A Night Like This (16 page)

Hot baths for the both of them. He’d order them the moment they arrived.

Although sadly, not to be shared.

“I’ve never ridden in a curricle,” Anne said, smiling as she tightened the ribbons on her bonnet.

“No?” He did not know why this surprised him. Certainly a governess would have no cause to ride in one, but everything about her spoke of a gentle birth. At some point in her life she must have been an eligible young lady; he could not imagine she hadn’t had scores of gentlemen begging for her company in their curricles and phaetons.

“Wel, I’ve been in a gig,” she said. “My former employer had one, and I had to learn to drive it. She was quite elderly, and no one trusted her with the reins.”

“Was this on the Isle of Man?” he asked, keeping his voice deliberately light. It was so rare that she offered pieces of her past. He was afraid she would bottle herself back up if he questioned too intensely.

But she did not seem put off by his query. “It was,” she confirmed. “I’d only driven a cart before that. My father would not have kept a carriage that seated only two people. He was never a man for impracticalities.”

“Do you ride?” he asked.

“No,” she said simply.

Another clue. If her parents had been titled, she would have been placed in a sidesaddle before she could read.

“How long did you live there?” he asked conversationaly. “On the Isle of Man.”

She did not answer right away, and he thought she might not do so at al, but then, in a soft voice, laced with memory, she said, “Three years. Three years and four months.”

Keeping his eyes scrupulously on the road, he said, “You don’t sound as if you have fond memories.” Keeping his eyes scrupulously on the road, he said, “You don’t sound as if you have fond memories.”

“No.” She was quiet again, for at least ten seconds, then she said, “It was not dreadful. It was just . . . I don’t know. I was young. And it was not home.” Home. Something she almost never mentioned. Something he knew he should not ask about, so instead he said, “You were a lady’s companion?” She nodded. He just barely saw it out of the corner of his eye; she seemed to have forgotten that he was watching the horses and not her. “It was not an onerous position,” she said. “She liked to be read to, so I did quite a lot of that. Needlework. I wrote all of her correspondence, as wel. Her hands shook quite a bit.”

“You left when she died, I presume.”

“Yes. I was quite fortunate in that she had a great-niece near Birmingham who was in need of a governess. I think she knew that her time was near, and she made the arrangements for a new position before she passed.” Anne was quiet for a moment, then he felt her straighten beside him, almost as if she were shaking off the foggy mantle of memory. “And I’ve been a governess ever since.”

“It seems to suit you.”

“Most of the time, yes.”

“I should think—” He cut himself off sharply. Something was amiss with the horses.

“What is it?” Anne asked.

He shook his head. He couldn’t talk right now. He needed to focus. The team was puling to the right, which made no sense. Something snapped, and the horses took off at breakneck speed, puling the curricle along with them until—

“Dear God above,” Daniel breathed. As he watched in horror, still struggling to control the team, the harness came separated from the shaft and the horses took off to the left.

Without the carriage.

Anne let out a little cry of surprised terror as the curricle sped down the hil, tilting wildly on its two wheels. “Lean forward!” Daniel yeled. If they could keep the carriage balanced, they could ride out the hill until they slowed down. But the canopy weighted it down at the back, and bumps and ruts in the oft-traveled road made it nearly impossible to hold their positions leaning forward.

And then Daniel remembered the turn. Halfway down the hill the road curved sharply to the left. If they continued straight on, they’d be tossed down the hil, into a thick wood.

“Listen to me,” he said to Anne urgently. “When we reach the bottom of the hil, lean left. With everything you have, lean left.” She gave a frantic nod. Her eyes were terrified, but she was not hysterical. She would do what she needed to do. As soon as—

“Now!” he yeled.

They both threw themselves to the left, Anne landing half atop him. The curricle lifted onto one wheel, its wooden spokes protesting with a horrible shriek at the extra burden. “Forward!” Daniel yeled, and they heaved themselves forward, causing the carriage to turn left, narrowly missing the edge of the road.

But as they turned, their left wheel—the only one in contact with the ground—caught on something, and the curricle pitched forward, bouncing into the air before landing back on its wheel with a sickening crack. Daniel held on for dear life, and he thought Anne was doing the same, but as he watched in helpless terror, the curricle spit her out, and the wheel— Oh, dear God, the wheel! If it ran over her—

Daniel did not stop to think. He hurled himself to the right, toppling the curricle before it could strike Anne, who was somewhere on the ground, somewhere to the left.

The curricle smacked against the earth, skidding for several yards before coming to a halt in the mud. For a moment Daniel could not move. He’d been punched before, he’d falen off horses; hel, he’d even been shot. But never had his breath been so completely ripped from his body as when the curricle hit the ground.

Anne
. He had to get to her. But he had to breathe first, and his lungs felt as if they’d gone into a spasm. Finaly, still gasping for air, he crawled out of the overturned carriage. “Anne!” he tried to below, but it was all he could do to wheeze her name. His hands squelched into the mud, and then his knees, and then, using the splintered side of the curricle for support, he managed to stagger to his feet.

“Anne!” he caled again, this time with more volume. “Miss Wynter!”

There was no response. No sound at al, save for the rain, slapping against the sodden ground.

still barely able to stand, Daniel searched franticaly from his spot next to the curricle, turning in circles as he held on for support, looking for any sign of Anne.

What had she been wearing? Brown. She’d been in brown, a medium shade of it, perfect for blending in with the mud.

She must be behind him. The curricle had roled and skidded for some distance after she’d been thrown out. Daniel tried to make his way to the back of the carriage, his boots finding little traction in the deepening mud. He slid, losing his balance, and he pitched forward, his hands flailing for anything that might keep him upright. At the last moment, they closed around a thin strip of leather.

The harness.

Daniel looked down at the leather in his hands. It was the trace, meant to connect the horse to the carriage shaft. But it had been cut. Only the very end looked frayed, as if it had been left dangling by a thread, ready to snap at the slightest pressure.

Ramsgate.

His body filed with rage, and Daniel finaly found the energy to move beyond the broken curricle and search for Anne. By God, if anything had happened to her

. . . If she was seriously injured . . .

He would kill Lord Ramsgate. He would eviscerate him with his bare hands.

“Anne!” he yeled, spinning madly in the mud as he searched for her. And then—was that a boot? He rushed forward, stumbling through the rain until he saw her clearly, crumpled on the ground, half on the road, half in the wood.

“Dear God,” Daniel whispered, and he ran forward, terror grabbing at his heart. “Anne,” he said franticaly, reaching her side and feeling for a pulse. “Answer me.

God help me, answer me now.”

She did not respond, but the steady pulse at her wrist was enough to give him hope. They were only about half a mile from Whipple Hil. He could carry her that far. He was shaking, and bruised, and probably bleeding, but he could do this.

Carefuly, he lifted her into his arms and began the treacherous walk home. The mud made each step a balancing act, and he could barely see through his hair, plastered over his eyes by the rain. But he kept going, his exhausted body finding strength through terror.

And fury.

Ramsgate would pay for this. Ramsgate would pay, and maybe Hugh would pay, too, and by God, the whole world would pay if Anne’s eyes never opened again.

One foot in front of the other. That’s what he did, until Whipple Hill came into view. And then he was on the drive, and in the circle, and finaly, just when his muscles were screaming and quivering, and his knees threatened to buckle, he made it up the three steps to the grand front entrance and kicked the door, hard.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again and again and again until he heard footsteps hurrying toward him.

The door opened, and there was the butler, who let out a loud “My lord!” And then, as three footmen rushed forward to relieve Daniel of his burden, he sank to the floor, spent and terrified.

“Take care of her,” he gasped. “Get her warm.”

“Right away, my lord,” the butler assured him, “but you—”

“No!” Daniel ordered. “Take care of her first.”

“Of course, my lord.” The butler rushed over to the terrified footman who was holding Anne, oblivious to the rivers of water rushing down his sleeves. “Go!” he ordered. “Go! Take her upstairs, and you” —he jerked his head toward a maid who had come into the hall to gawk—“begin heating water for a bath. Now!” Daniel closed his eyes, reassured by the flurry of activity unfolding around him. He had done what he needed to do. He had done all he could do.

For now.

W
hen Anne finaly came to, her mind slowly shifting from unrelenting black to swirling clouds of gray, the first thing she felt were hands, poking and prodding, trying to remove her clothing.

She wanted to scream. She tried to, but her voice would not obey. She was shivering uncontrolably, her muscles were aching and exhausted, and she wasn’t sure she could open her mouth, much less make a sound.

She’d been cornered before, by overconfident young men who viewed the governess as fair game, by a master of a house who figured he was paying her salary, anyway. Even by George Chervil, who had set her life down this road in the first place.

But she had always been able to defend herself. She’d had her strength, and her wits, and with George even a weapon. Now she had none of those things. She could not even open her eyes.

“No,” she moaned, squirming and shifting on what seemed to be a cold, wooden floor.

“Shhh,” came an unfamiliar voice. It was a woman, though, which Anne found reassuring. “Let us help you, Miss Wynter.” They knew her name. Anne could not decide if that was a good thing or not.

“Poor dear,” the woman said. “Your skin is like ice. We’re going to put you in a hot bath.” A bath. A bath sounded like heaven. She was so cold—she couldn’t remember ever being so cold before. Everything felt heavy . . . her arms, legs, even her heart.

“Here we are, love,” came the woman’s voice again. “Just let me get at these buttons.”

Anne struggled once more to open her eyes. It felt as if someone had placed weights on her lids, or submerged her in some sort of sticky goo she couldn’t quite escape.

“You’re safe now,” the woman said. Her voice was kind, and she seemed to want to help.

“Where am I?” Anne whispered, still trying to force her eyes open.

“You’re back at Whipple Hil. Lord Winstead carried you back through the rain.”

“Lord Winstead . . . He—” She gasped, and her eyes finaly opened to reveal a bathroom, far more elegant and ornate than the one to which she was currently assigned up in the nursery. There were two maids with her, one adding water to a steaming bath, the other attempting to remove her sodden clothing.

“Is he all right?” Anne asked franticaly. “Lord Winstead?” Flashes of memory rushed at her. The rain. The horses breaking free. The horrifying sound of splintering wood. And then the curricle, hurtling forward on just one wheel. And then . . . nothing. Anne could not recall a thing. They must have crashed—why couldn’t she remember it?

Dear God, what had happened to them?

“His lordship is wel,” the maid assured her. “Exhausted as a body can be, but it’s nothing a bit of rest won’t cure.” Her eyes shone with pride as she adjusted Anne’s position so that she could peel her sleeves from her arms. “He’s a hero, he is. A true hero.” Anne rubbed her face with her hand. “I can’t remember what happened. A few bits and pieces, but that’s al.”

“His lordship told us you were thrown from the carriage,” the maid said, getting to work on the other sleeve. “Lady Winstead said you likely hit your head.”

“Lady Winstead?” When had she seen Lady Winstead?

“His lordship’s mother,” the maid explained, misinterpreting Anne’s query. “She knows a bit about injuries and healing, she does. She examined you right there on the floor of the front hal.”

“Oh, dear God.” Anne didn’t know why this was so mortifying, but it was.

“Her ladyship said you’ve a lump, right about here.” The maid touched her own head, a couple of inches above her left ear.

Anne’s hand, still rubbing her temple, moved upward through her hair. She found the bump instantly, bulging and tender. “Ow,” she said, puling her fingers away.

She looked at her hand. There was no blood. Or maybe there had been, and the rain had washed it away.

“Lady Winstead said she thought you’d want some privacy,” the maid continued, sliding Anne’s dress from her body. “We’re to get you warmed and washed and then put into bed. She sent for a doctor.”

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t need a doctor,” Anne said quickly. She still felt awful—sore, and cold, and with a lumpy explanation for her raging headache. But they were temporary sorts of ailments, the kind one instinctively knew needed nothing but a soft bed and hot soup.

But the maid just shrugged. “She already sent for one, so I don’t think you’ve got much choice.” Anne nodded.

“Everyone is right worried about you. Little Lady Frances was crying, and—”

“Frances?” Anne interrupted. “But she never cries.”

“She was this time.”

“Oh, please,” Anne begged, heartbroken with worry. “Please have someone let her know that I’m all right.”

“A footman will be up with more hot water soon. We’ll have him tell Lady—”

“A footman?” Anne gasped, her hands instinctively covering her nudity. She was still in her chemise, but wet, it was practicaly transparent.

“Don’t worry,” the maid said with a chuckle. “He leaves it at the door. It’s just so Peggy doesn’t have to carry it up the stairs.” Peggy, who was pouring yet another bucket of water into the tub, turned and smiled.

“Thank you,” Anne said quietly. “Thank you both.”

“I’m Bess,” the first maid told her. “Do you think you can stand up? Just for a minute? This slip has got to come off over your head.” Anne nodded, and with help from Bess she rose to her feet, holding onto the side of the large porcelain tub for support. Once the chemise had been removed, Bess helped Anne into the tub, and she sank down gratefuly into the water. It was too hot, but she didn’t mind. It felt so good to be something other than numb.

She soaked in the bath until the water faded to lukewarm, then Bess helped her into her wool nightgown, which Bess had brought down from Anne’s room in the nursery.

“Here you are,” Bess said, leading Anne across the plush carpet to a beautiful canopied bed.

“What room is this?” Anne asked, taking in the elegant surroundings. Scrolwork swirled along the ceilings, and the wals were covered in damask of the most delicate silvery blue. It was by far the grandest room she’d ever slept in.

“The blue guest bedroom,” Bess said, fluffing her pilows. “It’s one of the finest at Whipple Hil. Right on the same halway as the family.” As the family? Anne looked up in surprise.

Bess shrugged. “His lordship insisted upon it.”

“Oh,” Anne said with a gulp, wondering what the rest of his family thought about that.

Bess watched as Anne settled in under the heavy quilts, then asked, “Shal I tell everyone that you’re able to receive visitors? I know they’ll want to see you.”

“Not Lord Winstead?” Anne asked in horror. Surely they would not alow him to enter her bedroom. Wel, not
her
bedroom, but still, a bedroom. With her in it.

“Oh, no,” Bess reassured her. “He’s off in his own bed, asleep, I hope. I don’t think we’ll see him for at least a day. The poor man is exhausted. I reckon you weigh quite a bit more wet than you do dry.” Bess chuckled at her own joke, then left the room.

Less than a minute later, Lady Pleinsworth entered. “Oh, my poor, poor girl,” she exclaimed. “You gave us such a fright. But my heavens, you look vastly better than you did an hour ago.”

“Thank you,” Anne said, not quite comfortable with such effusiveness on the part of her employer. Lady Pleinsworth had always been kind, but she had never attempted to make Anne feel like a member of the family. Nor had Anne expected her to. It was the odd lot of the governess—not quite a servant but most definitely not of the family. Her first employer—the old woman on the Isle of Man—had warned her about it. Forever stuck between upstairs and down, a governess was, and she’d best get used to it quickly.

“You should have seen yourself when his lordship brought you in,” Lady Pleinsworth said as she settled into a chair by the bed. “Poor Frances thought you were dead.”

“Oh, no, is she still upset? Has someone—”

“She’s fine,” Lady Pleinsworth said with a brisk wave of her hand. “She insists, however, upon seeing you for herself.”

“That would be most agreeable,” Anne said, trying to stifle a yawn. “I would enjoy her company.”

“You’ll need to rest first,” Lady Pleinsworth said firmly.

Anne nodded, sinking a little further into her pilows.

“I’m sure you’ll want to know how Lord Winstead is,” Lady Pleinsworth continued.

Anne nodded again. She did want to know, desperately, but she’d been forcing herself not to ask.

Lady Pleinsworth leaned forward, and there was something in her expression Anne could not quite read. “You should know that he very nearly colapsed after carrying you home.”

“I’m sorry,” Anne whispered.

But if Lady Pleinsworth heard her, she gave no indication. “Actualy, I suppose one would have to say he
did
colapse. Two footmen had to help him up and practicaly carry him to his room. I vow I have never seen the like.”

Anne felt tears stinging her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Lady Pleinsworth looked at her with a queer expression, almost as if she’d forgotten who she’d been talking to. “There’s no need for that. It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but . . .” Anne shook her head. She didn’t know what she knew. She didn’t know anything any longer.

“still,” Lady Pleinsworth said with a wave of her hand, “you should be grateful. He carried you for over half a mile, you know. And he was injured himself.”

“I am grateful,” Anne said quietly. “Very much so.”

“The reins snapped,” Lady Pleinsworth told her. “I must say I am appaled. It is unconscionable that equipage in such poor repair would be alowed out of the stables. Someone will lose their position over this, I am sure.”

The reins, Anne thought. That made sense. It had all happened so suddenly.

“At any rate, given the severity of the accident, we must be thankful that neither of you was more seriously injured,” Lady Pleinsworth continued. “Although I’m told that we do want to watch you closely with that lump on your head.”

Anne touched it again, wincing.

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit,” Anne admitted.

Lady Pleinsworth seemed not to know what to do with that information. She shifted slightly in her seat, then squared her shoulders, then finaly said, “Wel.” Anne tried to smile. It was ridiculous, but she almost felt as if
she
was supposed to try to make Lady Pleinsworth feel better. It was probably from all those years in service, always wanting to please her employers.

“The doctor will be here soon,” Lady Pleinsworth finaly continued, “but in the meantime, I will make sure that someone tels Lord Winstead that you have awakened. He was most worried about you.”

“Thank—” Anne started to say, but apparently Lady Pleinsworth was not done.

“It is curious, though,” she said, pressing her lips together. “How did you come to be in his carriage in the first place? The last I saw him, he was here at Whipple Hil.”

Anne swalowed. This was not the sort of conversation that one wanted to treat with anything but the utmost of care. “I saw him in the vilage,” she said. “It started Anne swalowed. This was not the sort of conversation that one wanted to treat with anything but the utmost of care. “I saw him in the vilage,” she said. “It started to rain, and he offered to drive me back to Whipple Hil.” She waited for a moment, but Lady Pleinsworth did not speak, so she added, “I was most appreciative.” Lady Pleinsworth took a moment to consider her answer, then said, “Yes, wel, he is very generous that way. Although as it turns out, you’d have done better to walk.” She stood briskly and patted the bed. “You must rest now. But do not sleep. I’ve been told you’re not to sleep until the doctor arrives to examine you.” She frowned. “I believe I
will
send Frances in. At the very least, she’ll keep you awake.” Anne smiled. “Perhaps she might read to me. She hasn’t practiced reading aloud in quite some time, and I should like to see her work on her diction.”

“Ever the teacher, I see,” Lady Pleinsworth said. “But that’s what we want in a governess, isn’t it?” Anne nodded, not quite certain if she had been complimented or told to remember her place.

Lady Pleinsworth walked to the door, then turned. “Oh, and as to that, don’t worry about the girls. Lady Sarah and Lady Honoria will be sharing your duties while you are recuperating. I’m sure between the two of them they can work out a lesson plan.”

“Maths,” Anne said with a yawn. “They need to do maths.”

“Maths it is, then.” Lady Pleinsworth opened the door and stepped into the halway. “Do try to get some rest. But don’t sleep.” Anne nodded and closed her eyes, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She did not think she would sleep, though. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was racing. Everyone told her that Daniel was all right, but she was still worried, and she would be until she saw him for herself. There was nothing she could do about it now, though, not when she could barely walk.

And then Frances bounded in, hopped onto the bed beside Anne, and proceeded to chatter her ear off. It was, Anne realized later, exactly what she needed.

T
he rest of the day passed peacefuly enough. Frances stayed until the doctor arrived, who said that he wanted Anne to keep awake until nightfal. Then Elizabeth came, bearing a tray of cakes and sweets, and finaly Harriet, who carried with her a small sheaf of paper—her current opus,
Henry VIII and the Unicorn of
Doom
.

“I’m not certain Frances is going to be appeased by an evil unicorn,” Anne told her.

Harriet looked up with one arched brow. “She did not specify that it must be a
good
unicorn.” Anne grimaced. “You’re going to have a battle on your hands, that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.” Harriet shrugged, then said, “I’m going to begin in act two. Act one is a complete disaster. I’ve had to rip it completely apart.”

“Because of the unicorn?”

“No,” Harriet said with a grimace. “I got the order of the wives wrong. It’s divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, widowed.”

“How cheerful.”

Harriet gave her a bit of a look, then said, “I switched one of the divorces with a beheading.”

“May I give you a bit of advice?” Anne asked.