Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (14 page)

“Hush, now, my dear,” he murmured. Slowly, her shaking ceased, and she realized he was stroking her back, a comforting sensation. “You need not go back in if you do not wish.”

She released a long sigh. “In a little while,” she said. “I am better. I don’t know what has come over me—even Mama has said I have not been acting as I ought, and I am sorry for it.” She looked up at him. “I don’t usually act this way, truly. I have never hit anyone’s nose before.”

He grinned. “I would have, if someone was trying to maul me about. You are a formidable woman, indeed.”

A reluctant chuckle burst from her. “But not a lady. You must see that. No lady would bloody anyone’s nose.”

His fingers came up under her chin. The light that managed to reach them from the windows above showed a laugh in his eyes. “I don’t think I want a lady,” he said, and his lips hovered over hers.

“Miss Carlyle! Lord Brisbane!”

The shocked voice of Lady Jardien shattered the comfort that had surrounded Diana, and she turned, startled.

If it had just been her hostess who had descended the stairs, perhaps she could have made some excuse. But Desmond was there, also, still holding his nose, and Mrs. Carlyle with Mr. Goldworthy beside her.

“Oh, Diana,” her mother said, her voice mournful.

The pressure Diana had felt earlier returned, and she began to shake again. She shook her head. “It . . . it is not what you think,” she said, not precisely sure what they were thinking, but feeling she had to say something.

“I certainly know what it looks like,” Lady Jardien said sternly. “Indeed, I would like an explanation of what happened to my son.” She shot a look at Mrs. Carlyle. “As for the rest, I suppose
that
should concern your mother more than it does me.”

“Stubble it, Mother,” Desmond growled. “It was nothing.” “Indeed,” Lord Brisbane said smoothly. “It was an accident, and Miss Carlyle was just telling me she was afraid it was her fault. She was much shaken by the incident.”

It was a weak explanation; even Diana knew it. Gavin had been about to kiss her, and no amount of conversation warranted him holding her so close to him. It was clear the rest of them thought so as well if their skeptical expressions and her mother’s sad one were any indication. She looked at him; the light from the rooms above them and the shadows of the night sculpted his expression into stone, and he held his body very still. She let out a small moan.

He looked down at her, and for a moment indecision flashed across his face. A sigh slipped from him, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

“However, that was an old discussion; I am afraid you have interrupted us just as Miss Carlyle was about to give me her answer as to whether she would become my wife.” “Diana?” Her mother’s voice lifted with hope. “Well, well, my lad,” Mr. Goldworthy said, chuckling. “It’s about time, I say.”

Diana looked at the earl, at his very still face, and how his chin lifted just a little, and she felt ill. She almost thought she heard a small
snap
—she felt as if a trap had been sprung. She shook her head, and put her hands over her face.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I don’t know.” She pushed suddenly away from him, and stumbled back. “I don’t know,” she said again, and turned and ran away.

Chapter 10

It was good to be back in a familiar place, Diana thought. One where she knew she was in command of her place and herself. She gazed around the dimness of the carriage house, breathing in the musty smells of dust, leather, and oil. She sighed.

Lady Jardien had been right. Rumors about the will had flown from one person to another, and that she and her mother lived in the same house as Lord Brisbane only made it worse. Even worse now that he had proposed, and she had not given him his answer, but run away.

Diana closed her eyes in shame—she had been cowardly, and had humiliated Lord Brisbane by running away. At least she had managed to make herself return to Lady Jardien’s house, and had sat through the rest of the recitals. This time, Lord Brisbane sat beside her, and though she felt trapped sitting there between him and her mother, she had also felt less exposed. But she had declined—politely—an invitation to play the pianoforte; she was not sure her hands would be steady enough.

She smoothed her hand over the curricle in the carriage house—it soothed her to feel it. She had saved enough money to repair it, and selling off a young gelding—for which she had paid service on the horse’s mother and had trained herself before her uncle had died—had given her a tidy profit. She had sent it off a month ago for repairs. Now it was back, in perfect condition for her to drive it.

Perhaps she would look about her for a cottage in which she and her mother could live. There were a few abandoned cottages on the estate, within walking distance of the stables. Any one of them needed only a bit of repair and cleaning to make it comfortable to live in, she was sure. In fact, perhaps she should look at one of them, and see how much it might need in the way of repairs and renovations.

It would be a good chance to try out the curricle as well. The carriagewrights had found nothing wrong with it, except what damage the horses and the accident had done to it. She’d had one of her grooms travel to London, disguised as a prospective employee, investigate the matter as well, and he could not find anything amiss, either. She frowned, and went out to the stables, calling for a groom. Lord Brisbane had been right—it was not the curricle that had been the cause of her uncle’s carriage accident.

The thought of the earl and the evening before gave her pause. She was very close to the edge of scandal, she knew. Going out in the curricle alone would cause more talk, perhaps, but it was not as if she had not gone out in it alone before. She had never gone far, just around and about the roads on the estate, never to the village. Some people had seen her driving the curricle before her uncle had passed away, and had thought her strange for doing it. A flare of rebellion burned in her. What difference could it make? Driving about in the curricle again would add little or nothing to the very large problem she already had.

Nate Staples came up with the horses, smiling shyly. “I’ve got the best harness, miss, and will put it on right enough.”

“Very good.” Diana nodded absently, then his words penetrated her thoughtful fog. “No, wait, not the best ones—I’d like to reserve those for racing or going at top speed, as my uncle used to. I prefer the old ones; I don’t intend to go fast this time, only at a trot, just to feel the carriage’s spring action.” Nate looked indecisive, and she smiled. “Here, I’ll hold the horses until you return.”

“Aye, miss,” he said, a doubtful look on his face as he left. Diana’s smile turned wry. He knew better than to protest her orders, but some of the new stablehands were still unused to having a woman supervise the stables. She spoke to the horses gently, and stroked their noses, until Ned returned.

Ned was as good as his word, and harnessed the horses well and in good time. Diana climbed up into the curricle, and he handed her the reins.

“How is your cousin, by the by?” she asked.

Ned looked pleased. “Bob’s better, miss. We were worried about ‘is eyes, and the doctor was afeared of infection, because they’d blistered bad. But Bob’s mam bought the poutices for it with the money you gave—and she thanks you, miss, and says she’ll ‘ave me bring back a bottle of her cordial for you next time I see her—and he’s fair to recover.”

Diana smiled. “I am glad. Do tell him we’ll be pleased to see him back to work, and pleased to keep you, too, for there’s more work to be done on building the stable addition, and Lord Brisbane’s given me permission to buy more stock.”

Ned’s face split in a wide grin, and he bobbed his head respectfully. “I’m that glad, miss. It’s fine cattle you ‘ave, an’ a blessin’ to work with ’em.” Diana gave a last smile, pulled down her hat’s veil over her face, and touched her whip gently on the backs of her horses. She was off!

The various carriage craftsmen had done a fine job of repairing the curricle. They had oiled the axles and various joined parts of the coach; it ran with nary a squeak and bowled over the gravel road quickly and easily. She stayed on gravel for a bit, testing the springs over the bumps and ruts. The curricle bounced but did not jolt too much—yes, a very fine repair, as good as new. The carriage makers had said they had replaced the large, curving springs, and so they had, with superior ones as she had requested.

She looked ahead. A macadamed road was coming up soon; a mile on that, and she could go off to the west to one of the abandoned cottages on the estate.

Diana grinned as the curricle moved onto the paved road. Excellent! The carriage ran as smooth as silk as far as she was concerned. She decided to urge the horses on to a canter, and touched the whip to their backs again. The breeze from the faster pace brushed the veil over her face against her cheeks, and she laughed from sheer joy of the speed.

The laugh faded however, and she frowned. A sound, hoof-beats faster than that of her own horses, came from behind her. A single horseman, she believed, and she hoped that he would be sensible enough not to rush past the side of her horses and startle them. She would see him as soon as he came to the side of her coach—she did not want to look back and be distracted from her driving.

The sound of the single horseman came closer, and then it was to the side of her. She glanced down, irritated, at him, then her eyes widened. Lord Brisbane!

A dark look was on his face, and his lips had thinned to a straight, hard line. He glared at her, clearly angry.

“Stop this carriage at once!” he shouted above the thunder of hooves.

“Don’t be silly!” she shouted back. “I can drive this curricle very well, as you can see.”

“Damn it, Diana, stop! Are you insane, woman? I can very well see you can drive it—that’s not the problem!”

A sudden fear struck her—had something happened at home? She pulled at the reins, slowing the horses to a stop. “What is it? Is it Mama? Is she hurt?”

“Get down!” He dismounted his horse and came toward her.

Reluctantly, she handed over the reins and descended from the carriage. They had come to the road leading to the old cottage; Lord Brisbane drew his horse and the carriage off the macadamed road and to the gravel one, and tied the reins to a stilepost nearby. She watched him—a muscle worked in his jaw, as if he were grinding his teeth. He then turned to her, his fists on his hips.

“What the devil were you doing taking out this curricle without telling me?”

Anger flared. “It’s
my
curricle; I supposed I could go out in it now that it’s repaired.”

“Wrong.” He strode to her. “Yours or not, those are
my
horses, are they not?” His eyes narrowed with anger, and she could feel her own hands curling into fists.

“Yes, but you have allowed me supervision over the stables; I believed I could do with the horses as I wished.”

“Correct.
Allowed.
You are not to take out
my
horses to drive this carriage unless I give you permission to do so.”

“How
dare
you!” she cried. “As if you did not know that I can handle any horse in your stable! Any of them! You
know
that. You know it!”

With a frustrated sound, the earl swept off his hat and hit the side of the curricle with it. “It’s not your handling of the horses, you idiot, it’s the curricle!” he shouted.

“There is nothing
wrong
with the curricle! I had it repaired, as you well know, and had a groom investigate the matter when he was in London. There was never anything wrong with the curricle from the outset!”

“But you did not see fit to inform me of it before you went out, did you? And I was fool enough to run after you.” He stared at her angrily for a moment, then drew in a long breath and let it out again. “Very well,” he said, in a calmer voice, just tinged with bitterness. “But there is still something
about
the curricle that caused your uncle’s accident. You knew my concerns regarding it.”

She did, and was sorry she did not inform him—it only made sense, for she and her mother were under his protection as, at the very least, guests, and at most, relatives living under his roof. It seemed she could not do anything right lately. Anger fled, and depression took its place. Diana closed her eyes, then looked at him straight in the eyes.

“I am sorry,” she said stiffly. “However, you will not need to worry about me or my mother soon. I was going to inspect the cottage down this road.” She nodded at the gravel road ahead. “It is unused, and I am certain if it is repaired, we may rent it from you, if you will allow it.”

He stared at her in silence, then said, “You do not want to marry me.”

She smiled wryly. “Well, I think it best. I had not thought of it before, but Lady Jardien is right: I cannot continue living under the same roof as you without causing scandal, even if my mother is there. Rumors are flying in earnest now.”

“If we were to marry, the rumors would cease.”

Diana cocked her head at him. “You have not really proposed to me—how can I accept or decline?”

A twinkle entered his eyes, and he abruptly knelt before her on one knee and put his hand over his heart. “My dear Miss Carlyle. Will you do me the very great honor of accepting my offer of marriage?”

He was in earnest now—he had to be, for they had been caught in a compromising position. He had said before he had wanted to marry her, but had said he could not propose at the time. Now he was proposing, and clearly because he had been forced into it. She did not know whether to laugh or cry. “You are dirtying your trousers, sir,” she said instead, barely keeping her voice from shaking.

“For you, I will brave the displeasure of my valet,” he said solemnly. “Besides, I have more in my wardrobe.”

She gave an involuntary chuckle, then sobered. “Please do get up, Gavin.”

“You must be in earnest; you seem only to use my Christian name when you are distressed.” He rose, dusting off the leg of his trousers, then took her hand in his. “Well?” he said, gazing into her eyes.

“I . . . I cannot,” she said, and the depression threatened to produce tears, but she swallowed and lifted her chin. “I don’t see how you can marry an idiot.”

“I retract everything I have said—I was angry and afraid for your safety.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I am quite good enough to be a countess—or a wife.”

He smiled. “Then we are a good match. I have not been certain since I gained the title that I am quite good enough to be an earl.” He squeezed her hand, and it comforted her, but she could not allow herself to give in to it. “Besides,” he said, “I believe I should be the judge of whether you would be a good enough wife.”

“But you are not!” Diana gazed at him earnestly. “You did not wish to propose to me—you were forced into it. I cannot marry you when you do not wish it.”

The look in his eyes became warm, and he gave her a brief kiss. “Believe me, I am becoming very much used to the idea. It helps, you know, to have fallen in love with you on first sight.”

“But . . . but how do I know you have not attended to me because you want my dowry to run the estate?” It was something she had wondered about in the back of her mind, and she had to say it.

A flash of anger entered his eyes, but then he nodded. “A legitimate concern. I don’t know why I did not think that might be your objection to my attentions.” He smiled slightly. “I don’t need your dowry, and in fact this estate produces less than what I already own. You may ask Mr. Goldworthy how much I am worth, if you will not take my word.”

“But I am afraid!” she blurted. She did not mean to say it, but she realized it was the truth. He could not wish to marry her. She was not like other women, surely he could see that, especially after last night?

“Now that is a problem,” he said. He turned and looked down the road toward the cottage, his face thoughtful. “Perhaps it would be best if you did live in the cottage for a while. I had not thought of the possible consequences of your continuing to live at Brisbane House, until after Lady Jardien’s musicale.” He gazed at her again. “Perhaps then you would be less afraid.”

Diana let out a sigh of relief. “Yes, I think I might.”

“It would not hurt to look at the cottage. I understand it is in good repair.” He held out his hand. “Come, shall we go?”

She nodded, and turned to the curricle.

“No, not the curricle,” he said. “I think it best if you rode my horse.”

“But—”

“No,” he said firmly. “I think you have not been out as long as your uncle had on the curricle before his horses went wild?”