The Outrageous Debutante (35 page)

‘No. Do you trust me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then what is the problem?’

‘I fear that you have left me wallowing in unrequited love!’ At last she saw a glint of appreciation. ‘You will have to explain.’

‘It is very simple, Nicholas. How you have failed to work it out for yourself is beyond belief. You rejected Theodora, the love of your life by all accounts, because her name was Baxendale.’

‘I …’ A hint of colour flared along his cheek bones at the realisation of how empty and futile and ridiculous it sounded in Sarah’s words.

‘Of course you did. But I, too, am a Baxendale—or have you forgotten?’ She slanted a surprisingly mischievous glance at him. ‘If you can trust me and care for me a little, why is loving Thea any different? And you adore her! Her name should not stand between you. It cannot. As a man of logic, you must realise it.’

Nicholas searched Sarah’s face as he absorbed her undoubted logic. Then he laughed, as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. ‘Sarah … What have I been doing all these weeks? Perhaps I needed you to put it so simply that even a child would see it.’

‘Or beat you over the head with it! I wager no one has had the temerity to do so, unless it be Lady Beatrice.’ She watched him shrewdly, rewarded by Nicholas wincing in reluctant agreement. ‘It
is
simple. You love her and she, for some reason which I cannot fathom, loves you. Her name is irrelevant. Besides, she is my sister and I love her and want her happiness. She has decided that she can find it only with you. Now if
I
were in need of a husband—’ there was a distinct twinkle in her eye ‘—I
would have given the Earl of Moreton more of a chance. He is so much easier to deal with. The Faringdons are never easy!’

She was relieved to see humour creeping back into the stern lines of Nicholas’s face to dispel the bleak misery. ‘You are a managing female, Sarah. I did not realise it. Moreton does not know of his lucky escape. So I must go to Aymestry, it seems.’ He rubbed his hands over his face as if he had just awoken from a dire nightmare.

‘Of course you must. What is taking you so long? You should have saddled a horse at least half an hour ago.’

‘Will you come?’

‘No. I have travelled enough in recent days. And I should most decidedly be in the way.’

‘Perhaps.’ He kissed Sarah’s fingers, then her cheek. ‘My thanks are beyond expression. It may be that you have just given me back my life.’

As she accompanied him to the door, Sarah gave him some parting advice. ‘If you love her, Nick, don’t lose this chance.’ She touched his arm lightly, amazed at the courage she had shown this night in speaking so candidly to this most complex of Faringdon men. ‘You know how it is between Henry and Nell. You have seen it for yourself. It is beyond magnificent. The affection and the caring—and the blazing passion that only grows with time. If you and Theodora achieve only half of the love that they have, it would be enough for a lifetime. Don’t throw it away, Nicholas. You would regret it for the rest of your life.’

Nicholas bent his head, kissed her cheek again in heartfelt gratitude.

As he strode from the house toward the stables, Sarah’s words echoed in his mind, clear and strong. So much advice, confirming what he had known all along and been too blind and proud, too bent on revenge, to accept. It was time that he faced the truth and old hatreds were buried. His future happiness depended on it.

At Aymestry Manor, whilst Sarah was taking Nicholas to task at Burford Hall and advising him, much as Lady Beatrice might,
on the only course of action open to a man of common sense, Theodora brooded and awaited the outcome. The day gradually drew on into late afternoon as she watched the road with anxious eyes. She could not possibly expect him before dusk. Nevertheless she watched and waited impatiently. Clouds heralding oncoming rain began to gather on the horizon to the west. Time hung heavily. Thea’s patience became thinly stretched.

She visited the stables where she became reacquainted with The Zephyr. The beautiful mare bloomed with health, her coat gleaming in the late sun, and seemed perfectly sound as she trotted across the paddock at Thea’s voice. Furness was encouraging, already lamenting the loss of the little mare when she returned to Thea’s possession. Thea admired the new foals. Played with an enthusiastic litter of spaniel puppies who at least made her laugh and forget her woes.

Still he did not come.

She strolled in the gardens with Agnes, mentally stocking them with her favourite flowers. Aquilegia and hearts’ ease, honeysuckle and … and … But what was the purpose in such wishful thinking? She would like to grow herbs and…. No. She must not think of it. It would never come to that if Nicholas decided that her Baxendale connection created too great an obstacle.

And still no sound of hooves on the road or on the track that dropped down through the woods.

Of course he might reject everything that Sarah could lay before him in her sister’s defence. Theodora cursed the name of Edward Baxendale in language that would have drawn her mama’s deep disapproval.

She took herself to the kitchens out of interest to see Mrs Grant’s kingdom. And spoke with the lady, who readily conversed about the running of such a household and the particular likes and dislikes of his lordship, whom she had known since a young boy. So Lord Nicholas disliked sweetbreads, did he? Well, so did she! Thea would have enjoyed the experience if nerves had not begun to flutter with persistent wings in her stomach.

Dusk shrouded the house and candles were lit. Still no Nicholas.

Thea and Agnes shared a meal, neither having much appetite. Then Agnes was sent off to her bed, leaving Thea to pace the library, without even a pretence at finding solace in one of the many volumes that hemmed her in. He would not come. Not now.

Then, at last, noises outside. Muted but just discernible. Hooves and voices. Thea stopped her pacing, gripped the back of a chair with her hands and watched the door.

But no Nicholas. On a hiss of frustration at what could possibly be detaining the man—probably a mare in foal!—she went to the window to peer out. It was dark with the now-heavy cloud covering the moon so she could see nothing. But that was not right! There were figures, black on black, on the carriage drive to the left. And there! A flash of light—and another from torches. And in the light from those torches, Thea was able to see the truth. Figures clad in skirts and shawls. The Maidens. Torches. Now they moved quietly as one led away a horse. Voices deliberately kept low, but there was no doubt in Thea’s mind that their presence was a threat and their intent evil. As they disappeared from view towards the stables, Thea fled. First to the kitchens, where by chance Furness was lifting a jug of ale and enjoying a pipe as he exchanged opinions with Mrs Grant.

‘Miss Thea?’ Mrs Grant immediately rose to her feet. ‘Is there a problem …?’

‘Master Furness …’

He put down his ale in concern at the lady’s wide eyes and breathless state.

‘The Maidens are paying us a visit,’ Thea gasped. ‘I have seen them. Heading to the stables, I would say … with torches—’ Before she had finished, Furness was on his feet with the agility of youth and out of the room at a run.

Without thought, Thea followed.

Nick rode to Aymestry, his mind full of Sarah’s forthright words. And hope surged through his veins with every mile as he took the track through the woods, despite the falling light. Every instinct persuaded him to reach his manor with all speed. He
knew Sarah well enough, had enough experience of the innate honesty that had troubled her conscience and driven her to expose the deceit of her brother. And so he had believed her every word. Thea would be waiting for him. She was entirely innocent, as he must assuredly have known. The shame of his lack of trust crawled beneath his skin, yet the prospect of his loved one quaking made him smile again. What a delight it would be to hold her and kiss her and calm any fears she might have. But he would have to ask forgiveness first, for indeed it was his fault that he had judged her without cause. Surely she would not reject him. If she had come all this way she could not be cold to his advances. He winced under Sarah’s biting criticisms. But he could put it right.

Joy leapt in his blood as he rode out of the trees where the track began its descent to the manor. It was late, but not too late. She would be awake, watching for him. A light rain began to spatter on his shoulders, but he would soon be home. He kicked his horse into a controlled canter, making use of his intimate knowledge of the track. But then with an oath reined in, staring forward to where the house nestled in the shallow depression.

Lights. Too many lights. Indeed, they were flickering torches. And shouts. Some crisis had occurred. The possibilities jostled in his mind as the unease grew. And then the truth was clear, for the first tongues of fire climbed into the sky from the corner of the stables, the wing where the mares and foals were kept for their safety at night. The unease blossomed into desperate and fully-fledged panic.

Fire!

The stallions and mares would die if the alarm was not raised. And if the flames got a hold on the stables, they would spread to the house with its plaster and dry beams before anything could be done to save it. His home, where Theodora awaited him.

Nicholas applied his heels to his horse and galloped heedlessly towards the looming disaster.

The scene in the stableyard rushed towards her, swamping Thea with terror, every sensation in her body under instant attack,
every instinct to freeze in abject fear or to run for her safety. It was a scene straight from the torments of hell. Flames were already licking along one side of the three wings of wood-timbered buildings, stonework already blackened. Within the enclosed space, illuminated by torches and fire, chaos reigned. Figures loomed and dispersed through the billowing smoke. Shouts and cries of anger and encouragement filled the air. There appeared to be few skirted figures—certainly not as many as when Thea had met them on the road—but in their midst, urging them on with wild, triumphant gestures, was Samuel Dyer.

Violence had broken out between the stablelads and the intruders. Blows falling, from fists and wooden staves and pitchforks, wielded on both sides with bloody intent. A firearm was discharged to her left with a flash of fire and a loud retort, causing her to retreat a step. By the stable door lay the deep and ominous shadow of a body on the floor, friend or foe impossible to tell. And over all, the shrill, heartrending cries of horses in a state of ultimate fear and panic as smoke and flames invaded the stalls.

Furness had already taken command, to set a line of men to bring buckets of water from the stream that tumbled down the slope from the distant woods, and struggle with a cumbersome water-pump. But it was so little and so ineffective compared with the blazing wood and plaster! Thea found herself watching in despair the meagre efforts to quench the flames, thwarted at every step by the Maidens.

Now Furness had turned his attention to the horses. It was imperative to get into the stables, to overcome their terror and liberate them into the paddocks where they would come to no harm.

‘Open the doors!’ His voice cracked as acrid smoke engulfed him.

The bolts were drawn, the huge doors dragged back.

‘Get the mares out—the foals will follow! Turn the stallions loose.’

He and others plunged into the hell of noise and flame within, with little thought for their own safety. Smoke thickened as the
dry timbers caught. Sparks flared and blew in the light wind, threatening the house itself. If the house took, there would be nothing they could do.

Thea stood on the edge. Familiar cold settled on her senses. Noise. Violence. Danger. A constant swirl of movement that seemed to draw her in and enclose her into its deadly centre. She knew it all, had experienced it all, and knew her probable reaction to it. It was as if she stood at a distance, outside herself, and watched as the rigid panic assailed her limbs, gripping her chest with iron-tipped claws. She struggled to breathe. She could not move.

Even when a terrified mare was led out, only yards from her, her offspring following, wide-eyed and distressed.

From that safe distance, trapped within her mind, Thea focused on the scene, forcing her conscious thoughts to stay in contact with the horrors she was witnessing. She could not let the horses die in such agony. Or Nicholas’s men. Not when she had the power to move her limbs and help. She could not stand by in a fit of useless and selfish panic and let others take the risks.

A stallion was sent out with a hard slap to its neck and rump, with tossing head and rolling eyes, and turned loose to canter off into the darkness.

The Zephyr is in there. Do something! Don’t think—just do something!

A group of bodies pushed and swayed between her and the stable, arms swinging. She could hear the grunts quite clearly as the blows made contact. They would not stop her. They must not stop her. She took a breath. Too much at stake. And pushed between, looking neither left nor right, dodging the blows, ignoring a pistol fired close by. She followed Furness into the stable.

‘Get out, Miss Thea.’ The head groom cast one horrified glance in her direction. ‘Too dangerous. No place for you. What his lordship would say if you was harmed …’ He coughed in the smoke, wiping a filthy hand over red-rimmed eyes. ‘Get out and up to the house.’ But he was too occupied to force her to obey.

‘No. You need all the help you can get.’ She seized a blanket, submerging it in a water trough. ‘Wrap yourself in this.’ She did
likewise. And joined the men struggling to release the horses. Aware only of wildly lashing feet, wicked teeth. It was hot dangerous work. She did not once stop to think what she was doing.

Outside shouts went up from a dozen voices. Matters appeared to be coming to a head, which prompted Thea to make a detour to collect one of the coachman’s pistols from the room that stored harness and saddles. She had no idea whether it was loaded or not and did not stop to look. It might serve its purpose and there was no time to do more, certainly not to prime a pistol in the dark. Back outside, the first sight that met her horrified gaze was Sam Dyer with a flaming torch, stooping to apply it to the inner wing.