She started to run across the clearing, back to where she had left her basket, but she had forgotten the treacherous ground. Her ankle turned, she lost her balance and fell her length. She swallowed the urge to utter a most unladylike curse and tried to brush the grass from her pale muslin gown. She made to get up, wondering all the while whether Mrs Aubrey’s maid had a remedy for grass stains.
‘Ouch!’ The moment she put her right foot to the ground, a pain shot up her leg. She closed her eyes in frustration. Now what was she to do? She was out of sight of the village, she had sprained her ankle, and a storm was coming on. This time she did curse. Vehemently.
First and foremost, she must get away from these trees. She glanced up at the sky again. Huge black anvil clouds promised thunder and lightning, as well as rain. She must get away from the trees.
She hobbled slowly back to the fence and leant on it to catch her breath. Her parasol would act as a makeshift walking-stick, she decided. Her basket could remain where it was.
But not Mrs Aubrey’s ribbon! That must not be soaked by the storm. Beth tucked the little parcel safely into the bodice of her gown. Then, gritting her teeth against the pain, she ducked under the fence and started back along the lane to Fratcombe.
It had felt like no distance at all on the way here, but now the bend seemed miles away. Beyond it was Widow Jenkinson’s house, where Beth would be able to ask for shelter. She hobbled awkwardly along, leaning heavily on her parasol. It was not strong enough to bear her weight. The handle snapped after just a few yards. Fate was definitely against her.
She stood on her good leg gazing down at the pieces of broken parasol. ‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ She hurled the useless handle to the ground.
‘May I be of assistance, ma’am?’
Beth whirled round so quickly that she forgot about her injury and put her weight on her sprained ankle. She cried out in pain and almost fell.
‘Good God, ma’am! You are hurt.’
That voice had not changed. It was Jonathan.
She had been so intent on cursing the flimsy parasol that she had not heard the sound of his arrival.
‘Go to their heads.’ This time, he was not alone. A groom jumped down and ran to hold the horses. Jonathan sprang to the ground at the same moment and reached Beth just as she managed to regain her balance.
Her pain was forgotten. It was Jonathan. He had returned. He had returned to save her, all over again.
‘Let me help you into my curricle, ma’am.’ He offered his arm. ‘Lean on me. You should not put any weight on that ankle.’
She accepted gladly. Even with only one good leg, she felt as if she were floating, buoyed up by his touch, but when they reached the carriage step, reality intruded. She stopped, uncertain of whether she could mount.
‘Allow me.’ With a single, swift movement he picked her up in his arms. Her mind was instantly full of the scent of him, long familiar from her dreams, but before she could relax into his embrace, he had deposited her on the soft leather seat and stepped back. She felt bereft. ‘Shall I fetch your parasol for you?’ He pointed back to where it lay on the ground.
‘If you would be so good, sir,’ she said demurely, trying to avoid those penetrating eyes. She needed a few moments to collect her thoughts and regain control of her soaring emotions. This was no time for the stuff of dreams. He was bound to have questions. Her stomach lurched alarmingly. He would want to know what she had discovered about her past. How could she ever explain that there was nothing to tell?
He was back in a trice, offering her the broken parasol. When she shook her head, he dropped the pieces on to the floor and sprang up to take his seat beside her. ‘There is a storm coming. My horses can smell it. I need to get them under cover before it breaks.’ Without waiting for orders, the groom ran to swing himself up behind, while Jonathan started his pair into motion. He was giving them all his attention, keeping them under rigid control. There must be a danger that they would try to bolt when the lightning came. She found she was perversely glad of it. No questions yet awhile.
She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but she could not stop herself from stealing greedy sideways glances at Jonathan. This time, she would fix every detail of his image in her memory. His face was extremely brown. Too dark and leathery for a gentleman’s complexion, of course, but only to be expected in a man who had served for so long under the burning sun of the Peninsula. There were flecks of grey in the dark hair around his temples and behind his ears. She could make out fine white lines at the corner of his eyes, too. Laughter lines, perhaps? Or simply the result of screwing up his eyes against the brilliant light? She was not at all sure that he had been laughing much. His expression seemed harsh, and there was a stern set to his jaw. He looked…he looked intimidating.
She guessed-no, she knew, by instinct-that her gallant rescuer had been changed by his years in the army, and that his experiences had not softened him. No doubt he had been involved in bloody battles. He must have suffered. He had probably lost comrades, and friends. Beth had read the lists of casualties in the rector’s newspaper, always with her heart in her mouth lest the Earl of Portbury be among them. She knew his regiment had taken heavy losses, particularly at the siege of Badajoz, only months before.
They had almost reached the bend that led to the village. Jonathan was slowing his horses for the turn, his gloved hands pulling back on the reins. They were lean, strong hands, but sensitive, too, as Beth knew from experience, both then and now. His hands had touched her skin and-
She forced herself to push the image aside and to smile politely. A real lady would never permit such wanton thoughts!
They had completed the turn and were speeding up once more. ‘And now, ma’am, I pray you will tell me where I may set you down.’ He glanced across at her face, his eyes widening with what might be admiration. Her heart began to race, all over again. Was it possible that he-?
He turned back to his horses. ‘You are a lady of remarkable fortitude, to smile through the pain of your injured ankle,’ he said, with studied politeness. ‘I know it is not quite the thing, but I hope you will permit me to introduce myself, for it is seldom that a man has the pleasure of meeting a lady with such courage.’
Beth’s smile faltered. Great waves of pain broke over her whole body. He had forgotten her completely.
Chapter Two
The introductions were brief and rather stilted, but Jon did not waste valuable time in enquiring what suddenly ailed his passenger. He sprang his horses along the empty village street and hauled them to a stand at the rectory gate. A quick glance up at the louring sky warned him that the storm would break at any moment. Polite niceties would have to wait.
Leaving his groom to mind the horses, Jon leapt down and hurried round to Miss Aubrey’s side. ‘There is no time to lose, ma’am. The storm is coming. Pray put your arm around my neck and I will carry you in.’ He ignored her shocked gasp and her chalk-white face. This was no time for displays of missish modesty. He slid one arm round her back and the other under her knees, hefted her into his arms and raced up the path to the rectory door.
‘Would you be so good as to ply the knocker, ma’am?’
It seemed to take her a moment or two to realise what he was asking of her. Was she slow-witted? No, surely not. He was being too hard on her. Perhaps the pain in her ankle had worsened? In addition to her strange pallor, she was also biting her lip.
The door was opened by a very small maid. ‘Oh, miss!’ she cried.
‘Open the door wide, that I may carry Miss Aubrey inside. Hurry!’ He almost pushed his way into the hall. He carried her through the first available door, into the small parlour at the front of the house. It was deserted. ‘Fetch the rector or Mrs Aubrey. Quickly now!’ The maid was still standing in the hall, open-mouthed. Jon knelt to slide Miss Aubrey on to the sofa and then rose again, frowning. He took one angry step towards the girl, who gasped in fright and took to her heels.
Jon turned back to the invalid. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but I must get my horses under cover before the storm. Perhaps you would give my regards to Mr and Mrs Aubrey? I-’
‘Master Jonathan!’ Mrs Aubrey was standing in the doorway.
Jon spun round and sketched a quick bow. ‘As I was saying to Miss Aubrey, ma’am, I must see to my horses before the storm. Miss Aubrey, I fear, has sprained her ankle, but now that you are here, I know she will be well taken care of. I shall call again, as soon as may be.’ He strode to the door and smiled down at the old lady’s puzzled frown. ‘We shall be able to talk more comfortably then.’ He bowed again. ‘My compliments to the rector.’ Then he hurried back to the front door.
The timid little maid was nowhere to be seen, so Jon let himself out and ran down the path to his curricle. ‘Right, Sam. Let’s see what kind of speed we can make to the Manor. If this pair are going to bolt, I’d much rather they did so on my own land.’
‘You poor child, you are shivering. It must be the shock. Let me find you a shawl.’ Mrs Aubrey tugged hard at the bell. ‘Brandy. The rector always says it is the best remedy. Oh, if only he were here.’ She was talking as much to herself as to Beth. ‘Ah, Hetty. Go upstairs and fetch down Miss Beth’s heaviest shawl. And then bring me the decanter of brandy from the rector’s library. Quickly now. Miss Beth is injured.’
The little maid bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.
Beth neither moved nor spoke. She could not. Her teeth were chattering. Her body felt as if it had been doused in freezing water. She could not feel any of her limbs, not even her injured ankle. She was totally numb. Her shining champion was nothing of the kind. She had been looking for his return for months now, while he had completely forgotten that she existed. She had been conjuring up castles in the air, like one of the tiny children in her schoolroom. She was an utter fool!
Mrs Aubrey set a chair by Beth’s feet and pushed aside the grubby muslin skirts. ‘Oh, dear. That is very swollen.’ She began to ease off Beth’s shoes. She was trying to be gentle, but pain shot up Beth’s leg, pulling her sharply back to the real world. She was unable to suppress a little groan. ‘Aye, my dear. I know. It does look very painful.’ Mrs Aubrey ran her fingers very gently over Beth’s foot and lower leg.
Beth gritted her teeth. She would not allow herself to make another sound. She might have behaved like a silly schoolgirl over Jonathan, but she was not such a faint heart as to scream over a turned ankle.
‘I am almost certain that it is only a sprain, my dear, though once the storm has passed, I shall send the boy for the doctor. Just to check.’
‘Oh, ma’am-’ Beth could barely find her voice.
‘Hush, child. Ah, Hetty. Excellent. Here, give it to me.’ Mrs Aubrey helped Beth to sit up a little further and wrapped her warmly in the shawl. Then she slid extra cushions behind her, for support.
Before Beth could say a word of thanks, Hetty reappeared with the decanter and two glasses.
‘Put it down there.’ Mrs Aubrey pointed to the small piecrust table near Beth’s hand. The old lady was in her element, for she loved caring for invalids. ‘Now fetch me a basin of cold water, some cloths, and towels. We must put cold compresses on this ankle before it swells any more.’
The little maid nodded and disappeared again.
‘First, a little brandy.’ Mrs Aubrey poured out a small amount. She hesitated and then poured the merest film of liquid into the second glass. ‘I have had two shocks this afternoon. First, your sprained ankle, and then Master Jonathan’s unexpected return. He has put off his regimentals, too. I wonder…?’ She paused, staring at nothing. Then, recollecting herself, she pressed the fuller glass into Beth’s hand and raised her own. ‘To your speedy recovery, my dear. And poor Jonathan’s also.’
Jon dropped gratefully into the huge leather chair and stretched out his legs. What a day!
His valet, Vernon, pulled off Jon’s boots with gloved hands and exaggerated care. Then he padded off to the dressing room where he had already hung up Jon’s wet coat.
Jon sighed as the door closed between them. There was no noise inside the bedchamber now, apart from the hiss and sputter of the newly lit fire. He let his head fall back on to the leather. For a moment, he stared vacantly at the ceiling. Then he let his eyes drift closed and forced his shoulders to relax. Peace at last.
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