Anne Herries – Reunited with the Major (страница 3)

Brock knew that many friends of his family had made arranged marriages based on property, rank or necessity, but quite often as successful as any other. He also knew that the marriage of a friend, purported to be a love match, had hit the rocks only two years after it began, simply because the young woman became wrapped up in her child and the husband felt neglected. He’d been unfaithful to her and she’d thrown a tantrum when she discovered it and had taken her child and gone to stay with her father, refusing to come back even when her husband begged her.

Brock felt sure that Cynthia would not require him to sit in her pocket when they were married. She would have her circle of friends, entertain and go out as she pleased, and he would do the same—obliging her with his presence whenever she requested it. Since they both wanted a family it would be a proper marriage, but that should not be difficult; she was a beautiful woman and he did not dislike her.

Indeed, there were times when he felt he could like her very well—if she would let herself go a little, smile more. She was polite, gentle in her speech and grateful—and somehow that irked him. Cynthia never complained if he did not go down to the country to see her for weeks at a time. He sometimes felt she would have preferred to be left quite alone, but her mama and his father were both pressing for the wedding.

Brock’s thoughts were suspended as he was suddenly thrown forward and the curricle came to an abrupt halt.

‘What the devil! What on earth do you think you’re doing, Harris?’

‘In the road, sir,’ the groom said as he manfully grappled with the plunging horses and steadied them. ‘I didn’t see it until we were nearly upon her—I think it’s a woman, sir.’

Brock looked down and saw what had made his groom bring the horses to such a sudden stop. At first glance it was a bundle of old clothes, but on closer inspection he could make out the shape of a woman, her bare feet showing beneath the long skirts.

‘Good grief.’ He jumped down to investigate. Kneeling down, he turned the bundle of clothing and saw the face of a young and rather pretty woman. She was very pale, as if she had been ill for some while, her dark hair greasy and tangled, and her feet had bled, the dried blood crusted between her toes. However, her clothes were not rags as he’d first thought, but the clothes of a lady of quality. He bent over her, feeling for a pulse, and was relieved when he discovered that she was alive. ‘She’s still breathing, Harris. We’d better get her to the nearest decent inn. She needs a bed, warmth, food and a doctor by the look of her.’

He gathered the unknown girl in his arms and lifted her into the curricle. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not open them, though her lips moved as if in protestor fear.

‘No need to be anxious,’ Brock soothed softly. ‘You’re unwell, but we shall look after you. We’ll fetch a doctor to you and put you to bed and you’ll be better in no time.’

Again the eyelids fluttered and a faint protest was on her lips. Brock heard the word no, but the rest of her protest was indistinct and he could not tell what she meant to say. Her unease was clear, even though she was too exhausted to be truly aware of him.

‘What do you think has happened to her, sir?’

‘She has suffered some harm,’ Brock said. ‘The sooner we can get her settled and a doctor to her, the sooner we shall know what caused her to collapse on the road like that. Well done for stopping in time. Had you run over her, she would surely have died.’

‘In this light I only just saw her in time,’ his groom said. ‘You’ll not make London tonight, sir.’

‘No, I think not,’ Brock agreed. ‘I must see to her needs first. It matters little when I get to town. I was engaged to play cards this evening, but my friends will understand. Drive on and stop at the Swan, please. It cannot be more than five miles. We must just hope that they have sufficient rooms to accommodate us.’

* * *

‘The young lady is awake now, Major Brockley.’ The innkeeper’s wife nodded to him and smiled. ‘That sleeping draught the doctor gave her worked a treat, sir. She feels much better this morning and asked me how she got here. Of course, I told her she had you to thank and she asked if you would step up and see her.’

‘Yes, of course. Perhaps you had best accompany me, ma’am?’

‘Oh, no, Major. My daughter Polly is there and will stay with her the whole time. You will forgive me, but I have much to do.’

‘Of course. I was thinking only of the invalid’s good name and her feelings. She might be nervous of a man she does not know.’

‘Bless you, sir. I told her a better man never walked this earth. She need not fear harm from a gentleman like you, Major—and her name is Rosemarie, so she says, though that might not be quite the truth. It strikes me that young lady has something to hide, but she is a lady, sir. I would vouch for that.’

‘I am certain you are right,’ Brock agreed, hiding his smile. ‘Very well, I shall go up to her. If Dr Reed returns, please ask him to come straight up. He said he would call to see her again this morning.’

‘Yes, Major. Certainly.’

Brock nodded his head to her and went up the broad staircase. The Swan was a coaching inn not more than thirty miles from London and one of the best for accommodation. He’d stayed here often in the past and that had stood him in good stead when he’d turned up the previous evening with an unconscious lady in his arms. His explanation was instantly accepted and a doctor called, the best available bedchambers handed over without a murmur of protest.

Walking down the landing to the door of the chamber allotted to the mysterious Rosemarie, he stopped and knocked. Invited to enter, he went in cautiously and saw that the patient was propped up against a pile of feather pillows. Her long dark hair spread over her shoulders and her slight body was wrapped in a thick yellow-and-white cotton nightgown that was three times too big for her. A white bedjacket was over her shoulders, showing only the very ends of her fingers. She was perfectly respectable and he saw for the first time rather pretty. At the moment her pale cheeks were flushed with a becoming pink.

The innkeeper’s daughter Polly curtsied to him and retired to the washstand, fiddling with basins and little pots, clearly under instructions not to leave the room so long as he was in it. Smiling inwardly, Brock approached the bed, his expression serious as he looked at Rosemarie.

‘I am glad to see you looking much better, miss,’ he said in what he hoped was an avuncular tone. ‘I am told your name is Rosemarie. Are you willing to tell me why you were lying in the middle of the road last night?’

He saw her eyelids flutter and knew that she was preparing to lie to him, then, she smiled and he gasped, because her whole face lit up and he saw that she would, in the right circumstances, be beautiful.

‘I am told that your name is Major Brockley and that you brought me here, sir, thus saving my life. The innkeeper’s wife told me that I have nothing to fear from you. She thinks you the most honourable man she has met—and I have to thank you for your kindness.’

‘Mrs Simpson does me too much honour, but I promise you that she is right to say you have nothing to fear. As for kindness, well, it was the least I could do. Only a heartless rogue would have left you lying in the road. If you are in trouble, you have only to tell me and I shall do all in my power to assist you.’

‘How kind of you—but I fear there is little anyone can do now.’

‘Forgive me. I think you give up too easily. There is always something one can do—do you not think so?’

‘Well, I did,’ she replied in a frank way that surprised him. ‘I thought I could run away to London and find work as a seamstress—but I was robbed, set upon and...’ Her eyes slid away from his gaze. ‘Very nearly abused. I fled to avoid being forced into one hateful relationship and very nearly ended in a worse one. Now I do not know what I can do unless I go home and submit to them.’

‘You have been unfortunate, it seems,’ Brock said, a scowl on his face. ‘Give me the name of those who have harmed you and I will seek redress for you.’

‘If you do that, they will take me back and force me to marry him,’ she said, and a tear slid from the corner of her right eye. She dashed it away. ‘Everyone believes them and not me. They think he is a kind good man who will care for me—but I know that he wants Papa’s fortune and they want the Manor. I heard them making their wicked bargain. He said they could keep the house and land and he would take the mills. Papa had five, you see, and they are worth a lot of money—and then there are my mother’s jewels. They are worth a king’s ransom alone, I dare say, but they have them locked away in my aunt’s room. I know she covets them for she wears them when they go out and when I protested she said that I was not allowed to have them until I marry...or my fortune.’

‘I see.’ Brock’s frown deepened. ‘And you think this man will take everything you own and treat you badly?’