Heiress in Love (34 page)

Larkin’s eyes popped in alarm and Constantine knew a qualm at sending such a diffident fellow. Constantine ought to sort out Trent himself but there was no time.

After making all the necessary preparations, he ran down the stairs, out into the rain, and vaulted onto the chestnut stallion that a groom held waiting for him.

“If she wakes, tell her ladyship not to come out in this. She’s to sit tight until she hears from me. Understood?”

“Yes, m’lud!”

With a kick to the horse’s flanks, Constantine rode into the night.

*   *   *

Jane opened her door to see a maid running down the corridor toward her. The whole house bustled with noise and raised voices. She grabbed the maid’s arm. “Betsy! What’s the to-do?”

“Oh, ma’am, Bronson’s dam’s burst and the master’s gone up there.”

“And no one informed me of it?” She pulled Betsy into her bedchamber. “You must help me dress. Quickly, girl! Put down those linens and help!”

In no time, Jane was garbed in her riding habit, her hair shoved into a severe knot.

“His lordship has already gone, you say?”

She’d heard the commotion from Constantine’s bedchamber. Why hadn’t he told her the news?

“Yes, ma’am.” Betsy’s hands twisted and she moved from one foot to the other. “My sister lives up there by the mill and I’m that worried about her, ma’am. She has three children.”

Jane paused and gripped Betsy’s shoulder. “Then we must trust in the master to save them. And pray.”

In the meantime, there was much to be done. “Tell Mrs. Higgins I want to see her. And Cook, too.”

These redoubtable women had all in hand on Constantine’s orders, so Jane assisted in wrapping the provisions, blankets, and supplies in brown paper. A poor protection from the wet, but they’d throw a tarpaulin over the lot when it was stowed.

Lady Arden, who had rushed downstairs shortly after Jane, rolled up her sleeves and helped.

“How could Trent let this happen?” she said.

“Sheer pigheadedness,” said Jane. She looked up as Larkin burst into the room.

“My lady, it’s no good! Mr. Trent says he’ll not send anyone to help in this weather. They’ll see what’s to do in the morning.”

“The morning will be too late! Send Mr. Trent my compliments and tell him if he doesn’t get his men up there, I shall make him wish he was never born.”

Larkin goggled at her.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!” She watched Larkin hightail it, then muttered, “Not that it will do any good.”

“This is the last bundle that will fit in the cart, my lady,” said the footman, hefting another package.

“Right.” Stripping off her apron, Jane ripped off her scarf and tied it over her head like a peasant woman.

“What are you doing?” said Lady Arden.

“I’m riding up there with the cart.”

“But Roxdale gave orders that you were to stay here. Can’t Mrs. Higgins go?”

“I need to be there,” said Jane. “There’s nothing more for me to do here.” She gave Lady Arden a long, compelling look. “You would do the same in my shoes.”

Lady Arden hesitated. Then she said, “Yes, I suppose I would.”

Jane gave her a grateful smile. “Please, will you direct things while I’m gone?”

“I’ll do that. And tell Constantine…” Lady Arden’s smile went awry. “No, never mind. I shall see him soon enough.”

*   *   *

The devastation was worse than Jane had feared. The mill itself was under three feet of water, but no one had been inside the building when the flooding occurred. The surrounding cottages had borne the brunt, as Constantine had predicted they would.

People were everywhere, running, milling, wading in to salvage belongings from the flood. Jane directed the groom to pull up and called down to one man, “Have you seen Lord Roxdale?”

“He were over yonder, my lady,” the man said, indicating the opposite bank of the stream. “But the bridge is out, swept away. Ye’ll never get ’cross there with that cart.”

Jane saw immediately that it was hopeless. A horseman might wade his horse across, but the cart would never survive.

“We’ll set up on this side, then. Will you direct me to a barn, or some other large building? Somewhere dry?”

They found an outbuilding that looked like some kind of storage shed. Mercifully, it was on higher ground and had escaped the flooding. Jane delegated duties to the women who were able to help her, and soon the injured and the suffering streamed in.

She did not see Constantine for many hours, though she heard people speak of him with awe in their voices. Jane’s throat tightened as she listened. Tonight, he’d become a hero to them.

She wondered where he was now, and if he was safe. She hadn’t heard anything to the contrary, so she remained collected, despite her anxiety. She longed to go and try to commandeer a horse to find him, but she would only get in his way. Here, she could be useful.

Resolutely, she labored on.

Mr. Larkin arrived, bearing another load of blankets. Jane dispatched a few of the women to help him unload the cart.

“Mr. Larkin, have you news of Mr. Trent?”

“No, ma’am, but Lord deVere and His Grace are up at the mill and Lord Roxdale says you are to go home. It’s not a fit place for you.”

Jane put her hands on her hips. “Then you go and tell Lord Roxdale from me that I’m not leaving until he comes to fetch me.” She had no intention of abandoning her post, but at least if he came she could get some food into him and check whether he had any injuries that needed attention.

With a visible gulp, Larkin bowed and took himself off.

But her ploy didn’t work. It was more than an hour before Constantine came, and when he did, it was not for her.

A sudden silence fell over the gathering. Jane looked up to see Constantine standing in the doorway, bearing a woman in his arms.

Water ran in rivulets from his hair, dripping into his face. His features were gray, taut with exhaustion and, she thought, despair. He was coatless, hatless; his white linen shirt was plastered to his body, ripped in some places.

“Constantine!” Jane ran forward. “Quick! One of you make a pallet with these blankets here, on the floor. We must try to get her warm.”

“Too late. She’s dead.” Constantine’s voice cracked. He laid his burden gently on the makeshift bed. “I’m sorry.”

A wail went up from one of the women. Jane was thrust aside as the dead woman’s family and friends gathered around her.

“What happened?” she asked Constantine.

Constantine rubbed a hand over his face. “As far as I can gather, she must have slipped and fallen down the stream bank, hit her head on something as she went in.”

Bleakly, Constantine watched the outpourings of grief.

Jane took his hand—it was gloveless and freezing—and led him away.

She moved to get him a blanket. “No,” he said, “I have to get back.”

“You need to rest,” Jane insisted. “There are others to do this work.”

Anger blazed like lightning across his face. “Do you think I could? Do you think I could rest when there are still more people out there?” He shook his head. “Jane,” he said huskily. “You don’t know me at all.”

Panic threatened to choke her. She’d missed something. Something vital. She felt as if she’d lost something important and would never get it back.

She swallowed down her fear. Shakily, she said, “You expected
me
to go. You told Larkin to order me home.”

For a long moment, Constantine stared at her. “That was different.”

Unable to bear his intensity, the pain she saw plainly in his eyes, she lowered her gaze. “How is that different? Because I’m a female?”

“No.” He reached out and traced her jaw with the back of his finger. “Because I never expected you would obey me and go.”

*   *   *

Constantine didn’t allow himself to rest until well into the next afternoon. By midday, he’d assured himself that everyone in the district was safe and accommodated, at least temporarily, billeted at nearby cottages, in the church hall, or at the King’s Head.

His own tenants had risen to the occasion, bringing meals and taking in those who couldn’t get shelter closer to home. It would have been far more convenient to have put them all up at Lazenby Hall, but these folk were proud and understandably nervous about bedding down at the local baron’s house. They were better off, so Jones had assured him, with their own kind.

Jones fixed him with a long, hard stare. “I’m coming back.”

Constantine was so tired, he almost missed the fellow’s meaning. Then it dawned on him that Jones had offered to resume his former position as steward of the estate. Constantine’s smile felt like it would crack his face.

“Good man!” he said, putting out a hand for Jones to shake. Jones hesitated for only an instant before gripping Constantine’s hand. Larkin would be demoted but the boy needed more experience, and would doubtless be glad of Jones’s guidance for a few years yet.

Glad that at least one good thing had come out of last night’s devastation, Constantine devoured a sandwich and a tankard of ale at the King’s Head and then set off again to confer with the engineer who’d arrived from Bristol. Lord deVere and Montford had both returned from the manor, having eaten and changed their raiment. Of Trent, there was no sign.

“I can start work as soon as may be, but I need permission from the owner of the land,” said Mr. Granger.

“You have permission,” growled deVere. He fixed Constantine with a basilisk stare. “I’ll take care of it.”

Constantine nodded. “Do the work.”

Granger shouted to his men and Constantine turned to Montford and deVere. “I’m obliged to you both.”

Wordlessly, deVere clapped him on the shoulder and left.

“Go home, Roxdale,” said Montford. “You’re no use here, dead on your feet.”

Constantine bowed his head, unwilling to accept dismissal. He knew, however, that Montford was right. He ought to go. And he would, too, if he could manage to move one foot in front of the other.

Montford lingered, to what purpose Constantine didn’t know. He was too exhausted to fathom the duke’s intentions.

The rumble of carriage wheels grew louder. Constantine turned his head to look.

“Ah,” said Montford. “Perfect timing.”

Constantine stared at the carriage as if he’d never seen one before. “My horse,” he said vaguely.

“My groom will see to him. Go home, Roxdale. I’ll send word if you’re needed.”

*   *   *

Getting into the carriage was the last thing Constantine remembered before he woke in his own bed. Sunlight streamed through the window, slathering the walls with a buttery glow. Had he slept all afternoon? All night as well?

He flung an arm across his eyes as the anguish of last night came flooding back. He cursed the sunshine. If only it had come sooner. If only he’d swallowed his pride and used persuasion to secure Trent’s cooperation instead of insult. If only he’d ridden roughshod over Trent and taken it upon himself to dismantle that dam days ago.

All the
if only
s. If any one of those things had happened, that poor woman would not have had to die.

Hester. That was her name. He’d heard a woman keening it as he’d walked out again, into the storm.

Shuddering, he sat up and buried his head in his hands. It was as if that sobbing, communal grief crowded the bedchamber. He could hear it, feel it inside him.

Those sounds … they came from him, he realized. Dry, racking sobs that seemed to lodge and burrow deep in his chest.

Too late.
His pride and Trent’s stubbornness. Between them, they’d killed an innocent woman.

A breath of air stirred at his nape. Two slender arms came around him and a tender kiss was pressed to his shoulder. A soft voice whispered, “No man could have done more.”

He exhaled a long breath. “Don’t.”

Jane crawled around to face him. Those clear gray eyes were so fierce, they seemed to grip his so he couldn’t look away. “Constantine, you must not blame yourself. It is
not
your fault.”

He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t.

She put her hands on his shoulders. “The responsibility was and is Trent’s. He’s a coward and a fool, Constantine, and his tenants know it.” Leaning forward, she stroked his jaw with a gentle hand. “You should have heard the things they said of you last night,” she whispered. “You are a hero to them. I was … very proud.”

At her touch, so welcome, the tightness in his chest eased, just a little. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her palm.

When he opened his eyes again, her face was close to his. Her gaze lowered to his mouth and went back to his eyes, then lowered again. Planting one hand on the bed next to him, she leaned in to brush her lips over his.

*   *   *

Jane was unbearably aroused by that simple, soft kiss. She’d waited for Constantine to wake up for so long she thought she’d go mad with impatience. Earlier, she’d given orders that neither of them were to be disturbed on pain of dismissal. She’d unlocked the communicating door and crept into his bedchamber to watch him sleep.