Madrigals And Mistletoe (15 page)

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Authors: Hayley A. Solomon

BOOK: Madrigals And Mistletoe
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When the highwayman had chosen to strike, his eyes had been focused entirely on the outriders. It was unfortunate for him that he'd obviously not noticed the captain dismount, the better to slow the horses and inform the ladies that they were on Huntingdon grounds. The outriders had been quickly disabled and forced to lie prone on the floor, but Frederick had seized the opportunity to creep round from the other side and take the felon by surprise.
Not before, however, he'd emitted the high-pitched whistle that both Seraphina and Cordelia had heard in the confusion. If Rhaz was anywhere about, Frederick knew he would respond. The whistle was unique between them, used in the heat of Iberian battles and panic situations only. Frederick had whistled almost unconsciously, but the effort was not
entirely
derived from instinct, for he'd half anticipated the duke to turn up at some stage, his grace more than likely being prepared to greet his guests as they entered the estate. Consequently, in the split second Frederick had had to think, he had taken the chance that Rhaz would be within hearing distance at least. One last peacetime chance to pair up together against an unseen enemy.
With a slight twitch to his lips, the fifth Duke of Doncaster surveyed the scene of the crime. As usual, Captain Argyll had acquitted himself well, but
that
was to be expected. Rhaz almost had it in him to be sorry for the poor, unconscious second highwayman. Being coshed over the head by the likes of Frederick must be no small matter. But then, neither was a hanging. His eyes turned grim as he caught sight of Cordelia, mildly deflecting Winthrop's loquacious outpouring of rage. The way he was talking, he had single-handedly saved both chaises and the damsels within.
He was just working himself up to the climax of his piece when the duke's eyes met those of his soul mate. The anguish in them was unmistakable. So, too, was the silent plea. A moment later he was noticing the brown stain that was discolouring her gown quite fearfully. He barked an order at the second outrider and sent him scurrying for help and further coaches from the extensive Huntingdon stables. Then,
entirely
ignoring Winthrop, he nodded at Frederick and heaved the heavy gilt door open.
Lord Winthrop fussed within and was the first to step out, proclaiming loudly that no one had seen fit to attend to the horses. Casting a disdainful stare at the miscreant, who still lay in a heap at the captain's feet, he strode off to examine both teams' fetlocks. He declared the bays as “right as a trivet” but equivocated a little on the condition of the chestnuts. He might have spared his breath, for no one, least of all his grace, was listening.
Rhaz addressed Ancilla, though his eyes never left Cordelia's face, and his arms were stretching out for her long before Mrs. Camfrey understood the full import of his words.
“Miss Cordelia is hurt. I shall have to take her down from the chaise, though I fear movement may be painful. I shall try to be gentle.”
Ancilla nodded, but Seraphina, her attention drawn to the stained carriage dress and the sleeve that even now was reddening, exclaimed in horror. “Delia! Are you all right, my love?”
Cordelia nodded, though by now she was feeling far weaker than a few moments before. The duke's hand was brushing soothingly against her own and in minutes—probably more likely seconds—his hand was placed firmly around her. She had little recollection of being lifted out of the excellent equipage, but for a vague sense of quickening pulses and overall well-being. If her arm ached, it seemed of little or no account, for Rhaz held her. Indeed, his grace cosseted her as if she were the most precious little package on earth. The bewildering sensations, all following one after another, finally took their toll. Though her head swam, she was aware of two salient facts beyond the sweet, deeply masculine scent of his most noble grace. The criminal was apprehended and she was safe. Upon these confused thoughts, she closed her eyes and fell into a heady, highly uncharacteristic and remarkably intoxicating swoon.
FIFTEEN
There was a moment's silence as all eyes turned to Cordelia. Lord Winthrop returned from his inspection of the horses, cast his eye upon the duo but refrained from comment, other than to mention, rather sardonically, that it was a shame that the first highwayman had made good his escape.
No one paid him any special heed, which quite overset him. Accordingly, he announced to a strangely silent group that, since they all had addled brains, it must be left to him to truss up the prisoner and sternly question him when he came round.
Relieved to give the baron some activity beyond merely upsetting his betrothed, Frederick handed him some rope from the corded picnic basket and allowed him to occupy himself in this prudent, slightly priggish manner. Rhaz was still holding Cordelia, the expression in his eyes softer than anything Frederick had ever witnessed before. He seemed happy to just stand mutely with his burden, gazing upon the soft, delicate lashes that were now firmly closed against the peachy, sun-streaked sunset.
For an instant, Frederick's heart leaped in sudden hope. Surely it could not be
Seraphina
with whom the duke's interest lay? And yet, everything seemed so certain. Even now, the duke was quietly lifting his eyes from the still dazed Cordelia and asking, with considerable concern in his voice, whether Miss Seraphina and Mrs. Camfrey were not too shaken from their ordeal. His eyes rested, for a moment, on Seraphina, and Frederick felt close to throttling him. Instead, he unclenched his fists and stilled his heart.
No doubt there would be time enough to catechise Rhaz on his intentions. In the meanwhile, the debacle of this carriage trip had to be attended to before an oncoming stage or curricle was overturned. He promised to attend to this and his grace threw him a grateful glance. Ancilla noticed the gesture between these two apparent strangers and something flickered at the back of her mind. She said nothing, however, for Seraphina, was treading gingerly out of the coach and staring with bright-eyed interest at the prisoner.
It was left to the captain, then, to point out the urgent need for Cordelia to return to the house. “If she has lost blood, your grace”—he stressed these words to remind Rhaz of his lowly role as music master—“she must be instantly attended to. I suggest you take her back to your house whilst a doctor is called for.”
Rhaz agreed, but he was very conscious, for the first time, of observing the proprieties. He had no wish for it to be whispered that he had compromised Cordelia. Accordingly, he begged Ancilla to join him on the trip back up to his home. Ancilla would willingly have agreed, but for two facts. Whilst Cordelia could conceivably ride up on Rhaz's mount, there was no suitable horseflesh about for Mrs. Camfrey to commandeer. Then there was the necessity for sidesaddles and the fact that Seraphina would need chaperoning if she were left with two gentlemen. All things considered, it would probably be better if his grace took Cordelia, for he could hardly be expected to seduce her whilst she was in such a dismal state. Not even the harshest critic could raise a quizzical brow at the arrangement. Of course, Mrs. Camfrey took rather too optimistic a view of gossipping, tongue-wagging society, but she remained in happy oblivion to this.
“Your grace, I am in the greatest agitation over Cordelia! I have not brought up my girls to swoon becomingly. If she is in a dead faint, I fear it must be just that. Take her immediately, if you would be so kind. His lordship, Seraphina and I—oh and Captain Argyll of course”—she nodded to him encouragingly—“shall follow you just as soon as we are able. You will send word to a wheelwright?”
Rhaz nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak. Nothing mattered beyond the fact that his darling was ill, suffering the rigorous effect of a stray bullet. Without another word, he carefully eased her into the saddle and mounted himself.
Instantly, her breathing became less ragged and she regained all of her faculties. They were all crying out, of course, but not from pain. Cordelia decided not to examine those faculties too closely, for if she did, the spectre of both Winthrop and her dear Seraphina might loom to haunt her.
The steadying trot of hooves across brambles and grass allowed her to rest. Presently, she was able to shut her mind to the delicious sensation of his grace's abdomen rubbing up close next to her. She was even able, at times, not to notice his strong arms tucked up against her and the reins, nor the way he smelled and the tantalising way he gently spoke to her through her pain. It seemed like a blissful age before the hunting box was finally reached. Rhaz drew her down very gently by the waist and snapped his fingers so that, by a ripple effect, a dozen house servants or more came rushing outside to do his bidding.
Still holding Cordelia close against him—she felt as light as down in his arms—he begged the doctor to be called and two fresh carriages sent down from the stables. As an afterthought, he called for a smith and a wheelwright, but truly his preoccupations were elsewhere.
Cordelia protested feebly that she could be set down, for whilst her arm was undoubtedly aching, it appeared to have stopped bleeding. Rhaz raised his brows and ignored her, loath to set down his precious cargo no matter what the reasoned logic. Instead, he held her ever more fiercely against him until the flush upon Cordelia's cheeks could not be attributed to the heat or excitement, but rather to his intoxicating intensity. When she finally was settled down, it was not, as she thought, to await the arrival of the good doctor although that man had, indeed, been summoned.
She was startled and bemused when his grace the duke condescended to kneel beside her, wiping her brow and murmuring gentle nothings as his practiced eye took stock of the situation through her modest, though decidedly becoming, gown.
His hand was upon her shoulder, gently, ever so gently, testing the thin film of material that so elegantly encased her arm. It was loose in places, but near the wound it was damp and matted, so Cordelia winced a little at his cursory examination. His tone was very gentle as he rang the bellpull and checked that Cordelia rested comfortably against the brocade sofa.
When his manservant arrived, Miss Camfrey cast a startled glance at the perfection of his livery and the silvery powder with which his wig was brushed. Even in her pain and tumultuous emotions, she could see that the butler was dressed to the first stare. Still slightly dazed, she allowed her thoughts to wonder to Rhaz's indisputable rank and fortune. He was second only to a prince and here he was, ministering to her needs as humbly as one of his own servants. She shook her head at the wonder of it, then scolded herself for a widgeon. His grace was obviously a gentleman of the first stare. He would accord such civility to anyone in need. Such was the magnitude of both his good nature and his breeding.
The thought had a twofold effect on Cordelia. Her exultant, tremulous response to Rhaz abated somewhat. He was merely a man—albeit a startlingly attractive man—doing his duty. No more should be read in the light of his eyes than the civil, concerned care of a host to his guest. The second effect is harder to describe. Perversely, because Rhaz was impartial, because she knew he would treat
any
fellow human being in such a predicament in such a way, she could not help her deep admiration strengthening. What it strengthened
to,
however, only her heart knew, but the sentiment was intense, deeply painful and astonishingly clear.
Miss Cordelia Camfrey—formerly sensible, heart whole and
utterly
responsible—had fallen in love.
 
 
“How long shall we have to wait here, do you think?” Lord Winthrop was growing pettish as he eyed the groaning, semiconscious prisoner from out of the corner of his eye.
“I do not believe too long, for his grace has attended to some alternative transport for us. We shall just have to be content to wait.”
“Content to wait? Can we not do something more positive? The beasts are getting restive and I could
swear
one of them is coming down with a chill!”
The words were politely murmured at, but since no one seemed about to do anything more dramatic than search among the squabs for suitable blankets upon which to seat themselves, my lord's grumblings might as well have fallen upon deaf ears. Accordingly, with a persistent eye to the prisoner, Lord Winthrop was finally prevailed upon to partake of what was left of the picnic hamper.
It was fortunate that Rhaz's staff was so thorough, for despite the fact that his lordship had made quite substantial inroads into the basket, there were still some cold wild pheasant, stuffed game, chestnuts, cranberry apples, miniature perigord pies and an abundance of delicate jam tartlets to keep the party more than satisfied with the fare.
With Lord Winthrop's surprisingly knowledgeable help, Frederick had managed to clear the paths so that any further disaster might be averted. The ditched carriages might look rather sorrowful in their present state of decline, but fortunately they could do no further damage either to each other or any oncoming equipage.
Though both Ancilla and Seraphina were obviously shaken, their natures were robust enough to put the unpleasant incident behind them. Beyond a quite natural concern for Cordelia, Frederick was gratified to see that they did not put on missish airs or appear more squeamish than they were. Seraphina, indeed, was setting her mind to enjoying the wonders of the new countryside and her music master was more than happy to oblige her with pleasant, idle talk of Hawthorn, fly-fishing and some of the many wooded ambles that might be enjoyed between here and Clarence, the next town.
“You seem to know Huntingdon quite well, Captain Argyll! ”
Ancilla broke in on his thoughts, and if he were not as in excellent control of his features as he habitually was, Frederick might have coloured. A slip! He must take care not to let it happen again. The Camfreys were not to know of the many happy times he had spent with the duke on the Huntingdon estate. He smiled and replied that, though he could not know this area particularly well, he had spent many a happy hour in a neighbourhood quite similar to this. He could not be pressed into further reminiscences, but instead took the opportunity of rummaging through the baggage coach and emerging with an old black violin case. Seraphina noticed that the clasps were of dull gold, but she did not take in anything more, for Frederick had reverentially opened the heavy box and removed both the instrument and the bow. His eyes caught hers and she smiled. When Frederick looked just so, even the direst of calamities seemed insignificant. Her pretty lips instantly responded and she sensed, rather than saw, the captain's sensuous reaction. His fingers seemed to tighten for an instant over the strings. When she glanced at him again, the moment had passed.
Ancilla set down the remains of her repast and smiled encouragingly. “What an excellent thought, Captain! If you play for us this impromptu picnic shall have all the makings of a large-scale banquet!”
Lord Winthrop cleared his throat unhappily. Somehow, he felt slightly put upon. That an excellent excursion to one of the most famous stables in all England should boil down to this! A detested concert! He begged Frederick to choose a short piece, for as he said, music gave him indigestion at mealtimes.
Seraphina put her hands to her lips to avert an unladylike snort. Even Ancilla, his staunch ally, gave a suspicious-sounding snort and begged him to come of his high ropes and learn a thing or two for a change. Outvoted, his lordship could do nothing more than appropriate a large portion of the picnic blanket and maintain a dignified silence.
Frederick carefully rubbed rosin into the fine, sandy strings of pure horsehair used for the bow. When he was done, he took a moment to tune the violin, calling Seraphina to sit close by him so that he might teach her the technique. Ancilla noticed how her daughter's cheeks glowed with animation and how eager she was to test the weight of the violin in her hands. “I do believe they smell of April and May!” The startled thought at once gave substance to all the other little suspicions she had been formulating for quite some time.
Impossible, of course! Captain Argyll was a mere impoverished employee . . . Even she, who had no notion of economy, could see that the matter was quite ineligible. And yet, Seraphina was positively glowing, her bright eyes brighter than usual, as if sprinkled with starlight. How very sad if this blooming fruition of womanhood should be dulled before its moment of perfection. Ancilla bit her lip. Had she been bullied by the dowager duchess? Of
course
she had. But had the dowager duchess been speaking the truth abut her son's intentions? She took leave, for the first time, to wonder.
If only life were simpler! Of
course
she would like her daughter to be a duchess. She would be quite dreadfully remiss and improvident if she did not. And yet, were there not other, more important things? Her eyes grew faintly misty. How unlike her to grow wistful! And Cordelia? For the first time she questioned the wisdom of pairing her off with the baron. It had seemed like so excellent a match at the time, but now, judging him up close, she was not so certain. Could Cordelia find happiness with such a pompous, opinionated, horse-crazed personage? She hoped so, but honesty compelled her to doubt. Even a morning and half an afternoon spent in a closed chaise with him was enough. Still, whilst not handsome he was not intolerable to look at . . . or not
entirely
intolerable. . . . He was certainly rich and that must count for something . . . or must it? Ancilla's well-ordered world was being turned topsy-turvy by these unconventional thoughts.
It must be the weather,
she decided.
Or perhaps the afternoon's enterprise.

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