Sarah Mallory – The Ton's Most Notorious Rake (страница 10)

‘Nonsense,’ said Molly briskly, handing Cissy her own handkerchief and shepherding her up the stairs. ‘Reverend Frayne and I know very well that you were too young to be blamed for what happened to you. But I hope you know better now than to walk out into the gloaming alone with a young man.’

‘Aye, I do, ma’am, and it won’t ever happen again, I promise you. I am much wiser now.’ She managed a watery smile. ‘And the baby is doing very well.’

‘You have no regrets about sending him to live with your sister and her family?’

‘Oh, no, because I wants to become a lady’s maid and I can’t do that if I have my baby with me, so I was very happy when my sister offered to have him. No, he is very happy where he is. They quite dotes on him.’

‘I am very glad of it,’ said Molly, ‘and you are proving to be a very good dresser, Cissy. As soon as we can find another housemaid to take your place, I shall promote you to my personal maid.’

She cut short Cissy’s effusive thanks and instructed her to run up and fetch her cloak. ‘I will tell Gibson there is a change of plans and he is to take you to your mother. And you must remain with her at least until tomorrow. Promise me.’

‘Very well, miss, if you say so, but what will you do about delivering your basket?’

‘Mr Frayne shall drive me to Raikes Farm in the carriage.’

Having seen the maid off, Molly went in search of her brother, only for him to tell her that he had made other arrangements.

‘My old college professor is on his way to Ripon and is breaking his journey at Compton Magna tonight,’ he said. ‘He has invited me to join him at the White Hart for dinner.’

His face clouded when she explained she had sent her maid off in the gig and he immediately suggested he could cancel his engagement, but Molly stopped him.

‘No, indeed you must not do that,’ she said, smiling. ‘You will be passing the turning to Raikes Farm on your way, so if you set off a little earlier you can drop me off there. Now, please do not argue, Edwin. It promises to be a fine afternoon for me to walk back. I do not intend to stay above an hour and it is barely two miles from here cross-country, so I shall be back in good time for dinner.’

The arrangements having been agreed, Molly collected her basket and set off with her brother in the carriage. The inclement weather had not let up for the past week, but at last the skies had lifted and although the sun only showed through intermittently, there was every promise of a fine afternoon and evening.

Molly’s visit to Raikes Farm was much appreciated. Mrs Calder was the wife of a hard-working farmer and the young family had been struggling to cope while their mother was ill. They fell with delight upon the basket of food, with its bread and pies and cakes. Molly soon ascertained that Mrs Calder was on the mend and after spending an hour talking to them all, she set off to follow the footpath back to Compton Parva.

The sun was peeping in and out of the clouds, but there had been so much rain over the past week that the footpaths were thick with mud. Molly did not mind. She had taken the precaution of wearing serviceable boots and she would be able to change as soon as she reached the vicarage, so she strode away from the farm, determined to enjoy her walk.

The highway to Compton Parva followed a circuitous route, but the footpath was much more direct, ascending between enclosed pastures until it joined the stony cart track running along the ridge. A solidly built drystone wall ran along one side of the track and separated the farmland from the moors that stretched upwards to the skyline. To avoid the thick, glutinous mud that covered large sections of the lane which had not yet dried out, she walked along a narrow grassy strip at the side.

The view from here was unrivalled. Looking across the valley and the road that ran through Compton Parva, she could see the lane leading to Prospect House, while directly ahead was the dark green mass of Newlands’s Home Wood. At this distance she would see immediately if anyone was riding out from the Park, but all was quiet and she knew she would shortly be cutting back down towards the town, so she had little fear of meeting anyone while she was alone and unprotected. She gave a little sigh. Before Sir Gerald and his rakish friends had appeared, she had never worried about walking unaccompanied in the town or in the surrounding countryside. Now she was aware of the constant danger.

As if summoned by her thoughts, her eye caught a movement on the lane ahead of her. Someone was approaching from the opposite direction. The gentle curve of the lane meant she could not see the figure clearly above the walls, but she could make out it was a man, carrying a long staff. Most likely a farmer, checking his stock. A shepherd, perhaps, looking for a stray sheep.

Distracted by trying to peer into the distance, Molly missed her footing. Her boot slipped off the uneven grassy bank, and she lost her balance. Her left foot flew forward, but landed awkwardly amongst the stones of the rutted lane and she gasped as the impact jarred her ankle. The next moment she found herself measuring her length along the ground.

Bruised and shaken, Molly pushed herself up, feeling very cross. Her skirts and spencer were filthy and she suspected that her face, too, had not escaped the mud. As she tried to stand a sharp pain shot through her ankle and she fell back. She took a couple of moments to compose herself, then struggled to her feet, but one tentative step was enough to tell her that the pain was too severe for her to walk unaided.

She hobbled to the wall and leaned against it, considering what she should do. The farmer, or shepherd, had by this time reached the junction and turned to follow the footpath down to the road in the valley bottom. A glance each way along the cart track showed her that it was deserted. She might sit there all day in the hope of someone driving past. Molly bit her lip, knowing she had no choice but to shout out and ask the only other person within sight for help.

She called, then called again. The man stopped and she waved to attract his attention. He started back up the path, but it was only as he turned into the lane that Molly realised he was no farmer, despite the long staff he held. As he strode along the lane towards her she could see the embroidered waistcoat and the tight-fitting buckskin breeches he wore beneath his country jacket and his mud-spattered top boots had the cut and fit only obtained from a first-class bootmaker. With a sinking heart she raised her eyes and looked into the lean, handsome face of Beau Russington.

* * *

It took Russ a few moments to recognise the bedraggled figure leaning against the wall and he was aware of a most reprehensible feeling of satisfaction. So the widow who had so plainly shown her dislike of him, who had been so contemptuous, now needed his help.

‘Mrs Morgan.’ He touched his hat, all politeness. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

Her cheeks were flushed with a mixture of annoyance and chagrin.

‘I think I have sprained my ankle.’

‘Indeed?’ He could not help it, his lips twitched. ‘Possibly fate is paying you back for your using the excuse the other night. I should be flattered that you were prepared to go to such lengths to avoid dancing with me.’

She bit her lip and glared at him, but he noticed she did not deny it.

She said icily, ‘I thought, perhaps, if you would lend me your staff, I could manage to walk home.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He rested the staff against the wall and came closer.

‘Wh-what are you going to do?’ She shrank back, putting her hand out as if to hold him off.

‘I am going to carry you.’

‘B-but you can’t.’ She looked horrified.

‘Oh, I think I can. You do not look to be too heavy.’

‘But I am covered in mud. Your clothes—’

‘The mud will certainly test my valet’s skills,’ he agreed, scooping her up into his arms. ‘However, we must risk that.’

‘And it is too far,’ she protested.

‘Flack is waiting with my curricle at the bottom of the lane.’

‘What about your staff?’ she objected as he began to walk.

‘I will send someone back to collect it later.’ He settled her more comfortably in his arms and set off towards the footpath. They had only gone a few yards when he stopped and looked down at her. ‘I think you will be more comfortable if you allow yourself to lean against me,’ he said. ‘And you might want to put your arm about my neck to support yourself.’

Her cheeks flamed, but one dainty hand crept around his collar.

He grinned. ‘That’s better.’

She did not reply, neither did she look at him, but Russ did not mind. He was enjoying himself, bringing the haughty widow down a peg or two. That might be an ignoble and unchivalrous sentiment but it was damned satisfying. After all, he was only human.

* * *

The curricle was soon in sight and Flack showed no surprise when Russ came up with a woman in his arms, merely watching in wooden-faced silence as Russ deposited his burden on the curricle seat. She winced as her foot touched the boards and he frowned.