Isabella (17 page)

Lost in earthy fantasies about Miss Latham's relations with some anonymous husband, the groom was slow to react when he first saw the horse shy at a bird that darted past. As John watched in paralyzed horror, the horse abruptly stopped, its head dropped forward, and its rider slipped over its shoulder, tumbling to the ground. Cursing once more his ill luck in having so wrong-headed a female under his care, he whipped his own animal toward the still—too still—form lying in a heap next to the now quiet mare.

But he was beaten to the spot by the Earl of Hartleigh, who was out of the saddle and kneeling beside her while the groom was yet halfway across the meadow. The earl was tearing off his coat as the groom drew near.

"Good God, man," he upbraided him, "could you not see that her horse had gotten away from her?"

"B-but, My Lord, that's how she always does—and she won't let me—" The groom stopped, for there was murder in his lordship's eye.

"What's the matter with you, you fool! Can't you see she's hurt? And you there talking? Go for help!"

Relieved to escape the scene of his crime, John dashed away. But even as he rode, tormented with the prospect of losing his place and the even worse prospect of never getting another, he found a moment to wonder why his lordship looked so desperate: sick, almost. It was an odd thing, for one who'd surely seen worse in France and Spain.

Desperate and sick at heart Lord Hartleigh was indeed, as he gently placed his rolled-up coat under her head. He chafed her cold hands, by turns murmuring unintelligible endearments, then muttering curses on himself and his stupidity. Hours seemed to pass thus, rather than the actual few minutes, before her eyes fluttered open to gaze blankly at him.

His heart, which seemed to have stopped from the moment he'd seen her galloping madly across the meadow, resumed some semblance of normal operation. But his voice shook as he spoke her name, and the hand which brushed her fair hair from her face trembled.

"Are you all right, Isabella?" he asked softly. "Are you in pain?"

"I never fall," she responded. Her eyes gazed blankly at him.

"Yes, I'm sure you don't," he agreed.

"I never fall," she repeated, more emphatically. As if to prove it, she started to get up, then winced and fell back.

With dismay, he realised that she did not know him or understand what had happened. A sickening dread filled him as he continued to stroke her forehead gently, and tried to make her understand.

"You mustn't move. Your groom has gone for help. You mustn't move until we can tell how badly you're hurt."

She insisted that she could not be hurt and that she never fell, and again tried to get up, with the same result.

"Stop it," he whispered. "Stop it." He told her who he was, he told her that help was coming soon, but she continued to repeat her two claims, no matter what he said to her.

After what seemed a lifetime, John returned, along with a carriage, a brace of footmen, and a doctor. Reluctantly, the earl gave up his place to the medical man and, only by sheer force of will, restrained himself from throttling that professional as he poked and prodded at Isabella. Turning away in frustration, Lord Hartleigh suddenly remembered his ward. He had barked an order for her to stay where she was when he first took off after Isabella. Had she seen the accident? Or had Tom been clever enough to distract her? Well, there was no time to worry about it now. He called to one of the footmen gawking idly nearby, and sent him off with a message to Tom to take Lucy home. Explanations would have to wait until later.

At length, the physician rose and joined him. The lady, he said, was not seriously hurt, but she was bruised. When the earl hotly argued that she didn't know where she was, he was met with an indulgent smile.

"Just a mild concussion, My Lord, but nothing to concern yourself about. A bit dazed right now, but she'll come around in a little while. At any rate, it will be all right to move her."

Rudely thrusting him aside, the earl returned to Isabella and was relieved to find that, though she still didn't seem to know him, she had at least stopped insisting that she never fell. Over the exclamations of the servants, he lifted her in his strong arms and carried her to the waiting carriage. When he took a place beside her and slipped his arm protectively around her shoulders, he met the physician's raised eyebrows.

"I have no intention of leaving her to the ministrations of these idiots," the earl growled, his tone daring opposition. "And besides, she should not be jolted overmuch." Well, Dr Farquahar was not a daring man, and decided to keep his opinions to himself.

When they reached the house, Lord Hartleigh insisted upon carrying her up to her room, despite Lady Belcomb's vehement protests that there were strong healthy servants to see to it—and it was most improper—

"Pray control your grief, Charlotte," Mrs. Latham interrupted rather sharply. "Your hysteria will not make Isabella the least bit better, and it is very trying to Lord Hartleigh, who, after all, has taken quite good care of her thus far."

Thus silencing her indignant sister-in-law, Maria accompanied Lord Hartleigh and Dr Farquahar to her daughter's room. When the earl had deposited his burden on the bed, he was still unwilling to leave her, but stood instead watching as the doctor mixed a potion of some sort and gave it to his patient. Still apparently oblivious to all that was happening around her, Isabella obediently drank it. After giving further instructions, the doctor left, and Maria turned to her distraught visitor.

"My Lord," she said quietly, touching his arm, "you must come away now."

"I cannot leave her like this," he answered, unable to tear his eyes from the blue ones that looked back but didn't appear to see him at all.

"But you must. When she does come to her senses— and the doctor assures us she will, quite soon—she'll be distressed to find you here." Seeing that her words were having some effect, she teased him gently: "And besides, if you do not leave soon, we must put her to bed in her dirty riding habit—for how can Polly undress her with you there staring, My Lord? That would not be at all the thing, I assure you."

This quickly recalled his sense of propriety, and the earl backed away guiltily from the bed.

"Good God," he exclaimed, "what am I thinking of? Madam, you must forgive me—"

"For rescuing my only child? Well, perhaps in time I can manage it. Now come, sir. Let me offer you a brandy, for I'm sure you need it. And you most certainly deserve it." And so saying, she led him from the room.

Basil learned of the accident from Freddie, who had gone to claim Alicia for a drive in the park that afternoon. Upon being informed that Miss Latham was neither dead nor likely to die, Basil coldly remarked that he had not thought she would take such drastic measures to escape him.

Considering that his own heart had been permanently reduced to mush, Lord Tuttlehope was somewhat stunned by his friend's callousness.

"Must say, old boy," he chided, "not a joking matter. Didn't know her own mother. And babbled a lot of nonsense at poor Hartleigh—"

"'Poor Hartleigh'!" Basil exploded. "What the devil has my cousin to do with it?"

"Why, didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me what? All you've told me is that her horse threw her and scattered her wits in the bargain. What has my cousin to do with it?"

"Quite sure I told you," the baron insisted, blinking at this uncharacteristic display of temper.

"You have got your mind stuck, as usual, on something else," Mr. Trevelyan noted with some irritation. Then, as he saw the hurt in his friend's eyes, he regained his self-command and apologised. "Sorry, Freddie. I didn't mean to snarl at you that way—"

"Not at all. Not at all." Embarrassed, the baron brushed away the apology. "No need. Worried about the girl, Basil. Know how it is."

No, you don't know how it is, you fool,
Basil thought; but he swallowed his exasperation and bore Lord Tuttlehope's inarticulate reassurances with heroic fortitude. Finally, as Freddie sputtered to a close, Basil assembled his features into an appropriately appreciative expression and thanked his friend for his solicitude.

"For I know I'm an ungrateful wretch, Freddie. But come, let us have the whole miserable business. I can bear it now." Meeting with two uncomprehending blinks, he prodded, "I believe that, in your anxiety to spare my tender feelings, Lord T, you left out half the story."

And to be sure, he had. When Basil learned the whole of it, he burst into a long and only partially intelligible diatribe on the perfidy of women and the treachery of relatives. Not understanding more than one word in twenty, Freddie listened patiently, but with growing concern. He was used to Basil's extravagant speech, but was not used to seeing him so impassioned. And when his friend had done, he agreed (as he thought) that yes, Basil was barking up the wrong tree.

"Best to chuck it," he added, nodding wisely. "Other fish in the sea, Trev."

"Not for me, my friend. Come, let me show you something." Leading his friend to the window, Basil indicated a small, sallow-looking man in the street below. "Solsman and his friends have been very generous, you know, but for a price. I have three annuity payments overdue already and two more in another month. They come by now and then to remind me of our 'little business,' as they put it. But they haven't sent the bailiff for me yet, Freddie. Do you know why?"

Very ill-at-ease, Lord Tuttlehope shook his head.

"Why, they don't want to spoil the wedding plans, my boy. They're really most considerate fellows," he went on as he turned away from the window.

"Didn't know it was so bad, Trev. Only too glad to help—"

"You've thrown enough good money after me, Freddie. But you needn't worry. It's as I just explained to my friend down there on the street. Miss Latham and I have an understanding. A bargain, if you will. And though I'm on my somewhat questionable honour not to disclose the details, I can assure you that it will all come out right. Soon. Quite soon."

He patted his friend on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly at him, but Lord Tuttlehope was not reassured. Long after the baron left his friend's lodgings, he was still trying to understand what had happened, and was still wondering whether it was the moneylenders hovering about like vultures or something very different which had made Basil act so odd.

When he reached home, Lord Hartleigh was relieved to discover that Lucy had borne the suspense surprisingly well. True, she had refused to be coaxed away from the window where she watched for her guardian's return. But she had waited, dry-eyed and quiet; and, when offered reassurances, had surprised the concerned staff by asserting—that of course Missbella was all right—after all, Uncle Edward was taking care of her.

"You're a very brave little woman," he told her as he lifted her in his arms and hugged her.

"Yes," she agreed complacently.

But after he had satisfied her with all the details of Missbella's rescue and happy prospects of recovery, he was a trifle disconcerted to hear his ward read him a lecture. Missbella's family, she maintained, did not take care of her properly, and anyway there were too many of them to look after her as they should. And so it would be best if Missbella came to live with them—for Uncle Edward was big and strong and had only herself to look after. And there was lots of room, wasn't there?

In vain did the earl try to explain that there were rules governing these matters. Lucy informed him that she knew all about it; Miss Carter had told her. Oblivious to her guardian's astonishment, she went on: "Missbella is grown up, and they'll let her go away if she gets married. So you can get married to her and bring her back here and she can be my mama and you can take care of us."

The earl admitted that this was a sensible idea. "However," he added, "it is a very serious decision, Lucy. Whoever Miss Latham marries she will be married to forever. So she must be very, very sure it's me she wishes to marry."

"Oh, she'll be sure," his ward told him confidently. "But you must ask her, mustn't you?"

I already have,
he thought. And, recalling the brief conversation he'd had with Maria Latham that morning, he wondered whether it would not be better to discourage Lucy's hopes.

"She tells me she has given your cousin her word," Mrs. Latham had told him. "And to Isabella, that word is as sacred as it would be to any gentleman. She has had, you see, a rather unusual upbringing."

But Lord Hartleigh couldn't bring himself to disappoint the child, especially after the terrifying experience she'd had, and the courageous way in which she'd dealt with it. So all he told her was that he would speak to Miss Latham, but only after he was certain she was quite well. And though she was fully prepared to assist personally in moving Missbella to her new domicile this very afternoon, Lucy promised to be patient.

The doctor's potion had the desired effect, for when Isabella woke in the early evening, she was once again in command of her senses. Her mother, upon determining this, ordered in tea, and spent an hour with her. Because Isabella was still rather dim on what had happened versus what she had dreamed, Maria offered up the account she'd had from Lord Hartleigh. The tale was told in her usual languid fashion, but contained so many sly hints and ironic references to the lengths to which the earl had gone—"solely on his ward's account"—that Isabella was finally moved to plead with her mother, "Stop teasing and tell me plain what you're about, Mama."