The duke’s expression turned even grimmer.
A portly Austrian officer who was accompanying their detachment began to speak in fractured English, drawing puzzled looks all around.
After a slight pause, one of the young adjutants cleared his throat and ventured to speak. “Your Grace, if I understand correctly, the major says that he recalls there is a small bridge not more than a few miles downriver. The rains may not have washed it out.”
The duke waved impatiently at the Austrian. “Well, what are you waiting for? Lead on!”
The young viscount fell in beside his uncle. “I’ve consulted the map with Lieutenant St. John, and once we cross the river, it’s not more than half a day’s ride to the road to Ostend. With luck, we should reach the coast by sometime tomorrow.”
The duke merely nodded, his eyes remaining riveted straight ahead. However, Lucien didn’t miss the subtle clenching of this uncle’s jaw or the fact that his powerful hands tightened convulsively on the reins.
He started to speak again, then thought better of it. He had never seen his relative reduced to such a state. The duke was a man of intimidating presence, whose stoic demeanor might be taken as cold and unfeeling unless one knew better. And even so, there was a certain aloofness to his manner.