A Love Laid Bare (36 page)

“It would be a help,” Mary said with a wan smile. She
looked at the clock on the mantel. “I really must go.” She stood,
pressed Frances’ fingers with her own, and then moved away with a
determined squaring of her shoulders. “Thank you for coming. I am
sorry we are in such a state here.”

“So am I, but not on my account!
You
are the
one bearing a difficult burden,” Frances said, rising. “But it
is
too bad, that the single time your watchdog is absent,
circumstances have not allowed for any kind of substantial
conversation.”

“Yes, I agree. Someday I will elude her and we can
talk privately,” Mary said.

“I’d like that.” Frances picked up her hat and
gloves. “I apologize for bothering you at such a time, but may I
ask for the loan of a groom to see me home? Someone is coming from
the Manor at eleven to escort me and the hour is well before that.
Halcombe would be furious were I to ride alone.” She puffed her
lips into a pout, but there was no real annoyance behind her
lament.

“Of course you may use one of the grooms.” Frances
had shared a little of her marital difficulties with her friend and
now Mary looked at her curiously.

“Things are better between you then?” she said.

“Much better, thank you.” Frances again hugged her
troubled friend. “No need to see me out. I know the way and I will
walk around to the stable and appropriate a groom myself.” She
hesitated at the door. “You
will
let me know if there is
anything at all I can do?”

Mary searched her face and then nodded slowly. “I
will, I promise.”

“Good.” Frances left it at that. Mary seemed sincere,
but Frances suspected that accepting help was not something Lady
Alten did often.

The Cauley stable yard bore subtle signs of neglect.
Had Mary also sent some of her outside servants away? Most likely,
Frances decided. Nevertheless, those remaining were attentive, and
Frances’ horse was quickly brought round. The groom—a young man who
named himself Jeremiah—was soon mounted on a leggy hack. While she
was sorely tempted to question him, Frances refrained. Any undue
curiosity was certain to filter through the household’s servants
and then to Mary. The goings-on at the Cauley estate were, in
truth, none of her business, and it might even be that her concern
was misplaced.

Being quite unsuccessful in fully convincing herself
of this, Frances gave her attention to the verdant land around her.
Although she sometimes missed the rugged coast, inland Sussex was
exceptionally pretty and more hospitable. Frances kept Lacey at a
comfortable walk and, inspired by the wild flowers she saw poking
from every hedgerow and ditch, thought about her own neglected
garden. Now that she had some confidence in the future, she was
eager to start planting some roses and a host of other things.

The sight of another rider coming this way on the
road ahead was not unexpected, since she had thought to meet the
groom from the Manor anytime now. But as the other horse
approached, Frances was dismayed to recognize Lady Merton. Her
stylish riding habit was unmistakable.
Drat!
The viscountess
was last person she wanted to see. Resisting the impulse to turn
her horse and flee—which spectacle no doubt would greatly amuse the
woman—Frances allowed Lacey to continue ambling along. Judging from
the fast pace of Lady Merton’s horse, the woman had no intention at
turning aside at the sight of Frances. The viscountess said
something to her companion, who then halted at the crest of the
rise, and she continued on alone. Not a good sign. Frances sighed.
She had no interest in exchanging false pleasantries with her
shrewish and conniving neighbor.

“Lady Halcombe.” The greeting was tinged with cold
distain.

Lady Merton reined in her horse just ahead of
Frances, giving her no choice but to halt as well. “Lady Merton,”
Frances acknowledged. “Good day.” Up until now, it
had
been
a good day.

The viscountess waved a hand at the groom. “You may
go. I will accompany Lady Halcombe from here.”

Unsurprisingly, Jeremiah did as he was told, but he
had the grace to wait for Frances’ brief nod before he trotted off.
She could not fault the man. Not when Lady Merton’s voice was sharp
enough to flay one’s skin. Resigned to riding alongside the
viscountess for at least a short distance, Frances signaled Lacey
to go on.

Lady Merton fell in beside them, gave Lacey a
critical glance, and sniffed. “Surely Halcombe has better mounts in
his stable.”

“This one suits me well enough,” Frances said
mildly.

“Of course, you are not much of a rider, which
explains it, I suppose.”

“No, I am not,” Frances agreed. The other woman’s
lips tightened with displeasure, and Frances felt a sense of
self-satisfaction. She was not going to quarrel if she could avoid
it.

“You will never be able to hold him, you know,” Lady
Merton said after a short silence. “Halcombe is accustomed to a
real woman in his bed—not an ignorant, gauche child.”

“My husband makes his own choices.” Frances kept her
tone even, with just a
tiny
emphasis on ‘husband’. Really,
she could not resist.

“We have been lovers for years! He is mine, and if
you believe you can use that daughter of yours to lure him away,
then you are even more stupid than I first imagined.”

“Hmmmm.” Frances stretched out the sound and
shrugged. “You may be right. But since I have no idea precisely how
stupid you think I am, it is hard to say whether it is true or
not.”

Lady Merton’s face flushed an angry shade of red and
her mouth worked in such a way as to resemble a landed fish.
Frances eyed her with some concern. She hoped the woman would not
expire right here in front of her! The picture of Lady Merton
sprawled out on the dusty road, her wild-eyed horse standing
overhead, began to take shape in her mind.

Struggling not to smile, Frances pressed her lips
together. Lady Merton was clearly not amused and the desperation in
the viscountess’ eyes almost made Frances feel sympathy for the
woman. Almost.

“Lady Merton, you will make yourself ill with this
fruitless pursuit. We both know Richard is not your lover, as you
claim, nor will he become so in the future. I suggest you go on
about your life, my lady.” Perhaps it was the pity on Frances’ face
or the veracity of her words—regardless, the result was the
same.

Her features twisted in an ugly snarl, Lady Merton’s
crop came down on Lacey’s rump with all her considerable strength
before she jerked her mount around and galloped off, a litany of
curses streaming behind her. Both Frances and her horse were caught
off guard. Lacey reared, probably for the first time in her life,
Frances thought absurdly as she tumbled from her horse onto the
unforgiving graveled surface of the road.

She was lucky her foot had not caught in the stirrup
or she would be in an even worse case. At least the mare had not
run away, Frances saw when she had enough breath to push upright.
Although Lacey had one wary eye on her mistress, as if Frances was
responsible for the mishap, which come to think of it, she supposed
she was.

Not quite ready to make any significant movements,
Frances sat on the road and took stock of her person. Her left
shoulder hurt like the very devil and one wrist was scraped and
bleeding. She gingerly touched the side of her head. It was only a
little lump, but it ached with the intensity of
two
devils
and she would be lucky not to end up with a black eye. Richard was
not going to be pleased.

She was none too happy about it, either. Where was
the groom from Holcombe Manor? It must be past eleven. Remaining in
the middle of the road until he arrived did not seem a wise choice,
however. Moving with care, she managed to get her knees in place
and lurched to her feet. The horse was next, and if the blasted
animal edged one foot further away—no more apples for her!

Lacey, bless her, did not. Frances clutched the
mare’s mane for support, suddenly feeling light-headed. Once the
dizzy spell had passed, she fumbled for the reins. Mounting alone
would not be possible. She leaned on the mare for a few minutes and
then Lacey and her mistress began to trudge steadily forward.
Mercifully, their labored progress was halted by a horrified shout
before too long.

“Lady Halcombe! You are hurt!” The groom all but
jumped from his horse and ran to her. “Oh, my lady. What happened?
Did Lacey… she
threw
you?” He looked around. “Where is the
Cauley groom? He should have stayed with you! I am sorry I was not
here earlier. I had to go back for a fresh horse after Blackie
picked up a stone.”

“It is a long story, Mathew,” Frances said, close to
tears now that assistance was finally at hand. “Just help me mount
so I can get home.”

He looked at the arm she held cradled to her chest
and frowned. “You don’t look up to it, ma’am, to be honest. Maybe
you should wait here while I fetch a carriage.”

“No! I can do it,” Frances said resolutely. She
wanted to get home and crawl into bed, preferably before her
husband saw her.

“Lucky it’s your right shoulder,” the groom said.
“Just keep it still like you have it. I’m going to lift you into
the saddle—if you’ll allow it. You can balance with your left hand
and I’ll lead Lacey.”

Frances nodded her agreement, thankful Mathew was a
strapping young man. It was no little thing to pick her up, but he
did it so smoothly that it hardly jarred her at all. “Thank
you.”

He guided her feet into the stirrups, swung himself
onto his own horse and took up Lacey’s reins. Once mounted, Frances
discovered a fast walk was no more painful than a slow one and they
proceeded at a reasonable pace. Her head was aching so badly it was
difficult to concentrate. How was she to explain the telltale welt
on Lacey’s rump? Mathew had already remarked on it and he did not
appear satisfied with her vague “Something hit her.” Everyone in
the household knew that
she
never used a crop.

“You can leave me at the front door, Mathew,” Frances
said when at long last they arrived at the Manor. Perhaps she might
slip in without seeing anyone but Benson.

The groom stared at her in amazement, undoubtedly
convinced that her wits had been addled in the fall.

“No, my lady, I cannot. Lord Halcombe would have my
head were I to do such a thing—and rightly so!”

Judging from the stubborn set of his jaw, he was not
going to be persuaded. She had guessed as much the moment he
mentioned Halcombe. Frances resigned herself to the commotion she’d
wanted to avoid. She smiled wanly and they plodded around the house
into the stable yard.

“Fetch Lord Halcombe,” Mathew called, as several of
the men came toward them.

Now we’re for it, Frances thought wearily. She didn’t
dare try to dismount lest she fall flat on her face.

The earl had obviously heard the groom’s shout, since
he immediately emerged from one of the buildings and came toward
her with rapid strides.

“What happened?” He took one look at her and
swore.

“I fell off my horse,” Frances said. “It’s nothing,
really. I’ll have a few bruises, I expect.”

“Yes, I expect you will.” Halcombe’s voice was
surprisingly gentle. “Mathew, send up to the house to tell them
there has been an accident. Then have someone go into the village
for Mr. Walton.”

“Oh, I am sure that won’t be…” Frances’ protest faded
under her husband’s withering glare.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you have to come off
your horse,” Halcombe said as he cautiously eased her feet from the
stirrups. He gripped her waist, lowered her to the ground and she
was in his arms almost before she knew what he was about.

“I can walk,” she muttered, even though she felt
certain he would not pay any heed to her. Nor did he, other than to
bark out a curt “Absolutely not.”

Well, she had tried. Her conscience satisfied,
Frances closed her eyes and concentrated on ignoring the pain in
her head and shoulder. It was not an entirely successful endeavor
and a small gasp escaped her.

“I am hurting you,” he said gruffly.

“Just a little.”

That earned her a skeptical “Indeed”, and Frances
smiled. The variety of cadence behind each of his ‘indeeds’
continued to amaze her.

Joan was waiting at the door of Frances’ bedchamber.
“The bed is ready, my lord,” she said, sounding so frightened that
Frances opened her eyes.

“It is nothing serious, Joan,” Frances assured her
and was pleased to see the young woman’s expression lighten.

Richard lay Frances down with such care that tears
came to her eyes. She hated being the cause of worry for him and
the household. “I’m sorry to be so clumsy as to fall off my horse.
It is not Lacey’s fault. I was simply not paying attention.” Her
comment did not even merit another ‘indeed’, and after one glance
at his face, Frances gave herself over to suffering through the
removal of most of her clothing.

“I need some warm water and bandages, Joan,” Richard
said when he saw the rough abrasions on Frances’ wrist where the
sleeve of her habit had ripped.

“Here, sir.” Joan brought over the basin and several
clean cloths. Richard dipped a piece of linen in the water and
gently dabbed at the scrapes. When he appeared satisfied that they
were clean, he applied some basilicum ointment and covered the area
with a bandage.

The process was oddly soothing. More comfortable now
that she was not being forced to move, Frances drifted in and out
of a strange pain-hazed fog.

Richard lightly touched his hand to her face.
“Frances, I need to look at your shoulder.”

His request abruptly penetrated her reverie and
Frances jerked fully awake. “I’d prefer you did not. I am sure it
will be fine after a little rest.”