Lucasta (3 page)

A fine drizzle had set in by the time Lord Kennington took his leave of his cousins. Low cloud added to the misty
greyness
of the March day and he wondered aloud if he should have delayed his journey.

‘Since her grace was expectin’ you two days since, we needs to crack on,’ opined his groom with the familiarity of an old retainer.

‘Quiet, Potts. My godmother is not the sort of female to have the vapours because I am a day or two late,’ retorted Adam, adding judiciously, ‘but perhaps it is as well we do not delay any longer. To hell with this rain, it is turning the lane into a bog!’

Potts did not deign to reply but sat in silence beside his master as he negotiated the muddy lanes without mishap and soon they were bowling south along a well-made
highway
. The drizzle showed no signs of abating; it dripped from the curricle’s waxed hood and puddled in the footwell. There was no traffic on the road, the only sign of life being a
solitary
cloaked figure, bag in one hand, striding towards them along the grass verge.

‘Poor lad,’ grunted Potts. ‘This ain’t a day to be walkin’ anywhere.’

Adam was about to agree with him when the figure became aware of the approaching carriage and looked up. Adam found himself staring into the startled face of Miss Lucasta Symonds.

Immediately he brought his team to a stand.

‘Miss Symonds! Whatever brings you so far from home in this weather?’

She put down her portmanteau and regarded him nervously.

‘’It is not a matter that need concern you, my lord. Please, drive on.’

It had been instinct and good manners that had caused the viscount to stop, but now it took a conscious effort for him to ignore the voice in his head advising him to do as she requested. If it had been the enchanting Camilla on the road he would not even have considered leaving her, but there was nothing enchanting about the bedraggled figure at the roadside. The tendrils of hair that had escaped from her boyish cap were curled wetly around her face, and her brown eyes held a distinctly guilty look. He observed her leather boots and guessed that beneath the long cloak wrapped tightly around her body she would be wearing breeches. His curiosity was aroused. He handed the reins to his groom, murmuring, ‘Not a word of this to anyone, Potts.’

‘It’s a good job you mentioned that, me lord, me bein’ in the habit of discussing your affairs over a glass o’ Dutch gin!’

But the viscount had already jumped down from the
curricle
.

‘Do not be alarmed, ma’am, I mean you no harm.’

‘Then I pray you will leave me alone.’

‘Dash it all, Miss Symonds, you are alone on a public
highway
, dressed as a boy – I cannot drive on!’

‘But it is nothing to do with you,’ she said, a touch of
desperation in her voice.

He smiled at her.

‘Tell me.’

‘I – um – I am walking to Shrewsbury.’

‘Shrewsbury! But that is all of ten miles from here.’

‘Yes, but I can catch the direct mail to London from there. I am going to Kent, you see, to – to stay with my brother Ned.’ He raised his brows and she hurried on, ‘I – um, thought it best to dress like this since I am t-travelling alone.’

‘You are running away.’

‘No!’ Reading the disbelief in his countenance she dropped her gaze. ‘Well, yes.’

‘Miss Symonds,’ he said gently, ‘this cannot be wise.’

She wrung her hands together.

‘It is necessary. Now, will you not drive on, and forget that you have seen me?’

‘No, I am afraid I cannot do that. It would not be right to leave you here unprotected. What time is your coach?’

‘I do not know.’

‘And where in Shrewsbury does it stop?’

‘I am not quite sure …’

‘It seems to me, Miss Symonds, that you are not very well prepared.’

‘This is not something I have been planning, sir! But it – it became clear to me that I had to get away.’

He looked up and down the deserted highway.

‘We should not stand here getting wet. Let me help you up into my carriage: you may shelter there while you tell me what has happened to make you fly from your home. You need not be afraid,’ he added, seeing her wary look. ‘My horses can stand a little longer, and we shall leave your portmanteau where it is, so that you can climb down and walk
away from me whenever you wish.’

She subjected him to a prolonged gaze which he returned with a smile and at last she nodded.

‘Very well, my lord.’

‘Good. Potts, you will go to the horses’ heads.’

‘Yes my lord.’

‘Oh but I would not turn your groom out—’

‘You need not worry about Potts, he is used to being out in all weathers and you will note that he is wearing an oiled coat.’ He handed her into the curricle and climbed up beside her. ‘And talking of coats, where did you find your boots and breeches?’

‘They were Ned’s once, and had been kept in the dressing up box we used when we played at charades.’ She paused while he spread a thick rug over her knees. ‘Thank you, my lord. It is much better in here, out of the rain.’

‘I am glad you think so. Now, Miss Symonds, explain
yourself
.’

She did not look at him, and sat for a moment clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap. He waited patiently.

‘If – if I had stayed at the house today I should have been forced into a distasteful marriage.’

‘Dear me.’

She looked up at him, reproach in her brown eyes.

‘You think I am hysterical, perhaps, but to be forced, against one’s will—’

‘My dear Miss Symonds surely no one would do such a thing.’

He heard a sob and glanced down at the figure beside him. She was hunting in her pockets for a handkerchief. He said nothing and after a few moments when she had blown her nose and wiped her eyes she took a breath and began to talk again.

‘M-my father is determined to see me wed. He spent a great deal of money last year for my presentation but I contracted the chicken pox and everything had to be cancelled.’

‘That must have been very disappointing.’

To his surprise she shook her head.

‘I loathed the short time I spent in London. They call it the marriage mart, but to me it felt more like a cattle mart, where one is inspected and looked over like so much meat for sale …’ she gulped. ‘And, and I do not find it easy to converse with strangers.’

‘But you are talking quite easily to me,’ he pointed out.

‘But you are not a stranger. You are Ned’s friend.’

‘Of course.’ He said solemnly. ‘And we played cricket together.’

His sally was rewarded with a watery chuckle. The horses stamped impatiently.

‘So your papa is eager for you to marry. That is not so unusual, in fact it is only natural that he should wish to see you settled.’

‘He wants to sell me off,’ she said bitterly. ‘Last night I overheard him talking with Squire Woodcote. They have devised a plan to marry me off while Mama is in London.’ She took another shuddering breath, keeping her head bowed. Adam had to strain to hear her words. ‘The s-squire had a special licence, and Papa said he would summon Parson Maebury today to perform the ceremony. He w-was going to force me to marry Squire Woodcote.’

The viscount shook his head,

‘He can do nothing of the sort. You only have to tell the parson that you do not wish to go through with it.’

Her disconcertingly straight gaze was turned to him once more.

That may not be possible, if one has been forced to drink brandy, or dosed with laudanum.’

‘Good God! I cannot credit it.’

‘Can you not? I assure you I should not have embarked upon this desperate course if I did not believe my father would carry out his threat.’

Adam frowned.

‘I have met the squire,’ he said at last. ‘Why, he is old enough to be your father.’

‘It is not only that: if he was kind, then I might be persuaded, but I have seen the way he looks at me, and I
c-cannot
bear to think of him touching me …’

She shuddered. Adam felt a chill run down his own spine. She stirred beside him.

‘I should go now, if I am to reach Shrewsbury before
nightfall
.’

‘No. I have a suggestion, Miss Symonds. You said that your father wished to conclude this marriage while Lady Symonds is in London. Am I to understand your mama would not like this match?’

‘I am sure she would not want me to be forced into a marriage, my lord.’

‘Very well then. I am on my way to visit my godmother. Let me take you to her – I have lost a little time but we should still be able to accomplish the journey today. From there I will take you on to London, to Lady Symonds. I shall ask my godmother to allow one of her female servants to accompany you. What do you say to that?’

She gazed up at him, misty eyed.

‘You would do that for me?’

‘I am actually doing very little, since I am going on to Town anyway.’

‘Then, yes, thank you, sir, I will accept your kind offer.’

‘Good.’ He picked up the reins. ‘Potts, secure the lady’s bag, if you please!’

Tight-lipped with disapproval, the groom collected the portmanteau, stowed it safely away then nimbly jumped up behind the curricle as it moved off. Adam wondered if it was having to sit out in the rain that was causing his groom to scowl, or his decision to help a young lady run away from home. Either way he would make a grim travelling
companion
. Adam glanced at the stiff little figure beside him and thought wryly that his new passenger did not look to be much happier.

‘Shall you be pursued, do you think?’ he asked, to break the uneasy silence.

Miss Symonds gave this some thought.

‘I do not think so. My father never leaves his room before noon, and it cannot be much more than that now.’

Lord Kennington took out his pocket watch.

‘It wants but twenty minutes to one o’clock, Miss Symonds.’

‘Then I doubt that he has yet realized I am missing. Where does your godmother live?’

‘Worcestershire. She has a pretty little house near Hansford, a few miles south from Bromsgrove.’

Miss Symonds nodded sagely.

‘You travel by Bridgnorth and Kidderminster?’

‘I do indeed, ma’am, well done.’

She managed a faint smile.

‘It is not so very surprising. There are some very good maps at Oaklands, and I like to study them, and dream that one day I might travel a little.’

‘Well dream no more, Miss Symonds, because today you will surely be travelling no small distance! I hope you enjoyed a good breakfast: for we will not be not stopping to
eat if we wish to reach Hansford before dark.’

Lucasta reached into her jacket pocket and brought out a rather flattened packet.

‘I took the precaution of bringing some of Cook’s raised pie with me. Would you like a little, my lord?’

She had already removed her gloves and began to break up the pie with her fingers.

Lord Kennington laughed and held out his hand.

‘I do not mind if I do, Miss Symonds!’

Despite the continuing rain they made good time to Bridgnorth, but the road from there to Kidderminster was in a poor state, and the viscount was obliged to rein in his team. However, matters improved after Kidderminster, when a good road and fresh horses allowed the viscount to make up some of the lost time. Lucasta cast a glance at the matched bays now harnessed to the curricle. ‘These are not hired horses, I think?’

‘No. I sent them ahead of me when I knew I was travelling into Worcestershire.’

‘And no doubt you sent your man ahead of you to Coombe Chase with the baggage wagon.’

‘I did.’ He heard the laughter in her voice and added coldly, ‘What is there in that to amuse you, Miss Symonds?’

‘Why, nothing. Merely that Camilla would be very cross if she knew of the high treat I am enjoying. She and Mama travelled post, you see, and Mama’s letter was not at all complimentary about the inns or the horses available to them.’

‘I believe the service varies a great deal throughout the land. And how is your sister enjoying London?’

‘I have no idea. They have only been there a few days and
Mama’s letter was little more than a note to advise me that they had arrived safely. When you go to London,’ she added, studying the fingers of her gloves, ‘you must be sure to tell Camilla that you travel only with your own horses, she will be most impressed.’

‘I have no wish to boast of such things,’ he retorted.

‘But you wish to gain favour with my sister, do you not?’

The viscount hesitated. He considered the question an impertinence, and a sharp put-down hovered on the edge of his tongue but he held it back. After all, the chit had a point: he very much wanted to see the enchanting Camilla again. He tried for a lighter note.

‘What makes you think, that, Miss Symonds?’

‘I saw it in your face when you were introduced to her. It is the same with all the gentlemen,’ she added kindly. ‘You all find my sister irresistible.’

‘Squire Woodcote would appear to be the exception,’ he retorted, stung by the truth of her observations.

She was not noticeably dashed by his acerbic tone and merely smiled.

‘Oh no, but he knows my father would never allow him near Camilla: she is destined to marry an earl at the very least. Or perhaps, if you have great good fortune, she might settle for a viscount.’

Lord Kennington realized with a jolt of surprise that his companion was teasing him. He turned towards her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she returned his look with such an innocent gaze that his anger disappeared. He laughed.

‘I do believe, Miss Symonds, that you are roasting me.’

‘No, indeed I would not dare,’ she said, a laugh quivering in her voice. ‘And after your kindness to me, I promise you I shall help you all I can with your suit.’

‘Thank you. Perhaps it would be useful to know a little more about your sister, her taste in books, for example, and her favourite flowers. You are frowning, Miss Symonds: surely you can answer these simple questions for me?’

‘Yes, of course. Her favourite flowers are bluebells, ever since she was told they matched her eyes but do not talk to her of books; it is a penance for her to read anything except the society pages of a periodical—’ She broke off and fixed her candid brown eyes upon him. ‘Do you truly wish to offer for my sister?’

‘Well of course I do!’

‘After only a few days’ acquaintance?’

‘It is nothing of the sort! You know very well we have known each other for years, since we were children.’

‘But you did not like her then,’ she pointed out to him. ‘You thought her silly and teased her because she was frightened of spiders and could not catch a ball.’

‘I do not remember that,’ he retorted, nettled.

‘Well, it was so: in fact, Ned told me you only allowed me to play with you when you needed someone to make up the numbers.’

‘Yes, well, schoolboys are very thoughtless, you know, and we were very young. Now I can appreciate Miss Camilla for what she is, a most delightful young lady.’

‘And very beautiful.’

The viscount smiled.

‘Oh yes,’ he said softly. ‘A veritable diamond.’

By the time they reached Bromsgrove the rain had eased and the cloud had broken up sufficiently to persuade Lord Kennington it would be safe to put down the hood for the last stage of the journey. He slowed as they approached the Swan, a large coaching inn and guided his team through the narrow arch leading to the yard. While Potts directed
operations
 
on the curricle, Lord Kennington ushered Lucasta indoors and ordered the landlord to bring them some coffee.

‘Will that not delay us?’ she asked as they were escorted to a private parlour.

‘A few minutes, perhaps, but we are making good time, and I thought it might refresh you.’

‘Thank you, it will.’ She took off her hat and cloak. ‘Now what is there to laugh at?’

The viscount shook his head, still chuckling.

‘Who cut your hair?’

She put her hand up to smooth back the tendrils that had escaped from the velvet ribbon at the nape of her neck.

‘I did. I could hardly travel with it hanging down to my waist. Why, is anything wrong?’

‘Everything,’ he said brutally. ‘Make sure you put your hat on and pull your cloak over your hair before we leave here. I would not have anyone look too closely at those rats’ tails.’

She pulled the queue over her shoulder, twisting her head to look at it.

‘I can see nothing wrong with it.’

‘No, which convinces me that you should not be out alone! Let me pour you some coffee.’

She looked at him resentfully, but came forward to take the dish of coffee he was holding out to her. It was hot and strong and she wrapped her hands around the bowl,
enjoying
the warmth.

‘I had not realized how cold I had become,’ she said with a little smile.

‘The air can be very chill at this time of the year. Will you not sit down?’

‘Thank you, sir, but I shall be sitting down in your carriage again very soon.’ She wandered over to the window. It overlooked the yard and she could see the viscount’s
groom standing with a mug of ale in one hand while he directed the stable hands with the other, pointing out
various
buckles that had not been fastened to his satisfaction. The yard was surprisingly quiet, and she was about to remark upon the lack of custom when another vehicle swept into the yard. It was a curricle, but unlike the viscount’s sleek black carriage this one was bright canary yellow. The driver wore a high crowned beaver and a pale surcoat with a froth of capes over his shoulders. Lucasta watched in surprise as he gestured for the stable boys to take his horses. A glance at the little, black-clad figure sitting beside the driver made it clear to her that the gentleman had forsaken his groom for his valet. While the driver made an elaborate show of pulling out his snuff box and helping himself to a couple of pinches, the servant climbed down gingerly from the curricle. He lifted a small leather case from the carriage and began to make his way towards the inn. Amused, Lucasta watched as the man tiptoed across the cobbles, trying to avoid the dirt. He was small and narrow shouldered with a thin, pointed face and shifting, close-set eyes. Little tufts of mousy hair stuck out beneath his hat and, as a tap-boy greeted him and tried to take the leather case, he gathered it to him protectively, his teeth bared in a snarl that made the unfortunate lad step back a pace. His master broke off from barking orders at the stable boys to yell across the yard.

‘Damn you Miesel, get inside and bespeak me some brandy!’

The effect upon the little man was startling: he darted towards door and Lucasta lost sight of him. She turned from the window with a chuckle.

‘Miesel – I think he would be better named weasel! What a funny little man.’ The viscount looked up, one brow raised
in enquiry, and she explained. ‘A gentleman has arrived with his servant: his valet, rather than his groom. I should think that denotes someone who cares more for his appearance than for his horses.’

He laughed.

‘Jacob Potts would agree with you! Come, if you have finished your coffee, we should be on our way. Here.’ He walked up to her and pulled her hat more securely onto her head. ‘Let me look at you?’ His hand beneath her chin forced her to meet his fierce scrutiny and Lucasta found herself growing warm. She was convinced that her cheeks were bright red, but the viscount did not appear to notice. ‘Hmm, that will do. Now go out and wait in the curricle while I settle up.’

Pulling her cloak tightly about her, Lucasta hurried out of the room. She was so intent upon keeping her head down that she did not notice the driver of the yellow carriage striding towards the doorway and as she stepped out of the inn she collided heavily with him.

‘Damnation, why can’t you look where you are going!’ A string of coarse oaths followed, drowning Lucasta’s
apologies
. As she tried to step away she found her arm caught in an iron grip. ‘Not so fast, you young cub! Do you think you can jostle me and get away with it?’

‘Sir, I have said I am sorry—’ Lucasta struggled in vain to free herself.

‘Well, sorry ain’t good enough,’ bellowed the man, raising his riding crop. ‘What you need is a good whipping!’

‘Touch the lad and you will have me to answer to!’

The viscount’s voice cut like steel across the yard. Everyone stopped what they were doing and fell silent. Lucasta had braced herself to feel the slash of the whip, but she peeped up now and saw that her assailant was slowly
lowering his whip hand and glaring at the viscount with a look of profound dislike upon his heavy features.

‘And what has this to do with you, Kennington?’

‘The boy is travelling under my protection. If you have a quarrel with him, then you had best take it up with me.’

Lucasta stared at the viscount. She had not realized he could look so menacing. His many-caped driving coat enhanced his already broad shoulders and he filled the wide doorway to the inn. His usually smiling eyes were dark and hard as granite, his mouth a thin line of determination. The grip on her arm slackened and she pulled herself free. Lord Kennington stepped out from the inn doorway and beckoned her to join him. A few strides took her to his side and she felt the immeasurable comfort of his arm placed protectively around her shoulders. ‘Well, Bradfield? I heard the boy
apologize
: will you accept that?’

For a long moment the two men stared at each other, the man called Bradfield glaring angrily, but Lord Kennington’s expression had not changed, he still wore that hard, implacable look. She shivered. Eventually Bradfield looked away. He shrugged.

‘His apology is accepted, but keep the young cub on a leash, Kennington. If he crosses my path again I’ll not be so lenient.’

Obedient to the pressure on her shoulder, Lucasta
accompanied
Lord Kennington to the curricle where Potts was waiting for them. Silently they climbed up.

‘I am sorry,’ whispered Lucasta, as the viscount gathered up the reins. ‘I did not see him. I did not mean to—’

‘I know it.’ He laughed as he turned his horses. ‘Who would have thought a simple drive to Hansford could be so entertaining!’

Lucasta’s anxiety was lessened by his tone, but a glance at
Bradfield’s glowering face as they drove out of the yard made her serious again.

‘My lord,’ she touched his sleeve. ‘My lord, he is glaring at you most viciously. I think he would do you harm, if he could.’ Her hand was taken in a warm, comforting clasp.

‘Think nothing of it, Luke. Sir Talbot Bradfield is a bully and a drunkard. He will not inconvenience you again.’

As they made their way out onto the highway, Lord Kennington asked Lucasta if she objected to riding in the open carriage. She was quick to disclaim, saying cheerfully, ‘Oh I am not cold now. I love to feel the air on my face, and to be able to see so much of the country.’

They drove south from Bromsgrove but soon turned off the main highway onto what was little more than a rutted track, made muddy by the recent rains. It ran through the most empty and wild land Lucasta had yet seen that day: there were no houses in sight, and only the occasional
shepherd
grazing his flock upon the common. As the afternoon wore on the cloud grew thicker and after a short, golden blaze the sun disappeared for good. Lucasta drew her cloak more tightly about her to keep out the chill wind, and a sudden scrape of metal made her glance back at the groom.

‘Just readying the firing piece, miss,’ growled Potts, cradling a long-barrelled shotgun in his arms. ‘This is a lonely stretch of common.’

‘Aye,’ agreed the viscount, whipping up his team. ‘We are nearing the southern edge now, but we won’t tarry here, I think.’

Hardly had the words left his lips than a group of men emerged from the bushes and moved across the road ahead of them. Potts stood up.

‘Here we go, my lord. Keep ’em steady.’

‘Over their heads, Jacob,’ muttered Lord Kennington. ‘We only want to scatter them.’

Lucasta watched in horror as one of the figures raised his arm and aimed a pistol at the oncoming carriage, but even as he did so there was a deafening report from the shotgun. The little group ducked and dived to each side of the road as the curricle hurtled towards them.

‘That showed ’em,’ chuckled Potts as they flew past the men. ‘Never knew a footpad to—’

He broke off with a yell and Lucasta swung round to see that one of the men had taken a shot at the curricle as it swept by. Reaching inside her cloak she drew out a pistol, took aim and fired. The viscount swore violently.

‘Deuce and the devil! Where did you get that thing?’

‘I brought it with me,’ said Lucasta, returning the pistol to her pocket. ‘Did you think I would set out alone without anything to protect me?’

‘And she can use it, too, sir. Fair blew the villain’s hat off,’ gasped Potts, looking back.

The viscount gave a shout of laughter.

Miss Symonds you are a very resourceful young lady.’

‘Yes, well, you had best pull up as soon as may be, Adam,’ she replied, in a shaking voice. ‘Your groom has taken a bullet in his leg.’ She took the shotgun from Potts’ failing grasp and returned it to its holster, then she snatched off her neck-cloth. ‘Here, hold this over the wound: it will help to stem the bleeding until we can bind you up.’