A Chance Encounter (3 page)

Though she shrank from the obvious conclusions that must be drawn by anyone who chanced to see her in the viscount’s company, unchaperoned and her cloak muddied as it was, she was infinitely grateful to know that she would be shortly set down someplace where there would be reasonable ears to hear her request to be taken back to her home.

However, her comforting hopes were swiftly dashed.

“No, it wouldn’t do at all to stop there,’’ said the viscount decisively. “Hickham, a proper stiff-rumped butler if ever there was, has known me since the cradle and would instantly send word to the earl and my mother about this escapade, and that would put snuff to it.” He nodded. “We’ll go to the Swan instead. I have never stopped there, so there is but the slightest chance of running into some acquaintance of my parents’ or of my own. It is rather farther than I like for my cattle to travel in one journey, but that cannot be helped at this stage in the game. We should be able to change out my cattle for a decent team that will carry us the remainder of the way.”

Joan was all the more convinced of the viscount’s inability to reason clearly, though he was showing a remarkable and frightening ability to the contrary when it came to bringing about the conclusion of his fantastic scheme.

Completely talked out, she subsided silently on the seat. She hoped that as the miles passed, his head would clear of brandy fumes and he would finally come to realize the ludicrous nature of his plan.

The conversation
between Miss Chadwick and the viscount never resumed.

The viscount alternated the pace of his team in an effort, Miss Chadwick recognized, to draw out his horses’ stamina to the longest possible duration. She hoped that the viscount’s uninterrupted reflections were giving his thoughts the desired turn and she held herself as still as possible so as not to divert him.

As the miles unrolled and dusk turned to deep night, Miss Chadwick also had time in which to reflect. Her spirited conversation with his lordship had opened avenues of thought that she had previously repressed, in the knowledge that unfounded hopes would cause her only dissatisfaction.

Her situation was one that was certainly not much to her liking, but seeing no alternative, she had resigned herself to it. Joan knew herself to be ill-suited to go into service. She was far too educated and gently reared to ever fit easily into the hierarchical servants’ world. She had thus favored the professions that she had mentioned to his lordship. But now she questioned her own wisdom.

As a young girl, Joan had often entertained the thought of marriage, and like any other young maiden, she had daydreamed of the perfect gentleman with which she would share romantic bliss. But no suitable young gentleman had appeared on her horizon. Certainly she had received a handful of suitors, but none had struck the proper chord with her. Now at one-and-twenty, Joan had quite accepted her spinster status with a matter-of-factness that bespoke intelligence and a healthy grasp of reality. It was that same levelheadedness that had brought her to the unenviable conclusion that she could not remain forever upon the charity of her friends. Instead, she should seek out her own fortunes, and in all likelihood her life would henceforth be spent in the service of others.

However, with the viscount’s offer, a fantastic possibility was opened up for her perusal. Joan was not insensible of the incredible changes that would be rendered in her life if she were to take his lordship’s intentions seriously. After all, the viscount had taken pains to enumerate some of them, and she could easily envision others. At one stroke, she could exchange the gray servitude and dependence of the governess’s life for that of a viscountess.

Miss Chadwick’s imagination was an active one, and the visions of luxury and ease that were conjured up for her mind’s eyes were dizzying. She was sorely tempted; oh, yes, she admitted that she was most truly tempted to accept his lordship’s bizarre offer.

Joan slid a sideways glance at the gentleman seated beside her.

The moon had come up, a great cold orb, making it quite easy for the viscount to see the road. He made use of the silver light by putting his horses along at a comfortable pace.

His lordship’s profile was readily defined against the backdrop of the dark hedges sweeping by. The brim of his beaver hat shaded his eyes from her in the uncertain light, but she was easily able to make out his profile. His brow and aquiline nose were well-formed, a pleasing and proper accompaniment to his firmly held mouth and determined chin.

The viscount seemed to feel her regard. He turned his head, and upon meeting her eyes, he gave a brief smile of acknowledgment before returning his attention to the task of driving.

Miss Chadwick’s heart turned over in her breast. There had been genuine warmth and charm in his lordship’s fleeting smile. She sighed. The viscount would undoubtedly be an unexacting and pleasant husband. It was a pity that she could not accept his outrageous proposal. For a few moments longer, she allowed herself to toy with the fantasy of becoming the viscount’s wife. Her mind whispered that such indulgence could do no harm. Indeed, it would be a pleasant daydream with which to brighten the tedium of her days after she had accepted a suitable post.

Under such reflection and comparison, it was little wonder that the viscount’s proposal became steadily more attractive to her. She had already formed a good estimation of his character and his personality. There was nothing to disgust her in either, and certainly what little she had been able to discern of his physical attributes appealed to her, she mused.

Miss Chadwick was appalled by the shocking turn of her thoughts. She could not possibly think of accepting his lordship’s ludicrous solution to both their futures. It would be unthinkable to take such advantage of the gentleman.

Nevertheless, by the time that Lord Humphrey turned the phaeton into an inn yard, Miss Chadwick was half-wishing that she had indeed accepted his extraordinary offer. But certainly it was out of the question to take up an offer from a gentleman who was so obviously inebriated and who was therefore not in his proper senses. Miss Chadwick suppressed a sigh. Her renewed resolution left her with a forlorn feeling that she discovered she had difficulty in overcoming.

Lord Humphrey snubbed the reins, calling for an ostler at the top of his voice. When that person emerged from his quarters, rubbing his eyes and yawning, the viscount jumped down from the phaeton. He gave his orders regarding the team before going around the phaeton to offer Miss Chadwick assistance in descending. She practically tumbled into his arms when her ankle would not support her weight.

Joan blushed to the roots of her hair and she was glad of the concealing half-light. “I am most sorry, my lord,” she said breathlessly.

“Quite all right, Miss Chadwick,” he said formally.

The activity in the small yard had brought out the innkeeper, who alternated between expressions of gratification for his lordship’s unlooked-for patronage and his willingness to serve in whatever capacity was within his power.

“Yes, yes,” Lord Humphrey said testily.

His head felt as though it was held in a metal vise; yet, despite his suffering, he was quite aware of several things. He held Miss Chadwick firmly against his chest. Her arms were around his neck, doubtless bringing ruin to the excellent folds of his neckcloth, and her warm breath tickled his ear.

He had reason to know that she was trim of figure, but she was no featherweight for all that. What with everything that he had indulged in earlier that day having sapped his strength, and with a pounding head, the viscount was not amused to be kept standing about while some idiot innkeeper flapped his jaw.

His temper acerbated beyond endurance, he snapped, “My good man, do me the service of keeping mum.”

Without waiting to see the effect of his rude exclamation, the viscount strode across the yard with his burden, making for the door of the inn.

The astonished innkeeper had instantly complied with the gentleman’s wishes. Instead, he took to bowing and scraping with an embarrassing servility as he ushered the viscount and the lady into the inn.

Finally the man could no longer restrain himself and he bleated, “What is his lordship’s pleasure? Dinner, perhaps, or a private room?” The man determinedly kept his eyes away from the face of the lady held so closely in his lordship’s arms, but his very discretion gave some hint of his thoughts.

Miss Chadwick reddened. She could only hope that the brim of her bonnet hid her renewed embarrassment, but she could not stop herself from an urgent whisper in the viscount’s ear. “Pray, put me down!”

Lord Humphrey did not comply. Instead, he regarded the innkeeper with jaundiced eyes. He spoke in his coldest tone. “A private parlor and a late supper, my man, and be quick about it!”

“Aye, m’lord, at once!”

The innkeeper bowed several times, backing away as he did so toward the narrow stairs that led up to the second floor. The viscount followed the contemptible man, making rare work of it as he carried Miss Chadwick upstairs.

Within a very short time Lord Humphrey and Miss Chadwick were ensconced in the best private parlor boasted by the inn. The innkeeper bustled about, a waiter in tow, both carrying serving dishes. Finally the innkeeper pronounced himself ready to serve his distinguished guests with his own hands.

The viscount vehemently rejected the man’s suggestion, saying at his most arrogant, “I believe the lady and I are perfectly capable of feeding ourselves.” He stared haughtily at the innkeeper and was only satisfied when he saw the door swing shut behind the man’s back. “Officious fool,” he uttered in contempt.

He turned to Miss Chadwick, whom he had seated on the settee in the parlor. While he dealt with the innkeeper, she had taken the opportunity to remove her cloak and had fluffed her short dark locks with her slender fingers. He saw with a spurt of interest that her figure was as trim as he had suspected it to be when he held her in his arms. He liked her face as well. Her features were regular and her brown eyes expressive and intelligent when she chanced to look up and meet his regard.

With a crooked smile, he inquired, “Shall I carry you to the table, ma’am?”

Miss Chadwick flushed, all too vividly remembering the feel of his arms about her. She said hurriedly, “I do not think that will be necessary, my lord. My ankle is much better.”

In proof of her words, she rose, supporting her weight as she did so by holding on to the arm of the settee. But when she incautiously put her foot down to take the first step, she nearly overset with the stab of pain that shot up her leg. “Oh!”

A strong hand slipped under her elbow. “Allow me to escort you to your chair, ma’am,” Lord Humphrey said gravely.

Even though the color rose hard and fast in her face again, Miss Chadwick saw the humor in her situation and she swallowed a laugh. If she had been entangled in a romantic interlude, surely her very real handicap would render her completely uninteresting. “Thank you, my lord. That is most courteous of you,” she said with matching gravity.

Relying heavily upon the viscount’s aid, Joan managed to hobble to the table with a measure of her self-respect preserved. He seated her and she murmured her thanks.

She watched Lord Humphrey go around to the opposite side of the table and drop heavily into his own chair. He wore a deep frown and he passed his fingers tiredly several times over his cleft brows, as though attempting to ease some discomfort.

Joan sympathized but only to a small degree. She had never experienced the aftereffects of strong drink, but she had heard that it was very uncomfortable. Her natural sympathy, however, did not blind her to the very real dilemma that his lordship’s overindulgence had placed her in. She asked softly, “Coffee, my lord?”

The viscount glanced across at her from under well-marked brows. His stern expression lightened with the faint smile that flickered across his face. He could think of any number of ladies or gentlemen of his acquaintance who would have obliquely reminded him of his stupidity with a few well-chosen words, if for no other reason than to hold him up to gentle ridicule. His present companion had shown extraordinary forbearance. “Thank you, Miss Chadwick.” His voice conveyed more than civil acceptance of a polite gesture of hospitality.

Joan was not certain exactly what the viscount had read into her offer to pour the coffee, but she chose to take his simple words at face value. She was too aware of her own lack of sophistication to pretend skill at divining the gentleman’s meaning. She poured coffee for the viscount and for herself.

Miss Chadwick sensed swiftly that the viscount was not in the mood for light discourse, and so she bestowed her attention onto the hastily prepared supper.

She was somewhat surprised to discover that she was hungry. She had been so wrapped up in all that had transpired, as well as her daydreams, that she had not previously realized how hungry she had become. The long drive in the fresh night air had apparently worked on her to good effect. She noticed that the viscount was not behind in doing equal justice to the humble fare of meat pies and braised carrots, shallots, and peas, topped off with a peach tart.

Joan finished before the viscount, and while she toyed with her after-dinner wine, she managed to watch him in an unobtrusive fashion. She took note again of the strength of character in his face, obvious despite his inebriation. He had shed his elegant beaver upon entering the parlor. The hat’s shadow had served to disguise him to a certain extent and, she realized, had granted to him more years than he could actually lay claim.

Lord Humphrey was a rather young gentleman and definitely an attractive one, at that. His dark hair was cropped close and crisped about his ears; and his eyes were large and handsomely set above his aquiline nose and firm mouth. The width of his shoulders complimented the perfect cut of his coat and the broad front expanse of white shirt and embroidered waistcoat. Most pleasing of all, whenever his lordship’s eyes chanced to meet hers, his gaze, though shadowed with pain, was remarkably steady.

Joan unconsciously sighed and turned her eyes to the fire on the hearth. There was little point in contemplating on what could never be, she thought.

Lord Humphrey looked up at the soft sound. He discovered a pensive expression on Miss Chadwick’s face and a sad droop to her mouth as she gazed into the fire. His conscience smote him with unpleasant force. He swirled the remaining wine in his glass. Though he was still possessed of a throbbing head, he had become reasonably sobered by the time he had finished with his repast.

He had indeed had ample time for the reflection that Miss Chadwick had so earnestly wished upon him, and he now rather grimly acknowledged to himself that he had made a pretty coil of it all.

Lord Humphrey was acutely aware of the advantage he had taken of Miss Chadwick. Nay, call it honestly and admit that he had compromised the lady, he thought in self-disgust. He had literally abducted her and carried her off without a regard for the inevitable ruin of her good name.