Bexley-Smythe Quintet 02 - Rhyme and Reason (2 page)

“I promise
I’ll survive, Lizzie. There’s no need to fear for your position on account of me. Let’s keep walking, shall we?” The maid had made mistake after mistake since the family had arrived for their holiday.

Mattie couldn’t worry over Lizzie’s position, however. She had far too many worries of her own vying for space within her mind.

She had been expecting Sir Lester to call upon her this afternoon, but he’d sent a note saying an unexpected appointment had come up. Her concern over whether the
unexpected appointment
might have anything to do with Percy had made it near impossible to take in a breath.

Not that there was any real reason she should expect Percy would have had anything to do with it
—not here in North Yorkshire, while he was off doing whatever he might be doing somewhere in the southern counties. But that fear seemed to be ever-present, threatening to destroy any chance Sir Lester might form an attachment to her.

She’d had to leave the house, to get out of doors where the air could wash over her, or else she might have gone mad from wondering.

“Of course, milady. As you say.” Though the maid gave her a sharp nod, her eyes were filled with disquietude. She hefted the parasol up again so it blocked the sun and all its delightful warmth from Mattie’s face, and trudged on with heavy, determined steps.

The Season
before
last hadn’t been so bad. The
ton
had forgotten about Percy and his shameless behavior that year, largely due to her sister Georgie’s adventure in a gas balloon. A bit of scandal from Georgie and her friends being named in the betting book at White’s hadn’t hurt things, either. But while those things ought to have ostracized the Bexley-Smythe sisters worse than ever before, it had had the opposite effect.

They
had been the toast of the Town for just a little while.

Then for the rest of the Season, the
beau monde
hadn’t paid much attention to the still-unmarried Bexley-Smythe sisters because Georgie had married Monty. The connection he brought to them—the respectability which came attached to his position as the Earl of Montague—had been more than enough to diminish whatever pall was cast over them due to their brother’s indiscretions.

But after a year had passed by, and particularly since Percy’s ne’er-do-well ways had only
compounded and become better known amongst those of a certain set, the effects of Monty’s association had dimmed.

It would have been different, of course, if Georgie could have come to Town for the Season. But as she was rather indisposed with Monty’s potential heir filling her belly, she had remained behind at his principal seat
in Surrey. And Monty, try though he might to be the doting brother-in-law for Mattie and the other Bexley-Smythe sisters, had spent the entire Season distracted to a fault from being away from Georgie at such a time.

Monty’s distraction was rather heartening, though it didn’t really help Mattie and Freddie much.
Thank goodness Edie still has not had her come out.
The youngest sister was blissfully spared the worst of the
ton
’s censure.

Monty’s
younger brother, Joshua Loring, had attempted on a few occasions to fill in where Monty had neglected to see after them, but Mr. Loring wasn’t the most upstanding of all gentlemen to grace a London ballroom either. He wasn’t as bad as Percy by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was he a saint.

At every event
they’d attended, the number of which dwindled as the Season wore on, Freddie and Mattie had been shunted to the sides of the ballrooms and bustled to the edges of the drawing rooms as heated whispers and pointed glances from behind fans passed in their direction.

Beatrice Emery, Baron
Teasdale’s eldest daughter and Mattie’s dearest friend since they’d attended finishing school together, had been their one saving grace through the entire drubbing otherwise known as the London Season. Even when Bea’s name was bandied about in the same manner as theirs were, due to her unwavering friendship, she had refused to let it deter her.

“They can say what they will,” Bea had
declared on more than one occasion. “You can’t help who your brother is, and it shouldn’t matter in the least. Not even the king himself gets to choose his family.”

At one point,
Lord Teasdale had threatened to cut off Bea’s pin money if she didn’t disassociate herself from the Bexley-Smythes, but his daughter never cowed to his threats. After a strange afternoon when no higher personage than the Duke of Danby had called upon the baron, with Percy in tow, he had finally given it up as a lost cause.

And now,
Mattie was spending her summer with Lord Teasdale and his family at the spa in Scarborough.

“Papa said he can’t bring Freddie and Edie,” Bea had bemoaned the day she invited Mattie to join them. “
He told me it must be you and you only. But they’ll understand. Won’t they?”

I hope they’ll understand
. The time for regrets was long past, however. Mattie was well ensconced in North Yorkshire, and Freddie, Edie, and Mama had traveled to Surrey with Monty to be with Georgie for her lying in.

She regretted that she couldn’t be with Georgie
as well, but Mama and all her sisters had insisted Mattie must go. “What other chance will you have to possibly make a match?” they’d said. “You must go. And you must do anything you can to make a match.”

They had
been right. So she’d come.

And now, here she was.

The limestone cliffs angled down toward the water at a steep slope. “Let’s go a little closer to the edge, shall we?” Mattie ignored Lizzie’s sounds of protest and made for the cliffs.

How often in one’s l
ife could one see such a sight?

She had every intention of experiencing every bit of freedom this time away from
Percy and the scandal perpetually following in his wake would allow. Heaven only knew what was in store for them all in the not-too-distant future.

After walking right up to the very edge, Mattie strained her neck and looked down just in time to see a giant wave crash against the rocks beneath her. The spray from the water flew up into the air, so high she felt like she could reach her hand down and touch it.

“Milady?” Lizzie’s timid voice trembled through the air between them. “Not so close, milady. You might lose your footing.”

She’d always been fairly sure-footed, so she paid the maid’s complaints little heed.
There was truly something very freeing about standing above the vast expanse of water in such a way. Still, Mattie turned her head to look back, a smile upon her face she was powerless to stop. “Heaven help me if I do,” she said on a laugh.

Then
she saw the sheer terror etched into every line of Lizzie’s face. The girl must be petrified of heights. Or maybe it was the water that scared her. Either way, she had remained quite a good distance behind. Mattie immediately regretted her jest.

Lizzie blanched
further, her already pale face turning such a stark shade of white it was a wonder she could have any blood in her body, her fingers so tight around the parasol’s handle she was liable to break it in two.

It wasn’t like Mattie to make light of another’s concerns. Gracious, but all this business with Percy had started to change her
, and not in a good way. “I’m so sorry, Lizzie.” She turned around fully so she could return to the frightened maid, leaving the ocean at her back.

“Damnation, Danby!”

The curse that ripped through the air startled Mattie so much she jumped. Her half-boot slipped against the limestone. She felt herself falling before her mind caught up and recognized what was happening, and a scream which might have been her own cut through the subdued sounds of water crashing into rock.

“Milady!”

Mattie’s nose and forehead slapped against the rock beneath her even as the weight of her body pulled her backward.

The lady—whose maid was too distraught to do anything but stand in place and scream—was drifting backward along the limestone. The force of gravity threatened to pull her down the massive drop to the ocean. By the time Thomas reached her, her feet and legs (all the way to her knees) had slipped past the edge of the cliff.

Thank heaven her torso remained
solidly on the rock.

He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms lest she slide further down
. The maid blessedly stopped screaming, watching his every movement in abject horror. The lady in his arms moaned slightly—a good sign—but her eyes were closed tight and a small stream of blood trickled from her right temple, staining the blonde ringlets of her hair.

Once the
maid’s eyes fell upon the blood, her screams began anew in earnest.

Thoma
s spared the maid a brief glare and then checked her mistress for other injuries which might not be so readily apparent. He’d done no more than run his hands over the lady’s arms before the maid struck him on the shoulder with her parasol.

“I’ll call the watch, I will, you cur! You’ll not ravish milady on my watch.”
Thwack, thwack, thump.
“I swear to you, I’ll not lose my position on account of you or any other man.”

Without ceasing his examination, he used one hand to wrench the parasol from her hands and toss it over the edge of the cliff
just as he’d done with Danby’s letter and that blasted marriage license. “I have no intention whatsoever of ravishing her. I’m checking for broken bones. You could assist me, you know.”

If she was so worried about her position, one would think she would do anything in her power to aid her mistress.

The maid let out a little huff of indignation, but at least she had the sense to cease screaming and attempting to beat him about the head with various implements. He couldn’t help but notice she didn’t lift a finger to help him.

There was little wonder she needed to worry for her future.

After a cursory examination, it seemed the blow to the lady’s head was likely the worst of her injuries. That was good, but head injuries oughtn’t to be overlooked. He’d seen strong, healthy men die after something as seemingly benign as being kicked in the head by a horse. Concussion, at the very least, seemed likely given her faint.

She needed a doctor.

Thomas stood, lifting the blonde lady in his arms in a single motion. “I don’t believe she has any broken bones, but she needs her bed immediately, and a doctor. Where should I take her?” If she lived very far from the cliffs, he would need to first return her to the stables so the lads could ready a carriage.

The mousy-haired maid blinked dumbly at him, not saying a word.

Had she not heard him, or could she possibly be so simple-minded as to not have understood what he’d said? What sort of servant didn’t jump to do as they were told when their employer had been harmed? Father would have given the girl her notice right then and there, were she part of his staff.

“Where should I take her?” he nearly roared. Usually, he was a very patient man. It seemed Danby had stolen his patience from him today
, and the lady could not afford for him to dawdle.

“Lady Matilda is a guest of Lord
Teasdale, sir,” the maid finally said, her voice coming out as timid as a half-asleep kitten’s mewl. That was quite a drastic change from the shrew who’d been assaulting him with her lady’s parasol. “He’s rented a house on the Grand Avenue.”

The Grand Avenue wasn’t far at all, thank heavens.
It would be faster by half to just carry her there. “Lead the way,” he grumbled.

The maid hesitated for a moment, but then she started walking. Thomas fell into step behind her.

They’d hardly gone ten steps before she whirled around and pointed a finger at his chest. “You’ll be explaining to Lord Teasdale what happened to the parasol, you will. And about why milady took a tumble in the first place.”

Thomas had no qualms about telling
this Lord Teasdale or anyone else who wished to know that he’d tossed the parasol into the ocean. He’d gladly purchase a replacement if need be, but he had no intention of ever allowing a maid or anyone else to bludgeon him with one. But the reason the lady fell? How should he know that? The maid was the one who was responsible for her lady’s wellbeing, and a poor job of it she’d done, too.

But none of that mattered now. What mattered was getting this Lady Matilda to a bed and a doctor’s care as soon as possible.

“I’ll tell his lordship whatever needs telling. Now kindly show me to his home.”

The maid gave him a curt nod and spun around again, mincing along at a more hurried pace than
she had previously.

Saying a silent prayer for patience, Thomas readjusted the lady in his arms while he followed along behind the
frustrating maid. Lady Matilda shifted when he did, nestling herself more comfortably in his grip. Her head moved up to rest against his shoulder so that her forehead brushed against his jaw. She hardly weighed a thing. True, he did a great deal of physical labor in the stables and so he was stronger than the average man, but she felt almost as small as a child in his arms.

Well,
that wasn’t quite accurate. Children did not have curves like the ones this Lady Matilda had.

With her head nestled against his neck, the soft cushion of one full breast pushed against his chest so close he could feel the peak
of a nipple through their clothing. He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, his hand gripping her securely at the flare of her hip, while the other hand was hooked beneath her knees. It was precisely as a man might carry his bride into the bedchamber on their wedding night.

Good God.

He bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping to redirect his thoughts. He had no business—none at all—thinking about a lady’s curves, and particularly not thinking about carrying this lady into his bedchamber.

Mattie’s head throbbed, and her whole body was bumping and jerking along, like she was in a
poorly-sprung carriage. But she couldn’t be in a carriage, could she? No, that didn’t seem right. She opened her eyes but immediately forced them closed again. The sun was blinding and made her head hurt to the point she wished it would split in two. That would probably hurt less.

But
she was absolutely, unequivocally
not
a carriage.

She snuggled herself closer to the warmth along her side, burrowing her nose in the scent of the outdoors and a hint of musk.

Then her eyes shot straight open, despite the pain from the sun. That wasn’t just warmth. It was a
man
.

A man who was
carrying
her.

She blinked again, then stared more intently. It wasn’t Sir Lester. This man was easily a few years older than the baronet. And handsomer, but she had no business thinking such a thing.
She didn’t even know his name! How could she think about how handsome he was? Not to mention it wasn’t fair to Sir Lester.

Who was he, and why was she being carried? And where? Good heavens.

Her head shot back so she could look up at him. A jolt of pain shot through her head from the movement, but she didn’t care. She needed to see him so she could discover who he was and what was going on. He had rich, brown hair, a little long on the sides, the ends curling under. His blue eyes were the same color as the ocean, and he had a sharp, angular jaw…a jaw covered in blood.

Mattie gasped and reached up her hand to touch him there, the red blood staining her
white glove on contact. “You’re bleeding, sir.”

The last thing she would have expected was for him to laugh, but that was precisely what he did—a gentle chuckle, but
a laugh, nonetheless.

“That’s your blood, not mine, my lady. Your head…”
He tilted his chin, using it to point toward the very spot at her temple which felt like it had exploded at some point in the not-too-distant past.

Oh. Well, that would explain the monstrous headache, at least.

It did not explain
why
she hurt so much, however. “What…happened?” she asked cautiously, as every word seemed to reveal a new place that she ached. Her nose was quite sore, pronounced by the movement of her mouth as it tugged her skin. Her arms and hands, too, felt as though they’d been battered.

In a fall
… Yes, now she remembered. A man had shouted a curse, and it had startled her, and she’d fallen on the cliffs.

She could have fallen backward.
Oh my.
She’d been so very close to the edge.

But she hadn’t
fallen. Or perhaps this man had caught her? Mattie couldn’t really be certain. Everything was floating around in her head, none of it settling down to form sensible and coherent thoughts.

This man, whose wondrously strong arms were wrapped so intimately around her,
was carrying her up a series of steps—the steps to the house Lord Teasdale had let for the summer. Mattie recognized the columns along the steps just outside the front door.

He didn’t
answer her question before they were surrounded by a bevy of servants trying to assist.

“
Good heavens! Lady Matilda?”

“Lizzie,
you stupid, stupid girl, what on earth did you allow to happen?”

“It’ll be a wonder if Lord Teasdale doesn’t toss you out this very night.”

“In here, sir. Lay her on the settee if you would please.”

The cacophony of voices and activity around her was all too much.
Mattie closed her eyes again and pressed a hand to her temple. More blood seeped through her glove, warm and sticky against her fingertips. She would do anything—anything at all—to make the pounding stop.

“No.” The man carrying her tightened his hold on her
. His strength left her feeling safe. Well, not safe precisely. Perhaps protected was more correct, though it still didn’t feel quite right to Mattie’s mind. Nonetheless,
safe
and
protected
were two sensations she hadn’t experienced in a very long time—not since Papa died leaving Percy to care for them all—not even with Sir Lester. Yet
he
was making her feel those things, whoever this man with his arms surrounding her might be.

She opened her eyes to look up at him. He was staring down at her, his gaze boring into her very soul, it would seem.

“Her chamber,” he rumbled. “She needs her bed, a doctor’s care, and some quiet. Send for a doctor at once and direct me to her room.”

The chatter of the servants continued until finally the butler cleared his throat for order. “Mrs. Benson, Lizzie, show him the way to Lady Matilda’s room
and get her settled into her bed. Arthur, fetch Dr. Evans as quickly as you can. Olivia, fetch any supplies they’ll need to tend her ladyship. I’ll inform his lordship and the rest of the family.”

Once the butler had organized the servants, the gentleman carrying Mattie was moving again. Moments later, he lay her down upon her bed
, careful of precisely how she was adjusted against the pillows.

How could a man so large and strong be so very gentle? Mattie blinked up at him in confusion.