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They accomplished the first three changes of horses without any trouble and Talbot, having been told to drive as fast as it was safe to do so, was taking them along at a cracking rate. The roads were rough and though the coach was well sprung, she was jolted from side to side until she thought she would be black and blue before they reached home. It was after the fourth stop that they encountered their first difficulty. The only horses available were an ill-matched foursome that pulled against each other instead of working in harmony. She endured it for half an hour, then put her head out of the door and called up to Talbot to slow them down. He must have taken his attention from the road in order to answer her because one wheel came down heavily into a pothole, which slewed the whole equipage round, but their speed was still carrying them forwards. Charlotte flung herself down with her head in her hands and waited for the impact as the corner of the coach hit one of the trees that lined the road. The sound of panicking horses, rending wood and Talbot’s curses filled the air as the coach turned over into the wayside ditch. The padded seats tumbled about her head and dislodged her hat as she was thrown down on to the side now lying in the mud.
Talbot was at the door before she could extricate herself. He wrenched it open and peered down at her, his tousled head outlined against the branches of the tree and sky. ‘Miss Charlotte, are you hurt?’
‘No.’ Dirty water was seeping in from the ditch, but she was laughing as she pulled herself upright and reached for his hand. ‘Haul me up, there’s a good fellow.’
It was not as easy as it had seemed when the Earl had helped Mr Halliwell to pull his wife out of their coach, but there had been two of them then and Talbot was on his own. Not only that, he had hurt his arm. There did not seem to be anywhere to get a purchase with her feet, but she managed it by stacking the cushions in the muddy water and climbing on those. Then, putting one foot into the shattered woodwork, and with Talbot’s good hand to steady her, she emerged to sit on the top. It was an easy matter to scramble down from there, though her skirt was torn and muddy. Once out on the road, she helped the groom free the struggling horses and then turned her attention to his injured arm. ‘Is it broken?’
‘No, I do not think so, only bruised.’
‘No more driving for you for a while,’ she said, taking off his kerchief and using it to make a sling. ‘How far is it to the next inn?’
‘Four or five miles, Miss Charlotte. I could go and fetch help, but I cannot leave you here alone.’
‘Then we had better both go.’ She tried to cram her hat back on her head, but her hair was so dishevelled it fell off again and she gave up and flung it into the coach.
‘What about the carriage?’
‘It is no good to anyone, is it? Come on, let’s round up the horses.’
‘I should think they are in the next shire by now,’ he said, looking about him for any sign of the animals that had bolted the minute they were freed.
She fetched her bag from the boot and though he went to take it from her, she would not relinquish it. ‘Then let’s be off, we can do nothing here.’
They had barely covered two hundred yards when they heard a vehicle on the road behind them, being driven at a furious pace. They stopped and turned towards it.
Roland, who had been dozing, woke up with a start as Bennett brought the horses to a shuddering halt, nearly catapulting him out of his seat. ‘What’s up?’ he shouted.
‘Miss Cartwright’s coach is in the ditch,’ Bennett called out, scrambling down to investigate.
Roland was out like a bullet from a gun. He peered into the coach and, finding it empty except for Charlotte’s hat, looking decidedly squashed, searched about for any sign of her or her driver, becoming more and more concerned, imagining her unconscious in the ditch, hurt, even dead beneath the coach, and his heart almost stopped. He bent to try to move the vehicle, but it was stuck firmly in the mud.
‘There they are!’ Bennett said suddenly, making him look up.
Charlotte and Talbot were in the middle of the road, walking back towards them. ‘Thank God!’ Roland said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
He set off at a run. Bennett returned to the carriage and walked the horses forwards until they were abreast of Charlotte, and stopped just as Roland reached her. He took her shoulders in his hands and looked down at her searchingly. There were smudges of dirt on her face and her hair was tumbling about her shoulders. He stroked it back gently. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘A few bruises, nothing more. Talbot has injured his arm.’
‘’Tis nothing, my lord,’ the coachman said. ‘I can ride beside your man, if you would be so kind as to look after Miss Cartwright.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ He turned to Charlotte and guided her towards the coach. ‘Come along. You can tell me what happened as we go. We will send someone back to fetch your carriage.’
She climbed in and settled herself, trying to hide her torn skirt, wondering if she were destined always to be rescued by him. She might have saved herself the bother of rising early and hurtling through the countryside at breakneck speed; he had caught up with her, and now she would have to sit beside him in close proximity for hours and express her gratitude.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, as he seated himself beside her and ordered Bennett to proceed. ‘I believe there is a posting inn a few miles on. I can arrange for my coach to be fetched there.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I believe we hit a pothole, the coach slewed round and turned over.’
‘You must have been travelling at a prodigious speed,’ Roland commented.
‘I was anxious to reach the mill. And do not dare say it.’
‘Say what?’ he asked with a smile, guessing her next words.
‘More haste less speed. I know it. I shall be delayed by hours.’
‘No, for I will convey you to the mill, but not until after you have been home and changed your clothes. You will lose all authority if you are seen like that.’
She realised he was right, which only made her debt to him the greater. ‘But my coach…’
‘I doubt it can be repaired in hours. It will need to be taken to a coachbuilder and looked at properly, and that means fetching it on a flat wagon. We can arrange it once we arrive in Shrewsbury. There is a good man there who will effect repairs. I can do that after I have taken you home.’
‘There is no need to inconvenience yourself, my lord. I can see to it myself.’
‘Has no one ever told you it is discourteous to disdain a helping hand when freely offered?’
‘I meant no discourtesy.’
‘No, it is your infernal independence. What makes you like that? What are you afraid of? Is it simply me or are you the same with everyone?’
She found the question difficult to answer. ‘I am not afraid of you, my lord. Why should I be?’
‘There is no reason at all,’ he said. ‘But you seem unable to accept even the smallest service without protest. I do only what any gentleman would do given the circumstances.’
‘But you are not just any gentleman, are you, my lord? You are the owner of Amerleigh and everything in it, my neighbour and my adversary.’
‘That is only because you will have it so. It need not be. I should like us to be friends.’
‘Friends?’ she queried, trying not to let him see her hands were shaking and her face was on fire. She did not even have a bonnet brim to hide behind.
‘Why not? We have much in common. I believe I have said that before. There is Tommy and the other villagers, for one, and our interest in improving their lives, and the more I come to know you, the more I realise that the hard exterior you show to the world is only a front, that beneath it beats the heart of a gentle woman.’
‘You are being impertinent, my lord.’ It was said with an attempt at severity, but she did not quite succeed and a small sigh escaped her.
He heard it and looked round at her. Captain Hartley was right; she was vulnerable. ‘I beg your pardon. Perhaps I have been too long in the army and have forgot the niceties of polite society.’
‘Did you ever know them, my lord?’
He looked sharply at her. ‘Are you implying my manners were ever less than you would expect of a gentleman? If so, I might remind you we were only lightly acquainted before I went into the army. And you were only a schoolgirl.’
‘So you do remember.’
‘Yes, I remember. What a long time ago that seems.’
‘What do you remember?’
‘Let me see, a young lady in a dimity dress and pantaloons who could handle a shotgun almost as tall as she was and shoot ten ducks in a row.’
‘Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I?’ she said, laughing at the memory. It had been very conceited of her to attempt it and she had been very relieved when she had made good her boast.
‘What did you do with the pig? Did you eat it?’
‘No, I could not bear to do that. It was a female. I bred from her and sold the litter. It was my first lesson in business.’
‘Who taught you to shoot?’
‘My father’s gamekeeper. Papa was all in favour, but my governess was horrified.’
‘I never saw you with a governess.’
‘Oh, I was easily able to escape from them.’
‘Them? More than one?’
‘Yes, about one a year I should think. I am afraid I was not a very good child.’
He laughed. ‘I can believe it. Who taught you to ride?’
‘Oh, that was Papa, as soon as I could sit on a little pony. And the stable boy taught me to fish and swim, so you see my upbringing has been out of the ordinary. It was all to fit me for my role as my father’s heir.’
‘Were there no ladies in your life?’
‘Only my governesses, though Mrs Cater—that’s my cook-housekeeper—once told me my mother’s sister came when Papa was first widowed, but he would not have her near him. She reminded him too much of Mama, I think, and he said he would brook no interference in the way he brought up his daughter.’
‘You must have been very lonely.’
‘I was never aware that I was, not until Papa died and I found myself owner of Mandeville and in charge of everything. By then, of course, my independence was part of my character. I could not change now, even if I wished to.’
‘Oh, I think you could,’ he said softly, reaching out and putting a hand over hers as it lay in her lap. ‘You can learn to trust.’
‘Trust, my lord?’ She was aware of the warmth of his hand on hers, but made no attempt to withdraw hers. It was a new experience to be treated with tenderness. No one had done so before, not her father and certainly not the young men who paid court to her fortune and not to her. Was Roland Temple any different?
‘Yes, trust your instinct. Instinct is a kind of sixth sense, more a woman’s characteristic, I think. Where it comes from I do not know. The heart, perhaps. Listen to it.’
‘And what should it be telling me?’
He reached out and put his fingers to the side of her throat, making her suck in her breath. ‘Relax,’ he said, half-jesting. ‘I only wish to establish that it is in good order after all you have been through.’
She could feel her heart thumping as he took her chin in his hand and tipped her face up to his. She could not have pulled herself from his grasp even if she had wanted to and found herself looking up into his eyes and once again she felt the power in him, drawing her towards him, as if she had no will of her own. He searched her face and saw, not the harridan, not the wild woman, but the lonely girl who needed awakening, a girl with slightly parted lips and shining green eyes, tempting him. The temptation was too much to resist; he brought his mouth down to hers. He did not want to hurt her, but to arouse her.
He kissed her skilfully, pressing her into him, so that her body was held against his the whole way from shoulder to thigh. Her breasts were hard against his chest, her legs were pressing against his, her feet almost off the floor. The kiss lingered and deepened, making her squirm, no longer in an effort to resist him, but because what he was doing was sending little shivers of desire down through her belly to the secret places of her groin. She wanted him. She wanted him with an intensity that shocked her. His mouth moved from hers and found its way down past her ear to her throat, kissing, gently and insistently, and transporting her to a heaven she had never even dreamed of. She felt almost boneless, a quivering jelly that had no shape except his.
He drew away at last, holding her at arm’s length to look at her. ‘My God,’ he said, grinning lopsidedly. ‘You are all woman after all.’
If he had said anything else, if he had spoken tenderly, if he had shown some remorse for his behaviour, she would have been overjoyed at this awakening, but his words had reminded her of other words uttered in scorn six years before, words she could not forget. Her retort was for the girl she had been, not the woman she had become. ‘How dare you! How dare you force yourself on me in that cavalier fashion and then mock me.’ She was breathless from his kisses and her face was scarlet with mortification that she had given in so easily.
‘I did not force myself on you, you were willing. As for mocking you…’
‘Yes, mocking. You are a past master at that. I had a lucky escape six years ago, not that I would ever have considered marrying you.’
His teasing tone disappeared as suddenly as it had come. ‘Six years ago?’
‘Oh, do not tell me you have forgotten. “She is a hoyden and ought to have been a boy. She is certainly plain enough.” Your words, Lord Temple.’
‘Good God! You were never meant to hear them.’
‘Then you should not have spoken so loudly, my lord.’
‘If it is any comfort to you, I have regretted them ever since.’
‘I do not need comfort, my lord. And my heart is still intact.’ Her voice was icy. ‘Now, I see we are drawing into an inn yard. I bid you good day.’ She did not wait for Bennett or Talbot to open the door, but wrenched it open and jumped down, almost before the wheels had ceased to turn.
He watched as she marched into the inn, her hair bedraggled, her skirt muddy and torn, and he cursed himself for the biggest fool in Christendom. He was reeling from the knowledge that she had heard what he had said to his father, had not only heard, but had obviously been hurt, hurt enough to remember his exact words. While he did not think she had heard them, he could push them to the back of his mind, but now he was consumed with guilt, the more so since he had come to know her and realise how unjust he had been. He did not think she was plain at all, she was beautiful, and if she was a hoyden, it was a trait he could admire in her because she had had to step into her father’s shoes with all the responsibility for hundreds of employees on her shoulders. Her burden was even greater than his. Too shocked to do anything else, he silently let her go.
Raised voices coming from the inn alerted him to the fact that something was amiss. He hurried inside to find her arguing hotly with the innkeeper who would not serve her, calling her a filthy gypsy and he wanted none of her like in his establishment. There was nothing for it but to intervene.
‘The lady is with me,’ he said. ‘Her carriage has overturned and she requires assistance, not insults.’
She rounded on him. ‘Assistance, not insults, my lord. How apt.’ And she gave a cracked laugh.
‘My lord?’ the innkeeper queried, looking at Roland.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am the Earl of Amerleigh and this lady is under my protection. She requires a room in which to refresh herself, and after that we both require a meal.’ He produced a pouch from his tail pocket and jingled it. ‘Have fresh horses put to my carriage, ready for us to proceed as soon as we have eaten.’ He paused. ‘And you had better send someone back up the road to round up the horses from the overturned coach. I am afraid they bolted when they were released.’
‘At once, my lord.’ He bustled away.
Charlotte walked over to a settle against the wall and sat down, her hands in her lap. Her face was devoid of colour and for the first time he understood what her life was really like, fighting battles and having to win them, simply because she was a woman. He longed to fight them for her, to protect her, but he had forfeited the right. Going over to her, he sat down beside her. Neither spoke. A few minutes later the innkeeper’s wife came to them. ‘I have a room ready for you, my lady.’
Charlotte did not correct her form of address, but rose silently and followed her from the room and up the stairs to a bedroom that had been hastily made ready for her.
How she managed to answer the woman’s questions about the accident and how the Earl had fortuitously come upon her, Charlotte did not know. She could not go downstairs again until she was calmer and once more in control of herself. She declined the help of someone to help her dress and arrange her hair, but, taking off her skirt, asked if it could be cleaned and mended. The woman took it away and she was alone.
She sat and shivered, though she did not know whether she was simply cold or whether she was suffering from the after-effects of that episode with Roland Temple. She had never intended to let him know she had heard his rejection of her and certainly not that she had been hurt by it, but the words in her head had escaped from her mouth. They had been getting along so well, chatting amiably, until his conversation had become a little more intimate. She might not have minded that if he had not so far forgotten himself as to kiss her and then to declare she was a woman as if he had only just discovered it! It had brought the past back as if it had been only the day before. Oh, she might pretend to be affronted, but she knew she was deceiving herself. Inside, inside the core of her, she had wanted him to kiss her, had revelled in the strange sensations that coursed through her, but in the end she had been left confused and unhappy.
Before today, no man had ever touched her, let alone kissed her, but Roland Temple had, and he had aroused a longing in her she could not account for, a longing to be held, to be protected and loved. Had she fallen in love? If she had, it was a foolish thing to do, especially as she had eschewed marriage and especially as the object of her turmoil was Roland Temple. He considered her a hoyden, way beneath him. Then why had he kissed her? To show his dominance? To prove he was her master? To amuse himself at her expense?
She was startled by a knock on the door. Brushing the back of her hand across her face, she discovered her cheeks were wet with tears. No one had ever made her weep, not since she was a small child, and then it had been out of temper and not misery. She made herself call out, ‘Who is it?’
‘Me.’ The voice was easily recognisable even through the thickness of the door. ‘How much longer are you going to be? Dinner is on the table and we must be on our way in half an hour.’
How she would have liked to tell him she would go no farther with him, but she was nothing if not a realist and knew there was no help for it. She stiffened her spine. ‘I will be down directly.’
He had only gone up in order to satisfy himself she was still on the premises and had not fled, and hearing her voice had made him grimace at his fancies. She was not one to run away; she would always face her adversaries head-on. And to his sorrow, he was one of them. He returned to the dining room and she followed twenty minutes later.
Her skirt had been roughly repaired and her hair had been fastened back with a ribbon; she was, to all intents and purposes, the woman she had been before he kissed her. But there was a subtle difference about her. He could not quite make up his mind what it was. She seemed older, and though she had always been in control, there had before been a light-heartedness about her, a thumbing of her nose at everyone who decried her, an indifference to what people thought of her, which seemed to have disappeared. If it were possible, she was even more self-contained. He did not like or understand this new, cold Charlotte.
She sat down opposite him without speaking and made a pretence of eating. She answered his queries about whether she would have more vegetables, or a little more pie, or whether she preferred coffee or tea, but ventured nothing more than that. When the meal was finished, he conducted her out to the coach, being very careful not to touch her. If he intended to try to make things right with her once they were on the way again, he was thwarted.
‘Talbot,’ she said, as the coachman prepared to climb up beside Bennett. ‘You may ride inside with us. I am sure it does your arm no good to be hanging on to your seat up there.’
He looked startled, shifting his gaze from her to the Earl and back again. It was an order he dare not question. ‘Yes, Miss Cartwright,’ he said, and helped her in.
Two can play at that game, Roland decided. ‘I have a mind to drive,’ he said, climbing up beside Bennett and taking the reins from the astonished man’s hands.
And thus they arrived at Mandeville, having stopped only to change the post horses for his own at the last stage where they had been left against his return and then Charlotte did not leave the carriage.
* * *
Lady Ratcliffe came rushing out as soon as they stopped at the door and was astonished to find the Earl sitting on the box beside his old coachman, and Charlotte being handed down by Talbot, just as if he were the gentleman. ‘Whatever has happened?’ she cried out. ‘Charlotte, just look at you!’
‘I will tell you later, Aunt,’ she said. ‘His lordship is in some haste, so we will not detain him.’
Emily looked up at Roland, who tipped his hat to her. ‘Your obedient, my lady. I must go and arrange for Miss Cartwright’s coach to be fetched and repaired. Good day to you. Goodbye, Miss Cartwright.’ And with that he drove away.
Charlotte stood and watched the coach disappearing out of sight, then with a huge gulp at what might have been, turned to go indoors with Emily fussing round her. ‘What happened? Have you had an accident? Have you been set upon and robbed? Oh, you poor dear. Come up to your room and tell me everything. Meg! Meg!’ And when the girl appeared, flustered at having been summoned in that peremptory fashion, ‘Bring some hot water up to your mistress’s room. And be quick about it.’
‘Do not fuss, Aunt, I shall be as right as ninepence once I have bathed and changed and rested a little.’
‘What was the Earl doing driving his coach? What has happened to yours? Oh, I knew nothing good would come of you rushing off on your own like that.’
‘And so you sent the Earl hotfoot after me.’ She was stripping off her clothes as she spoke.
‘Someone had to save you from your foolishness.’
‘Ah, but who was to save me from the Earl?’
‘The Earl? Surely not?’ She suddenly noticed Charlotte’s bruises. ‘He never did that?’
‘No, of course not.’ It might have given her some satisfaction to blame him for the marks, but she could not bring herself to lie. ‘My coach overturned and I was thrown about. His lordship rescued me.’
‘Oh, thank the good Lord. I thought for a moment—’
‘No, Aunt,’ she said, determined no one should ever know what had happened in the coach. ‘Nothing so fantastical. His lordship is, after all, a gentleman.’
The old lady seemed not to notice the irony. ‘Yes, of course he is.’
The hot water arrived and Meg prepared to help Charlotte wash and change and they could not talk in front of her, so Emily left to tell Mrs Cater the mistress was home and required something to eat. By the time Charlotte had finished her toilette and sat patiently while Meg brushed the tangles from her hair and pinned it up, she was, on the outside at least, once more the Miss Cartwright everyone knew. She went downstairs and, over her meal, gave her aunt a carefully edited account of what had happened, which only confirmed the lady in her opinion that the Earl of Amerleigh was a gentleman of the first order and would make her great-niece a splendid husband.