Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) (24 page)

Chapter Thirty

F
rederick urged Stirling over the bridge. His alarm at Araminta’s capture and his anger at the kidnapper could not override his concern for the animal. The ride from London had been slow because he was leading Pegasus. He hoped that would stand Stirling in good stead now. He knew it should be resting in a stable, not hunting an unknown carriage.

Gaining the other side of the Avon, he stared up and down the road. The road-sweepers had pointed to the north. He pressed his heels gently into the horse’s flanks. It tossed its head, sending its chestnut mane flying and set off willingly. There was plenty of activity around him. Riders and pedestrians, carts laden with produce heading for the city, even some grubby urchins splashing in the mud at the river’s edge. One of the youngsters ceased his search for treasure and, dirty thumb in mouth, watched him pass.

Why, Frederick asked himself, would the kidnapper come this way? Was he aiming to hide her in some hovel not far from the city? More than that, what was he intending for her? Beads of fear broke out on his brow. God forbid it was a harm of any sort. How he wished he had brought his pistol with him. But then the most excitement he had expected was a stroll to Sidney Gardens. Being cannoned into a headlong chase across the Somerset countryside had never entered his most worst imagining. Fear drove him on.

The road wound westwards through the gentle countryside. Cantering along it as fast as he dared, Frederick saw none of it. He rounded a corner shaded by tall horse chestnut trees. Twerton tollgate spanned the road ahead.

Beside the tollhouse, an old woman was bending over a wicker basket of linen. Every now and then, she straightened, in as much as she could to drape an item over the bushes where the sun could dry it.

Frederick urged Stirling towards her. The woman might have news. A few quick strides brought him to the tollhouse. He reined in.

‘Good-day, ma’am. Can you oblige me please? Has a shabby carriage passed by in the past few moments?’

The woman brushed the frill of her cotton bonnet away from her eyes and stared up at him. She was the oldest crone he had ever seen. Her nut-brown face bore so many wrinkles its features were almost concealed. For all that, she was neatly, if plainly, dressed.

‘I see’d many this day. ‘Tis the Bristol road, sir. There be so many folks in need of their folderol’s there’s nerry an end to the comings and goings.’

‘It’s a carriage I’m asking for, not a cart. An old one I believe. You might have heard a lady . . . er, crying.’

‘Ah.’ The wrinkles on the old face formed themselves into a smile. ‘It be your lady-love you’re after. Has her Pa whisked her off from you?’

Frederick only just stopped a sharp reply. ‘Nothing of the sort. It’s . . . it’s my sister. I fear she has fallen foul of . . . of some footpads.’

The old eyes twinkled. ‘As you say, sir.’ She sniffed. ‘There was a carriage went past not long ago. Once been green, I’d say. Pretty bay nag looked too good for it.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. That’s all I wish to know.’ Frederick held out ha’penny to the woman before turning his horse’s head up the road.

‘That be fine, sir.’ The woman bent her ancient back and hoisted her basket onto her hip. ‘I hope you find your sister,’ she called after him with a chuckle.

The keeper of the Newton St Low turnpike told him a carriage of the sort he was seeking has passed through bare minutes ago. If his worship were to put his heels to his horse, he could catch it by the next at Corston.

Frederick further depleted his hoard of coins and rode on, deep in thought. If – when – he did catch the carriage, what would he – could he do? There must be something. The afternoon sun was sinking. The thought of Araminta in the clutches of some brigands overnight was unbearable. If only he had his pistol. He could hold them up like a highway man. Them? There’d be at least two for certain. The driver and the villain. There might even be three. A cold shiver ran up his spine. His fingers tightened on the reins.

Stirling’s head was drooping by the time they had covered of the three miles to Corston. Frederick slowed him to a walk. They rounded a bend and he reined to a halt. A carriage was standing by the toll house. A carriage that had definitely been green in better days. He could just see the rump of the bay hauling it. The driver was bending down, holding out his hand to a stout young man. This must be it. But there was no sound of a screaming female. If he challenged it and was the wrong one there’d be an embarrassing scene. If he did not and it was the one . . .

Frederick made his choice.

He spurred his flagging horse to a gallop. Drawing alongside the carriage he swerved ahead of it and barred the way. ‘Araminta? Are you there?’

‘Frederick,’ screamed Araminta.

Cursing heavily, the driver raised his whip. He slashed at Frederick’s face. Raising an arm Frederick grabbed at the whip and yanked it away.

‘Here, I say –’ the tollman started.

The carriage rocked on its springs. Sounds of a struggled mixed with Araminta’s shouts.

‘Help me,’ Frederick yelled at the stout man. ‘This is an abduction.’

‘Lordie,’ the man yelped as the driver jumped down beside him. He turned and landed a facer on the driver’s chin. The man went down raising puffs of dust from the road.

Frederick dragged the carriage door open. The sight inside rocked him stock-still.

‘Trelowen. What the deuce –’ He broke off and dragged the Viscount’s nearest arm off Araminta. The respite gave her time to claw at the Viscount’s face. Blood appeared in the streaks from her fingernails. Trelowen back-handed her behind him and leapt out drawing a pistol from the squab by the door. He aimed it at Frederick.

‘Stand off. Stand off I say, or by God I’ll do for you.’

Frederick stared at him. The toll keeper and driver stopped wrestling on the ground and stared.

For seconds nobody moved.

Araminta took a deep breath, lifted her skirts and flipped them over Trelowen’s head. She heaved. He cursed and struck out blindly. The pistol discharged. Frederick dived to the left. The driver howled and clutched at his thigh.

Frederick aimed his best punch at the bulge under the muslin. A cracking sound followed. Trelowen slid gently onto the ground. His eyes were closed. He lay motionless on his side on the road. Blood trickled across his cheek into a small pool in the dust.

Araminta lowered her skirts. She and Frederick exchanged a long stare.

‘Well,’ she said.

‘Indeed,’ he answered. ‘I’m mighty pleased to see you.’ He reached out his hand to help her down.

Stepping down, she pulled at the ribbons of her bonnet. They parted and the crushed straw slid off. The faintest of twitches lift the corners of her mouth. ‘I fear this is beyond saving.’

‘Rather it than you.’ He captured both of her hands. ‘I feared . . . I feared you had come to harm.’ Colour flushed his face.

For a moment Araminta’s lips trembled. ‘I feared so too.’ Her fingers tightened round his and her eyes moistened. She bit her lip. She shivered then shook herself. ‘I had it all planned.’ She drew back. ‘I’d made my mind he was taking me to Bristol for a boat. I was going to faint like a silly female. Then when I saw help, I’d scream.’

A gasping chuckle was forced from Frederick. ‘You as a fainting female will not ride. There’s never been anyone less like a fainting female than you.’

Speech between them died. They stared into each other’s eyes. The gaping tollman, the groaning driver and the unconscious Trelowen were forgotten.

Frederick was the first to recollect himself. ‘We must return you to Miss Orksville. She will be most anxious by now.’

Araminta looked at the carriage. ‘I’m not getting into that horrible thing again.’ The bay was standing between the traces, head down. ‘Unhitch her, please, Freddie. Then we can both ride back.’

‘’Ere, you can’t take the ’orse,’ the tollman said. ‘It be stealing. You’ll get deported for that. And how’ll they get the carriage moving?’

Frederick’s comment on that was lost as he bent to unhitch the traces.

‘And what about ’im?’ the man continued, pointing at the driver who had dragged off his kerchief and was tying it round his thigh.

‘Never mind about him,’ Araminta said. ‘His lordship will see to him when recovers his senses. I shall leave a note saying we have borrowed the animal. They may collect it from the hotel.’

She bent into the carriage and rescued her reticule from the carriage floor. A small silver case held her visiting cards. A tiny pencil fitted below the hinge. She scribbled on the back of a card. Bending down, she tucked it into Trelowen’s limp hand.

Frederick led the horse out of the traces by its mane. The animal tossed its head but followed willingly. ‘There’s no bridle,’ he said to the tollman. ‘Find me a strip of rope.’

The man hurried round the side of the cottage. Moments later he reappeared with a soiled length of rope in his hand. ‘This be all I do ’ave.’

Frederick took it regardless of its state. The mare was not keen on having smelly hemp wrapped round her head. Frederick persevered, persuading her with gentle words. Standing back to admire his handiwork, a thought struck him. ‘I’ll have to ride it bareback. There’s no hope of a saddle.’

‘I can do that. Can’t you?’

‘Of course I can. As long as we don’t gallop.’ Frederick lowered his head and stared at her from under scowling brows. ‘You aren’t going to gallop, are you?’

‘Certainly not.’ Dusty, crumpled and defiant, she lifted her chin. Her eyes danced. ‘Would I ever do anything so unladylike?’

A sharp crack of laughter greeted this remark. ‘Of course you would. At the first opportunity.’

‘You know me too well, my lord.’ Araminta grinned. She grasped Stirling’s reins. ‘Now stop playing the pompous and give me a hoist.’

Frederick obligingly tossed her up into the saddle.

The tollman gasped at the length of female leg displayed. He watched the strange young man half climb the tollgate and slide onto the nag. ‘Well,’ he said to himself, ‘they allus say quality’s not like the rest of us. They be right.’

Riding bareback, Lord Frederick Danver prepared to escort his affianced wife down the road.

Chapter Thirty One

A
raminta organised herself to ride with one foot in a stirrup and the other leg looped over the low pommel. Her bonnet dangled by its ribbons from one arm. She turned it under critical eyes.

‘I fear I was correct. This is quite beyond repair.’ She untangled the ribbons. ‘I’ll do my best with it. There’ll be enough heads turning when we ride into Bath without giving them cause for more comment.’

Looping the reins over her arm, she prodded the damaged straw into some semblance of shape. A silk rose fell to the ground. Frederick pulled on the rope bridle. ‘Leave it,’ Araminta said. ‘I can manage with the rest.’ She fluffed the petals on the remaining flowers into happier positions then tied the crumpled bonnet onto her curls.

‘I think we should go to Lidgate,’ Frederick announced, eyeing the result and fretting she could have suffered the same fate. ‘I can be sure you will be safe there.’

‘But your Papa? Will he agree to it again?’

Frederick’s hands drooped onto the mare’s neck.

‘What is it? Has His Grace spoken against me?

‘He was somewhat . . . disconcerted.’ He braced himself. ‘I’m certain he will come round once he knows you better.’

Araminta examined his face.

‘Oh, look,’ he said, pointing at a pair of donkeys standing noses together in a field. ‘Aren’t they . . . picturesque?’

‘Freddie,’ she said, sternly. ‘Stop prevaricating. Tell me true. What did he say?’

A deep breath filled Lord Frederick’s chest. His eyes sparked. ‘He took leave to inform me that he would never see me again if we were to marry. And that he would forbid Mama and George to do so too.’

Araminta gasped. ‘Oh, Freddie. That is dreadful.’ She shook her head. ‘I feared he might do something . . . harsh, but I never thought he’d keep you from your Mama. That is cruel.’ A tear gathered at the corner of one eye. She shook her head again, her voice low. ‘There’s no use for it, Freddie. You must lose me, not your family.’

‘Never.’ Frederick’s assertion startled his mount. For several moments he was entirely occupied in bringing it back under control without ignominiously sliding off. ‘No-one, not even His Grace shall stop me from taking you as my wife. I shall find some employment and we shall be fine and dandy.’

Affection flooded into Araminta’s voice. ‘Oh Freddie. I don’t mean to be unkind but what can you do?’ She shook her head. ‘We must ask Pa to help. I –’

‘No!’ Frederick’s horse shied again. ‘No,’ he repeated, stroking its neck. ‘I will not hang on your father’s sleeve. I will go as secretary to some person of note. If George can do it, so can I. You will be my wife and I will support you.’

Araminta assumed a demure expression. ‘Yes, Freddie. If you say so.’

He stared at her. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not scheming, are you?’

‘Of course not,’ Araminta lied. ‘I have every trust in you. There must be many
persons of note
who require secretaries.’

She allowed the subject to drop. They rode on sedately through the evening light for the remaining few miles until the first of Bath’s buildings came into view. Frederick eyed the drape of Araminta’s gown and then the light from the oil lamps lining the street.

‘I think you may decently ride to the hotel. I’ll dismount and walk beside you. It will hide your gown and almost look as if you’ve a side saddle. With luck, people will not notice your . . . your –’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ankles. They’ll be engaged in assuming there’s a problem with my saddle.’ He frowned. ‘It’s as well you’re unknown here. We’ve no groom to escort us.’

Araminta kept all expression from her face. ‘People might assume we are man and wife. Or brother and sister.’

‘Of course.’ A burden slipped from his mind. ‘And it’s darkening so fast no-one will see your hair.’

Mischief invaded Araminta’s mind and almost escaped in an unwise comment. She bit it back. Dear Frederick was concerned enough already. His sense of humour was too over-tried to appreciate flippant comments about unfashionable red hair.

At the hotel, Frederick helped Araminta dismount. He held out one set of reins and one grubby rope to the ostler who ran from the building. Looking for all the world as if there was nothing the least degree unusual, he escorted Araminta up to Miss Orksville.

Wilhelmina swayed, hand to chest, when they entered the sitting room. ‘Child.’ She stumbled forward and seized Araminta’s hands in hers. ‘I am so sorry. How could I have let you into the company of that . . . that . . .
person
?’

‘Please don’t fret, ma’am.’ Araminta extracted a hand and patted the thin shoulder. ‘I am fine now. Only my bonnet was damaged, not I. Look.’

She pulled the ribbons and held out the mangled remains.

It attracted little attention. ‘We must remove from here immediately. And your father must be told.’

‘May I beg to differ, ma’am?’

Wilhelmina directed a surprised stare at Lord Frederick. ‘Why so, sir? It is imperative that she gains her father’s protection as soon as may be.’

‘I believe it will be better to inform Mr Neave and ask him to send his coach. You arrived in it. A hasty departure by any other means will only raise speculation in the curious.’

‘But you’ve only just I’m unknown here.’ Araminta tossed the deformed bonnet onto the settee. ‘Why should anyone take an interest in how I leave?’

‘You might be unknown, ma’am, but Miss Orksville is not. You have been seen in her company and . . .’ He indicated her titian curls. ‘And once seen I doubt you would be forgotten.’

‘You are unconscious concerned about my hair, sir.’

‘No but –’

Wilhelmina hurried into speech. ‘Of course you are right, Lord Frederick. I shall pen a note to Mr Neave immediately.’ She seated herself at the small table and extracted a sheet of paper from the writing case on it. ‘If you would be kind enough to convey it to the post office for me.’

Frederick bowed. ‘Of course, ma’am.’

‘Good.’ She began to scratch spidery words on the paper. ‘I’ll assure him we will remain indoors until the coach arrives. There will be no repeat of this sort of thing.’ She finished writing, laid down the quill and rocked the blotter over the wet ink. ‘As far as the hotel is concerned, Araminta shall have contracted a cold. Naturally I shall stay by her side.’ She stuck a wafer on the folded page and inscribed the front.

Frederick took the letter from her, bowed, and with a last, fulsome glance at Araminta took himself off.

The third afternoon of Araminta’s incarceration was shattered by the sounds of a carriage arriving at full pelt outside and her father’s voice instructing his coachman at full volume. She dropped her book on the settee and ran to the window.

‘Pa’s here. Oh how wonderful.’

Moments later the door was flung open and the portly figure of Archibald Neave waddled into the room.

‘ ’Minta. Thank God you’re safe.’ He hurried forward and clasped his arms round her. His face disappeared in the ruffles at her neckline. ‘Whatever were you thinking of to go off like that?’

‘I fear I am to blame,’ Wilhelmina said. ‘I should have discovered more about Mrs Tanner before letting her visit her house.’

‘No you’re not,’ Araminta repeated for the fourth time that morning. ‘We had no way of knowing she was . . . who she was.’

‘Trelowen’s mistress, you mean,’ Archibald pronounced, unaware of Wilhelmina’s eyebrows shooting up. ‘And what of him? Has he the gall to show his face?’

‘I don’t know, Pa. I haven’t heard of him.’

‘I’ve sent Pilton with the coach for Lord Freddie. We’ll hear what he has to say.’ Some of the fire deserted the plump face. He dropped his hat on the settee and slumped down beside it. ‘I’ve been so fretted, girl. God knows what might have become of you.’ He shook his head. ‘Mr Blythburgh fears his lordship will call Trelowen out.’

‘What? Oh no, Pa. We must stop him.’

‘Mr Neave,’ Wilhelmina interrupted. ‘How did Mr Blythburgh know of the happenings?’

‘Oh, I called on him. He came down with me. Gone to fetch Lord Freddie with Pilton.’

‘I think you were mistaken to tell Mr Blythburgh. Or indeed, anyone, what has happened.’ Wilhelmina stared at her employer’s face. ‘You didn’t tell anyone else, I hope.’

‘Only the Duke.’

‘What?’ Wilhelmina’s well-modulated tones rose to a shriek. ‘Oh that was most unwise. His Grace will be even less disposed to our girl now he knows of it.’

‘I don’t see why. It’s not as if it were her fault the scoundrel kidnapped her.’

‘No, but ladies of quality do not attract that sort of attention.’

Archibald bounded to his feet, in as much as he was able. ‘Trelowen is everywhere received. Or so you said. And it’s not Araminta’s fault she’s such a fine-looking girl compared to the milksops around.’

Wilhelmina’s sharp response was stopped by a knock on the door. All three turned. Hollins entered with a heavily-laden tray.

‘Ah, good. I called for some sustenance as soon as I set foot here.’ Archibald rubbed his hands. ‘Good. Ham, bread. And a decent piece of cheese.’ He scowled. ‘Is that ale, girl?’

‘Yes, sir. The hotel’s own brew. Very good it is.’ Hollins blushed guiltily. ‘Or so I’ve heard.’

Araminta and Wilhelmina watched the consumption of the ham, bread and cheese in stunned silence for several minutes. At last Araminta spoke.

‘What did His Grace say, Pa?’ she asked faintly.

Archibald chewed rapidly and swallowed. ‘Not very much. He’s not a man to give much away. He nodded when I told him how grateful I was that his boy had rescued you. Told him he was one to be proud of.’

‘Anything else?’ Wilhelmina’s voice was as weak as Araminta’s.

The head was shaken and another bite of cheese taken. ‘No,’ he mumbled. ‘Said he’d come and see for himself.’

‘Come himself?’ Araminta’s cheeks paled. ‘The Duke is coming here?’

‘Course he is. What parent wouldn’t?’

His Grace, the ninth Duke of Ellonby topped Araminta’s list in that category. She sat down heavily on the windowsill. ‘The Duke? Coming here?’

‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’ Archibald demanded.

‘Oh, nothing,’ his daughter answered.