2
Jane stepped up into the carriage, leaving Susannah to follow, but before they could continue their conversation, a clatter of hooves on the roadway sounded and two horses came cantering around the bend, far too fast for the muddy surface.
At the sight of the carriage, the first one reared, neighing wildly and only superb skills kept his rider seated as he fought for control.
Bedlam ensued as the carriage horses tried to bolt, but luckily the postillion was still holding their heads and Archie rushed to help him bring them under control. The carriage rocked violently and Jane and Susannah bit back screams as they were jolted from their seats onto the floor.
The second rider was not as lucky or as skilled as the first. His mount came to an abrupt halt and deposited the man neatly over its head into a ditch under the hedgerow where he struggled to get up, splashing and gasping in the muddy water.
“Good grief, man! What are you thinking of, blocking the road in such a fashion?”
The first rider leapt from his horse and approached Archie.
A big man, broad shouldered under his black riding coat, with dark ruffled hair and, under heavy black brows, deep brown eyes that were at that moment full of anger.
As he reached the coach, he saw the Darcy crest on the door and hesitated, some of the arrogance fading from his voice. “My apologies. Is everyone safe? No one hurt or injured?”
Jane struggled up from the floor, pushed down the window and stared out, angry and shaken, her green hat askew, the feather on top bent sideways. The man gave a start, then smiled in a fashion that lit up his taciturn features.
“Miss Darcy! Anne! By all that’s wonderful—Anne, what are you doing down here in darkest Dorset? Anne—but no …”
His voice trailed away as he gazed into blue eyes that were softer than the sharp sapphire that had intrigued him so much recently in London.
The lady’s hat had been knocked sidewards by the crash and the plainly dressed fair hair was not the complicated design of braids and curls that he had noticed with such pleasure on another occasion. “Not Anne.”
“I am afraid you have the advantage over me, Sir,” Jane said coldly, trying to push her hat straight. “You obviously have mistaken me for my sister. I am Miss Jane Darcy. And I must protest that galloping at speed round a blind corner on a public road is not the most sensible thing to do!”
The man bowed. “Anne’s twin sister—she has spoken of you.
I apologise for the mistake, Miss Darcy, but you are so alike I think I must be forgiven.
I also ask your forgiveness for nearly contributing to an accident, although it was criminal of your man to stop the carriage just here on a sharp bend. ”
Jane bit back her indignant comments; if this was indeed a friend of Anne’s then it would not be polite to engage in an argument, but she still thought the men had been careless.
There could have been villager walking along the road, even a child.
Suddenly she remembered her manners. “And this lady, rubbing her elbow from its hard contact with the floor, is Miss Courtney.”
“Madam! My heartfelt apologies once more. Allow me to introduce myself, if I may. Archer Maitland at your service, and the fellow dripping weed and water in the ditch is my good friend, Dr Andrew Moore. Andrew, Miss Jane Darcy and Miss Courtney.”
The other man stumbled out onto the road, laughing through the mud on his face, even as he rescued a large piece of weed that was tangled into his wet brown hair.
“I told you my riding skills are negligible, Archer, but you would insist I accompany you. But I am in one piece, which is a miracle. The water and mud—a great deal of mud—cushioned my fall. Ladies—” he turned and bowed to Jane and Susannah.
“If I had a hat—mine seems to have vanished under the ditch water—I would doff it to you. Please take it for granted.”
For the first time in weeks, Jane felt her lips trying to smile; the gentleman was a comic figure. “Sir, you are extremely wet. Please do not let us detain you from home and a warm bath, although as a doctor, you are probably quite aware of that need.”
“Alas, I am not a doctor of medicine, Miss Darcy.”
“Oh, Andrew has all sorts of degrees and titles from schools and universities. You’ve never known such a fellow for reading and learning.”
“Well, I was certainly skilled enough to tell you that we were riding too fast, Archer! And that my skill on horseback is far less than yours. A fact that the beast in question was quite well aware of, in my opinion, hence him depositing me in the ditch.”
“You are not hurt, Sir?” Susannah had joined Jane at the window.
“Goodness no! My pride is a little dented and I fear these breeches will not survive to see the light of another day, but otherwise all is well.”
“Are you on your way to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s residence?” Mr Maitland asked abruptly. “I know there is a family connection and this road only leads to the village of Compton Forge and Deerwood Park itself.”
Jane nodded, irritated by his forthright manner that was almost bordering on arrogance; here was the type of man who asked questions and expected immediate answers.
He reminded her of her sister! Well, if the two of them were friends, they must suit each other very well and she wondered why Anne had never mentioned him.
Bitterly she thought her sister had probably been too busy with Digby Frobisher!
But such thoughts would have to wait; coolly she replied, “Yes, Sir. We are visiting with Colonel Fitzwilliam and must hurry now to continue our journey. We wish you a good day and hope you have a safe ride home.”
Mr Maitland raised his eyebrows at a tone in her voice that was bordering on dismissal and swung back onto his horse. “Of course, Miss Darcy. We would not wish to detain you any longer than necessary. I am sure we will meet again, very soon, under happier and drier circumstances.”
With cries from the driver and a crack of his whip, the carriage at last jolted into movement, leaving the two men to stare after it.
Finally, as the sound of the horses died away, Andrew Moore, brushed more weed and mud from his breeches and said, frowning, “My friend, surely it would have been polite to have told Miss Darcy that we are promised to dine with the Colonel this very evening?”
Archer Maitland patted his horse’s neck. It wasn’t often that his behaviour could be called ungentlemanly, but he realised his friend’s words were justified.
“Oh, admittedly it would have been the correct course of action, but her uncalled for chilly demeanour made me disinclined to follow the normal dictates of politeness. And the middle of a public road is not the place for long explanations, especially with a girl whose icy stare dries the words in your mouth. Now, do catch your horse, who seems to have tangled his bridle in that bush, and let’s make haste home across the fields.
You, my friend, need a hot bath before you are fit to mix in company. ”
Archer hardly listened to the rest of his friend’s comments as they headed for Robyns, the country estate his grandmother had purchased on the death of her husband, Admiral Goddard, where she ruled the staff with a rod of iron.
He knew he had been less than friendly to the poor girl.
His only excuse was that he was bone tired; his life as a lawyer in London had been extremely exhausting over the past few months and he had been looking forward to a few restful weeks in the country to prepare himself for the many law court battles that lay ahead.
Now as he rode, he recalled a conversation he had had with Miss Anne Darcy whom he had indeed met in London at the home of a certain society hostess, Mrs Caroline Tremaine.
He had admired her brilliant blue eyes, even if her forthright ideas and opinions did not always chime with his own.
Anne Darcy was the sort of girl whom he could see as his wife—brilliant, charming, the perfect partner for an up and coming member of the legal profession, one who was destined for politics and ultimately, high office.
He smiled as he recalled his formidable grandmama’s words of approval when she met Miss Darcy at a soirée.
She had privately told her grandson to ask for the girl’s hand in marriage immediately, that he would be a fool to miss such a golden opportunity.
Being related to the Darcys of Pemberley would open doors to him socially that were at present firmly closed.
Now, as he put his horse to a fence and cleared it with feet to spare, he remembered an evening when Anne Darcy had admitted to being a twin, the elder twin, as she insisted.
On being asked to described her sister’s character, she had informed him that Jane tended to shun society, had always been delicate, protected and cosseted by over indulgent parents.
It was Anne’s opinion that her sister, much as she loved her, needed to learn to stand up for herself and not to rely on friends and family constantly to smooth her path through life.
Anne had made it clear that it irritated her when people always rushed to make Jane’s life easy.
“You can have no idea, Mr Maitland, how wearying it is to be told constantly by your parents to take care of your sister. The number of times that we have not gone out in the evening as the late hour would make Jane tired, the walks and carriage rides we have cancelled because they were scared it would be too much for her. And at every turn, I have been required to look after her—as if I had no other role to play in life.”
She had tossed her head, the little gems on her headdress glittering in the candlelight.
“Do not mistake me, Sir. I am fond of my sister and have no wish myself to be looked after, as if I am some wilting flower. But just sometimes I wish that Mama and Papa would give me the same care and attention as they do Jane, whether I need it or not.”