The Dangerous Lord Darrington (2 page)

‘It will be the muddier route, but that will make the roaring fire and rum punch all the more enjoyable when we get home!’

Davey led the way through the winding lanes for another mile before turning off on to a narrow track. As they left behind them the little villages that lined the main highway the country became ever more barren and soon they were riding across a wilderness with no houses in sight. Guy glanced up at the sky. The sun had disappeared behind thick clouds the colour of lead and the air was heavy with the threat of rain.

‘How much farther is it?’ he asked as they slowed down to a walk, resting the horses.

‘About another five miles,’ replied Davey. ‘I am sorry we did not think to bring our greatcoats. If this rain comes down, it will be heavy, I fear.’

Guy shrugged.

‘No matter. We may yet beat it.’

‘We may indeed. We can at least cover the next mile or so at speed, if we cut across the fields.’ With that Davey spurred his horse and they were off again, galloping across the large, rectangular fields. Guy’s powerful hunter took the dry stone walls in his stride, but he silently cursed his friend’s recklessness as they scattered sheep and a herd of milch cows in their headlong flight. The daylight was reduced to a gloomy twilight and a soft rain had started to fall as they thundered towards another grey stone wall. It was not particularly high, but as they approached it Davey’s bay mare stumbled. They were too close to stop and she made a valiant effort to clear the wall, but a trailing hoof caught one of the topstones, sending horse and rider tumbling to the ground.

Guy did not hesitate. He put his own horse to the jump, but reined in as soon as he could, turning back to help his friend. His heart sank when he saw the mare on the ground, legs flailing, and Davey trapped beneath her. Quickly he dismounted and dashed across to the stricken pair. The bay rolled over and clambered to her feet. She stood, trembling and snorting, but appeared otherwise unhurt as Guy dropped to his knees beside his friend.

Davey’s face was ashen and one leg was twisted in an unnatural position. He opened his eyes and looked up at Guy.

‘Pushing…too…hard,’ he gasped.

‘Don’t talk and keep still,’ barked Guy. ‘I need to see just what damage you have done to yourself.’

‘Damned fool,’ muttered Davey. ‘Light was going…didn’t see the rabbit hole…’

There was the thud of heavy boots as two farmhands ran up.

‘We saw the fall from the road, sir,’ called the first, grimacing as he gazed down at the injured man. ‘’Owt we can do?’

‘We need a doctor,’ said Guy. ‘And somewhere to take him out of this rain.’

‘There’s the barn on t’other side o’ beck,’ offered the second man, coming up. ‘Or t’owd Priory just over there.’

Guy followed his pointing finger and noticed for the first time the outline of a steeply roofed building in the distance.

‘The Priory would be best, if it is inhabited.’

‘Oh, aye, Lady Arabella will be at home. She never leaves the place these days.’

Guy nodded. Quickly he gave instructions for the men to fetch help while he removed his jacket and threw it over Davey. He sat by his friend’s head, leaning forwards to shelter him from the worst of the drizzling rain.

‘This is a damned nuisance,’ muttered Davey, wincing.

‘Don’t try to move. We will carry you to that house yonder and soon have you comfortable again.’

‘Comfort, hah! Didn’t know my legs could hurt so much.’

‘You are growing soft, then,’ retorted Guy, secretly relieved to know his friend could still feel pain. He was no doctor, but he suspected at least one leg was broken, but he hoped there would be no more serious damage. He took his friend’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. Help will be here soon.’

Davey gave a slight nod and squeezed Guy’s hand, then his eyes closed and his head fell to one side. Only the tiny pulse throbbing at one side of his neck told Guy his friend was still alive.

Guy had no idea how long he had sat beside Davey, the sky growing ever darker and the rain falling steadily. It felt like eternity, but he guessed it was less than an hour later when he heard the welcome sound of voices. Half-a-dozen men arrived with a donkey pulling a small cart. Guy tried to ensure that Davey was lifted as carefully as possible into the cart, but he was profoundly thankful that his friend was still unconscious. He winced when the cart rocked on the uneven field; by the time they reached the gravelled drive leading to the old Priory he felt as if he had been walking for miles.

The stone building towered over them, a black, looming shadow against the leaden sky, but the warm glow of lamplight shone from several of the windows and an oblong of light spilled out from the open doorway and illuminated the steep stone steps leading down to the drive. As they approached, the black outline of a woman could be seen in the doorway. She hurried down the steps and handed a blanket to one of the men.

‘Here, you can use this to carry him indoors.’

Silently Guy watched as the woman issued instructions, directing the men in the best way to ease the unconscious man on to the blanket and how to hold it to cause the least movement as they made their way up into the house. He stopped for a quick word with the groom who came running out to take charge of the horses, then followed behind the ragged cortege, unheeded as they made their way through the echoing hall and up a wide stone staircase to a small chamber where a maid was hurriedly building up the fire.

Guy retired to the corner, reduced to a spectator. He was ready to advise if necessary, but the young woman was supervising the men as they laid Davey on the bed and Guy did not think he could improve upon her instructions. He watched her as she moved around the room, the candlelight glinting on her flame-red hair. Despite his concern for his friend, Guy found himself wondering how old she was: not a girl, that was certain, for she carried herself with assurance, speaking to the men—all known to her by name—in a calm, low voice. She was dressed in a grey gown that showed her slender figure to advantage and she moved with a youthful grace and agility that was very pleasing to the eye. She was clearly used to running a household. Was she perhaps the Lady Arabella the men had mentioned? He broke off from his reflections as the sound of a hasty footstep in the corridor announced the arrival of the doctor. A large, cheerful-looking man appeared in the doorway.

‘Ah, Mrs Forrester, good evening to you!’

That answered one of Guy’s questions.

The doctor approached the bed, saying cheerfully, ‘So this is the young man I have been summoned to attend, is it? Thrown from his horse, I understand.’

‘Yes.’ Guy stepped out of the shadows. ‘The mare came down on top of him.’

‘Hmm.’ The doctor frowned down at the unconscious form now laid out upon the bed. With a sudden movement he began to take off his coat. ‘Then I must get to work. The rest of you should leave me now—except for your footman, ma’am. I will need him to help me undress my patient.’

‘I will help you do that,’ said Guy quickly.

The doctor gave him a searching look.

‘I think not, sir. You would be advised to get out of those wet clothes or I shall end up with two patients instead of one! Mrs Forrester, perhaps you will take care of that—and get the rest of these men out of here! They have served their purpose and should all go away now!’

The red-haired woman immediately moved towards the door.

‘Of course. Thank you, everyone. If you would like to go down to the kitchens, Cook has prepared a bowl of punch for you all.’

‘Does that include me?’ asked Guy as he filed out of the room behind the others. The young woman’s large, dark eyes regarded him solemnly. She gave no sign that she had noticed his attempt at humour.

‘No, sir, you may wait for your friend in the great hall. I will have refreshments brought to you there.’

Guy followed her back down the stairs. He had not realised how chilled he had become until he felt the heat coming from the fire blazing in the huge fireplace. Thankfully he moved towards it.

‘And just who is this man dripping water all over my floor?’

The imperious voice stopped him in his tracks. He looked round to find an old woman standing on the far side of the room. She was dressed in severe black with a black lace cap over her snow-white hair and she was leaning heavily on an ebony cane. She looked very regal and Guy glanced down at his mud-stained clothes.

‘I fear I must present a very dishevelled appearance, ma’am, and I beg your pardon.’ He gave her his most elegant bow. ‘I am Darrington.’

‘The Earl of Darrington?’

‘The same, madam.’

Behind him he heard the young woman’s sharp intake of breath and smiled to himself. She had clearly not thought him of such consequence!

‘Well, you will catch your death of cold if you remain in those wet clothes! Beth, my dear, what are you thinking of?’

‘But Tilly and Martin are—’

‘If the servants are busy, then you must take the earl upstairs, girl. Immediately!’

‘I assure you, ma’am,’ Guy began, ‘I would as lief stay here beside the fire—’

Mrs Forrester interrupted him. ‘My grandmother is right, my lord, you should change,’ she said. ‘Pray forgive me for not thinking of it sooner. Follow me, if you please.’

She led him away, up the stairs and through the twisting, turning corridors. As he followed he tried to take in his surroundings. The entrance and great hall were obviously very old, probably part of the original priory, but there were signs that the house had been extended in Tudor times to make a comfortable residence. The whole building had an air of antiquity and demonstrated the family’s pride in its heritage. Everywhere was filled with fine old furniture and paintings from previous centuries; he guessed that the coffers pushed into odd corners would be found to contain a mass of unwanted objects that the old lady could not bring herself to throw away.

The young woman opened the door to a snug bedchamber with a cheerful fire burning in the grate. She walked across the room and lifted a large white cloth from beside the washstand.

‘Use this to dry yourself. And if you remove your wet clothes, I will arrange for them to be cleaned and dried.’

She avoided looking at him and, almost before she had finished speaking, she was back at the door, whisking herself out of the room before he could thank her.

Guy stripped off his wet clothes and rubbed himself down with quick, powerful movements that forced the blood around his chilled body. There was a knock at the door and he looked out. The passage was empty, but a brightly patterned bundle of cloth was lying at his feet. Shaking it out, he found it was a wrap. Unlike the fashionable silk banyan that his valet would have laid out for him on his bed at Highridge, this garment was made of fine, soft wool, warm to the touch and infinitely comforting as he shrugged himself into it and fastened the ties at the waist. It was a little short, but otherwise a good fit. He was rubbing the worst of the wet from his hair when there was another soft knock on the door. It was Beth Forrester, holding a tray in her hands. His instinct was to take it from her, but some spirit of mischief made him stand aside, so that she was obliged to enter the room and carry the tray across to a table.

‘I thought you might like a little bread and wine,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘My grandmother has asked me to look out some clothes for you, so that you may join us for supper later.’

‘Thank you. I should be honoured to do so.’ As he shut the door she whirled around, startled, and for the first time looked directly at him. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, too beautiful to hold such anxiety as he read in their liquid depths. He said soothingly, ‘Please, stay a moment—Mrs Forrester, is it not? I would like to talk to you.’ She eyed him warily and he smiled. ‘I am naturally anxious to know how my friend goes on.’

‘Doctor Compton is still with him. There is no news yet.’

‘Ah, of course.’ He moved towards the dressing table. ‘May I use this comb?’

She nodded and stood silent as he tidied his damp hair.

‘Is this your bedroom?’ His question brought her eyes to his face again and with a little smile he lifted a silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table. ‘There are red hairs in it.’

She nodded again.

‘It was the only bedchamber with a fire. With Tilly and Martin both occupied it seemed the most sensible thing…?.’ She trailed off, a delicate flush mantling her cheeks.

‘It is not at all sensible to let a strange man into your bedchamber,’ he murmured, guessing her thoughts. ‘But I am extremely grateful. I only hope your husband will understand.’

‘My husband has been dead these six years, sir.’

‘I am so very sorry.’ He paused. ‘Is this his banyan I am wearing?’

‘No, it—it is my brother’s, but it was always far too big for him and he never wore it. I should go…’

‘Please, do not run away!’

‘I am not— I mean, I must find some clothes to fit you, if you are to join Grandmama for supper.’

She stood before him, like a deer poised for flight, but still Guy stood in her way.

‘And will you be at supper, too?’

‘Of course.’

‘Very well, I will let you go.’

He stepped aside, but even so in the small chamber there was only just room for her to walk by him to reach the door. He forced himself to keep still as she passed within inches of him and as she went by he breathed in the unmistakable scent of lemons.