A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) (27 page)

"Covered in mud?  Well, that would call for a bath, don't you think?" She winked at him and walked with swaying hips to the bedroom, turning back to gaze at him in a sultry manner. "There is a copper tub in here, but someone will have to heat the water, for a cold bath is not to my liking."

Rothburn searched frantically for something in which to heat water. Grabbing a bucket, he went out into the driving rain to the well. His arms ached from lugging the copper tub to place it before the fire, and toting the many buckets of water. He was drenched as well, from his trips to the pump in the yard. Before he had done, he acquired a new respect for the servants who had always performed these chores on his behalf.

Since he'd nearly turned blue from the cold, she insisted he be the one rescued. He needed the hot bath more than she did, being muddy, in truth.

Rothburn complained that she could not rescue him, for he could not very well be a romantic hero if she did, and grumbled about the unfairness of it all. In the end, they both managed to get in the tub but much of the water splashed over the sides, and all Rothburn's efforts were for naught.

There was not much water left in which to bathe, but they made the best of it. Soon they were blissfully unaware of anything but each other. Their cozy world, made more so by the raging storm outside, gave them the privacy needed to enjoy each other and explore new vistas of pleasure.

* * * * *

The Brighton road was filled with muddy ruts. The weather—as predicted—had turned nasty. The caravan of London-bound travelers,  anxious to get to the nearest posting inn to secure a bed for the night, picked up more speed.

Though their pace was dangerous on the mucky river that had once been the road, they pressed on. Forced to slow at times, as the horses were wont to be skittish, the full force of the storm came upon them long before they reached their destination.

The sky—dark with rain and thunder—rumbled with occasional flashes of lightning. The wind drove a blinding deluge in huge sheets across the land. Horses skidded in the deep slush of slippery mud, causing a frightful amount of cursing by the coachman. Lightning struck close to the road and the lead carriage careened sideways. The panicked horses bolted and threw the coachman into the bramble bushes nearby.

The carriages behind were barely able to avoid colliding with one another as the drivers strove to keep their cattle calm and the procession came to a halt as the front carriage wavered on two wheels. It seemed to hover there and looked as though it would right itself, but the lightning struck once more, hitting a tree.

Thrashing wildly in the wind, broken branches pushed the carriage toward the deep ditch that ran alongside the highway. It finally skidded to a halt, tilted at a precariously dangerous angle, not quite on its side. The horses screamed in fright, but held by their traces, they could only strain against them futilely. Their hooves fought for purchase on the slippery ground, their movement shaking the coach.

Complete silence prevailed momentarily as the wind stopped and the driving rain subsided. The rescuers gathered in the road emitted a collective sigh of relief. Then with sudden fury the wind whipped up again and the rain with it, thoroughly soaking those exposed to the elements.

The coachman who had been thrown into the brambles slowly crawled on hands and knees back into the middle of the road. He barely missed being crushed by the stamping horses. Only the timely intervention of a quick-witted footman grabbing the reins kept him from further harm.

Sir Gordon and Griffin looked at each other in alarm as their coach began to slide sideways. Griffin, reaching for Allie, was thrown against the door as the vehicle began to upend and he shouted over the noise of the screaming horses, "Hold the strap, Allie!"

His words were lost in the crashing noise as the lightning-struck tree broke free from the earth. It smashed against the side of the conveyance, aiding the tilt. Sir Gordon kept his arms tightly about Lady Eleanor as they slid across the seat.

Allie lost her grip on the strap and fell into them. As she went tumbling, her temple collided with the broken edge of the windowsill and her world went black.

Pandemonium broke out, with people screaming, horses shying and men scrambling to get to the carriage and rescue the trapped passengers. The tree that felled them was huge. They had no tools, only the horses which could be used to drag it off the overturned carriage.

The hapless foursome stayed in their awkward position for what seemed an eternity. Finally the door was lifted open and they looked up into the driving rain, and the wonderful sight of their rescuers.

Two burley footmen reached in and gathered Allie from the top of the tangle of arms and legs. One by one, the others were rescued.

* * * * *

It had taken six men and two teams of horses over three hours to get them out of the conveyance and into the other coaches. It was near midnight before they reached the nearest posting inn, which was almost fourteen miles further down the road.

By the time the bedraggled group arrived, the inn was full to bursting with other waylaid travelers. It took a goodly sum to get clean dry beds for the wounded by taking over the innkeeper's apartments.

Hearing of their misfortune, several gentlemen gave up their rooms to the ladies. The men in the group made do with pallets in the private rooms normally used for dining—sharing with those generous fellows.

Sir Gordon sustained badly damaged ribs and numerous contusions. Lady Eleanor, though badly shaken and bruised, seemed unharmed. Griffin's head ached and his shoulder wrenched, but he was mobile.

Allie, pulled unconscious from the wreck, a bruise on her temple bespeaking some damage, remained inert. Griffin had to be vigorously persuaded from her side, for it was unseemly, he was told, to stay in a lady's bedroom, injured though she might be.

Protesting hotly, he was ushered away by Lady Susan and Lord Avonleigh—who, in spite of his years, had a very beefy arm. After a strong dose of brandy, he subsided, then slept for awhile.

It could have been the small drop of laudanum Lady Susan had poured into his libation that felled him. More likely it was a belated onset of shock. Griffin looked quite done in.

Satisfied her nephew would cause no more disturbance in the sick room, Lady Susan returned to Allie. She sat with her through the night, along with two other ladies who had been afforded space in the room.

 Since no more beds would fit the small room, the innkeeper's wife had brought thick quilts—to make nice pallets for their comfort. The kindly woman bustled about, taking charge and for once in her life Lady Susan, Countess of Rothburn, was content to allow someone else the reins.

The Earl and Countess of Avonleigh sat at their daughter's bedside through the night. Lady Janice alternately wept and prayed, irritating Lady Eleanor no end—though she could not say so.

Awakened innumerable times, she kindly begged them to rest, so she could as well.

Her mother agreed to lie down next to her and promptly slept. Her snoring, coupled with that of Lord Avonleigh—sprawled in a chair—kept Lady Eleanor awake for a long time thereafter.

Lady Eleanor was concerned about Sir Gordon. He'd come to see her—against all advice—to reassure her he had only minor injuries.

Still, he had looked to be in a deal of pain, his face pale beneath the bruises, and he'd stayed only a few minutes before retiring to the bed down the hall. She thought he hid much from her regarding his injuries. She smiled to think he'd be so careful of her.

Chapter Twenty-One

~~

Allie's condition continued grave for two more days and so a small portion of the original group stayed on. Most of the travelers had gone ahead, not without some misgivings. Still, it seemed unnecessary to keep so large an entourage in such cramped space and in the end, they left.

Countess Rothburn, Sir Gordon and the Avonleigh's, along with Griffin sat for long hours, waiting for the girl to come 'round. The doctor had been sent for. He pronounced her pulse rate good, her color quite normal and diagnosed a concussion.

 "Head injuries sometimes take awhile, but she seems sound enough so I would not take alarm as yet. I'll be back this afternoon and if you need me before then, send someone from the inn. They have my direction."

The portly, red-faced physician departed on that note, having done little more than they could to determine the extent of her injuries. It was a comfort though, to have had his reassurance and they all breathed easier.

Excepting Griffin—of course—who would not be comforted and drove them all insane with his pacing and fretting. Finally undone by his ceaseless worrying, the ladies begged Lord Avonleigh to take him to the tap room, relieving them of his company.

It took some persuasion, but the earl persisted. To overwrought to protest further, Griffin eventually caved, however reluctantly.

Sir Gordon remained abed for the first day, as did Lady Eleanor. By the following morning she was up and about, and went to check on her beloved. She found him sitting on the edge of his bed, aided by his valet, as his bruised ribs pained him greatly.

She scolded him for getting up too soon, and was scolded in return by the redoubtable valet, who was scandalized that the lady should appear in his employer's bedroom. Laughing, though it hurt terribly to do so, Sir Gordon convinced her to await him in the sitting room and went about his painful way, getting dressed.

No one could convince him to be coddled for a few bruised ribs.

When he joined her in the private dining parlor set aside for the family's use, he was pale and a little weedy. Determined to ignore his injuries, he moved with a stiff, careful gait.

Forgetting his taped ribs would not allow for it, he started to execute a bow and grimaced as he quickly straightened his posture. "Sorry Love, can't greet you properly in this rig."

"Really, Gordon, you should have better sense than to gad about without giving yourself a chance to heal properly." She sounded  much like his aunt, and her eyes sparked at him in the same arrogant way, so that he wanted to laugh but knew better. First, because it would hurt his ribs and second, because it would surely anger her.

Lady Eleanor rose from her chair, fussing over him, pouring his tea and looking quite worried, which pleased him and somewhat appeased his mood. This was the woman he knew and loved. She then began to harangue him for his foolishness, spoiling the entire effect, yet he refused to be drawn, and stood looking at her innocently until she subsided.

Gordon managed a rueful grin as he seated himself carefully, vowing to have a talk with Alana as soon as he could about putting ideas into Eleanor's head. He liked her fine just as she had always been and did not relish the idea of a carbon-copy of his aunt running roughshod over him as Alana often did with Rothburn—though he cared very much for Alana.

Rothburn liked it. He did not.

"How is Allie this morning?" he asked—dreading the answer as her gaze spoke to him before her words reached his ears.

"No change, I am afraid. The doctor has been here, though and says that her signs are good. He says it is a concussion and she should come out of it soon."

She squeezed his hand in sympathy, her wan smile in a  face so drawn with fatigue, he realized she had not rested.

"You look done in, Eleanor, and I want you to rest this afternoon. You may not have been seriously injured physically, but you took a beating in that wreck and you have no idea what you look like."

He did not mean to sound autocratic or to insult her, though his words came out that way.

"And pray tell me,
lord and master
, just what do I look like?" Her eyes were stricken, and he saw that she might cry, so he amended his speech, returning the pressure of her small delicate hand.

"I don't mean you have lost your looks—you are quite beautiful as always. The smudges beneath your eyes and the drawn look in them worries me. You are most likely still in shock and rest is the best cure."

"Oh? And I suppose for you rest is not a cure at all?" She countered his demand with one of her own, her manner crafty. "If I rest, then so shall you. I have no broken bones, nor a lacerated shoulder."

When he looked sheepish, she knew she had won, and softened her gaze. "Gordon, you do not need to prove anything. I know that lounging about is abhorrent to you but you must see that it will ease my mind if you go carefully. I would have you well and able to meet me at the altar without the aid of a cane."

Her last words were spoken lightly, but he drew himself up as the import of them sank into his brain. He nodded thoughtfully, seeing her point.

Then he promised, "I shall return to my bed as soon as we've broken our fast and will not rise again for the entire day, if you will do two things for me."

He smiled in the same crafty manner she had.

"Anything you say, just name it."

"First, you will return to you rooms and if you do not precisely get back into bed, you will take your ease, knitting or some such activity as that—at least for today."

"And what is the other?" Her voice was a purr of submission, making him suspicious of her motive.

"The other is that you will come to my room, along with a chaperone, and have dinner with me tonight. For if I am to be confined to quarters, I would have something to look forward to besides Griffin pacing and wringing his hands, or worse yet, Beakson driving me insane hovering like an old nanny."

"Beakson can be our chaperone, for I'm sure that my parents wish to support Griffin as much as possible and stay close to Allie. And, of course, Countess Rothburn will not leave her for a moment."

She leaned into his shoulder as he put an arm carefully around her and whispered, "In truth, 'tis Griffin who needs rest. Father is at this very moment getting him sauced so he will sleep and stop worrying and  giving everyone fits with his—as you said—pacing and wringing his hands.

"Lady Susan commanded it, indeed was ready to take him herself and even threatened to do so. Of course, they would never allow her in the tap room. At least, I don't think they would."

"Never underestimate that great lady. She can do just about anything she pleases. Why, if she took it into her head to have dinner at White's, she wouldn't hesitate and I can't see anyone stopping her."

He chuckled at the image of the fluttering, deceptively gentle Lady Susan sailing into White's, demanding a dinner menu. The effort cost him some pain and he realized immediately that in order to heal, he would have to refrain from conversations that amused him—at least for a day or two.

* * * * *

Aided by his lady love on one side and the banister on the other, Sir Gordon made his painful way back up the stairs and decided to stop by and check on Allie himself before retiring.

"After all," he reasoned with a mutinous looking Eleanor, "she is my sister and I am deeply concerned. I won't rest, you know, until I've seen her, so don't look at me like that."

When she did not argue further, he was relieved and gratified that perhaps she had not taken Alana's lessons to much to heart, but still he would talk with his aunt, just in case.

Lady Susan stood up as he entered the room. "Glad to see you up and about my boy. You've done a wonderful deed. Griffin told me all about how you held this child with your weight and injured, too boot, and directed everyone's progress so that you might be safer."

She came forward and pecked his cheek, smiling benignly. "But of course, nothing less can be expected from a knight of the realm who has been so honored for his valor on the field of battle."

Somewhat embarrassed by her reference to his medals and his bravery in battle—for he was a modest unassuming man—Sir Gordon ignored her words, and went to the bed, looking down at the waif-like face of his little sister. "She is just a child and right now she looks every inch of it. Lately she has matured—quite rapidly actually—and I had forgotten just how young she really is."

Allie stirred and murmured something inaudible. Her eyes fluttered open, and the anger there surprised her brother greatly. She turned her head and looked at him a moment, a small frown marring her features. He came closer and smoothed a gentle hand over her brow, thinking perhaps she was in pain.

 "Don't try to move, little one. You've taken a nasty knock on your head and must keep still. Doctor's orders."

He tried for a light tone, yet some fear crept in.

Allie continued to look at him for a moment, neither of them aware of the surge of excitement among the other occupants of the room, for Allie had not moved nor spoken until now. When she finally spoke, her voice was rough and whispery, for she needed a drink of water badly. "I am not a child. Do not call me so. Just get me some water, please."

The glass of water was quickly brought to her lips by a penitent Sir Gordon. "Of course you are not a child, my dear, but you are still my baby sister, and I am afraid it will be difficult for me to see you any other way. However, I won't bring it to your attention again, I'm sure."

He grinned at her, adding, "Of course, if you are unconscious, I shall do so, for it seems to do the trick in bringing you around."

Just at that moment, a wild looking Griffin rushed into the room and skidded to a halt by the bed, all but knocking his future brother-in-law through the open window just behind him.

Catching himself and howling in pain, Sir Gordon rounded on the younger man, ready to punch him, but thought better of it as he spied the look on Griffin's face as he gazed down at his love.

Deciding that just this once, he would leash his temper in view of the fellow's obvious distress, he managed to get himself into a nearby chair.

Realizing what he had done, Griffin turned on him an apologetic look and mumbled, "Sorry sir. Didn't mean it—just excited don'tcha know?"

Sir Gordon managed to smile and nod acceptance, then beckoned Lady Eleanor to his side, whispering in her ear as she bent to him. "Get me to my rooms before I'm destroyed altogether. I vow, one more hit on my person and I will perish for certain."

He allowed his valet to hover, assisting him to his feet and then blew a kiss to Allie, saying, "I cannot bend, you see, so you shall have to make do with this token."

 "What is the matter?  Are you hurt?" Allie tried to sit up, her alarm evident. She was gently pushed back by Griffin, and allowed the gesture, for rising had made her quite dizzy. "Tell me you are all right Gordon."

 "I am all right, Gordon," he quipped—which would have made Rothburn quite proud. Grinning, he looked at her with affection. "Really, missy, I am quite alright. Just a few bruises along my ribcage. Must go lie down now, however. Doctors orders, just like you."

 "Oh, well, if you are sure." She then returned her gaze to her beloved.

Quietly exiting the room, they all agreed that there was little harm in leaving an engaged couple alone for a few minutes as long as the door was kept open, which Countess Rothburn saw to, swinging it wide. Pulling the door half closed, Sir Gordon smiled at her to take the sting from his action.

 "I think we can trust them. You just stand guard and if they get out of line, harrumph at them." When she swatted his shoulder lightly with her fan, he tried to dodge, forgetting his injuries and had to groan again.

"Get me to my bed quickly, Beakson, before I sustain real injury." He went down the hall to the sound of Countess Rothburn protesting her innocence in the matter.