Miss Peterson & The Colonel (3 page)

Lydia could scarcely grasp the enormity of the tragedy. 'Brutus, he was a brave soldier, he did not deserve to end so ignominiously. How am I going to tell Edward that I have murdered his brother?'

What fustian! He might be alive, hadn't
she
survived the fall, why should he not have done the same? After all, was he not a battle scarred veteran? She must ride back, not stand here procrastinating. There was little point in remounting, she would lead both horses. However her legs refused to obey her command. She was trembling like a
blanc-mange,
doubtful
she could travel even that short distance without collapsing.

By lengthening the stirrup leather she managed to scramble into her mare's saddle. She leant across and pulled the reins over the gelding's head. 'Come along, Brutus, we must see if we can help your master.'

Then, to her astonishment, what she had taken to be a corpse rolled over and stood up. Relief flooded through her – he was unharmed. Thank God for that. Then her relief turned to fear. If he had been angry earlier that day, what might be his reaction now?

She would not wait to discover. She would leave whilst his back was turned, flee to the safety of her apartment and remain there until he had calmed down. Dropping the gelding's reins in front of him, she raced away, expecting to hear a roar of rage behind her.

In her desire to put as much distance between herself and the colonel, she had not stopped to consider that maybe Brutus was not trained to stand when his reins were dropped. When she halted at the park gates she realized his horse had accompanied her.

If he had been enraged before, now he would be incandescent.

Chapter Three

Lydia hesitated for a second. Despite his bewildering actions and the fact that it was his own fault he was injured, she could hardly expect him to walk home. She leant across to gather up the trailing reins.

'You're a silly boy, Brutus. Have you no shame? It's your duty to stay with your master at all times.' The horse whickered, nudging her knee and leaving a trail of slobber. 'Come along, we must go back and help the colonel. He has an irascible temper, but I'm sure he will do me no
physical
harm.'

She ached in every bone and twice almost slipped from her mount. This would not do; if she fell a second time she might not be so lucky. She pulled the gelding closer, kicked her boot from the single stirrup of her side saddle and prepared to transfer to the other horse. This was a trick she'd accomplished many times before, but always in the safety of her own paddock and not when she was recovering from a thumping fall. Would Brutus remain still until she was safely installed?

With one hand braced on the withers of her mare she swung her right leg out, dropping safely astride the colonel's horse. There was no need to shorten the leathers, she could push her boots into the loops above the irons.
His
legs were longer by several inches; she might not like the man but she was forced to admit he was the first gentleman she'd encountered who did not make
her
feel gauche and clumsy.

It was lucky that there were no early risers to see her behaving so immodestly. She could collect him and be back in her own saddle before anyone else was abroad.

There was no need to lead her mare; the animal would follow her anywhere. Brutus was a massive beast but this did not bother her. She urged him into a canter toward the open ground where she'd last seen the gentleman. She expected to meet him striding in her direction.

Where was the wretched man? The park was deserted, the landscape empty.

He had vanished into thin air. She scanned the ground. Had she mistaken the spot? Her hands clenched. Here was evidence indeed. The grass was flattened, the frost melted from his body heat, but what was worse, there were splashes of red amongst the white.

*

Simon was a soldier, he'd suffered worse injuries in the past and continued to wield his sword. He couldn't run, but he could jog. If he walked twenty paces and then jogged he would arrive soon enough. No point in being too exhausted to effect a rescue. His head was fuzzy, the pain behind his eyes making it hard to concentrate. He would never forgive himself if any harm had come to that young woman.

Despite his discomfort, his lips twitched. He loved the way her eyes flashed when she was enraged. Somehow he arrived at the slope that led down to the lake. His stomach twisted. There was no sign of either horse or rider. He was too late. He stumbled a few steps down the slope to collapse in despair.

Moments later, he recovered his wits. The ice on the surface of the water was unbroken. No drowning had taken place here. His spirits soared, the girl was safe. He hadn't caused her death by his foolhardy attempt to rescue her. Flopping back on the ground he let the dizziness take him. His many caped riding coat was warm enough; it could do no harm to rest until he regained his strength. His eyes closed and he slipped into oblivion.

*

Lydia stood up in the stirrups, surveying the horizon. There was only one place he could be—the lake. She kicked Brutus on, her heart racing. Had he staggered in a daze to the edge and tumbled down the slope to meet his death in the freezing water?

Reining in, she flung herself to the ground, the impact sending waves of pain shooting up her legs. She clung to the saddle to steady herself. 'Colonel Wescott. It is I, Miss Peterson, where are you?'

She peered down the slope and saw him lying, eyes closed, a blood-soaked cloth roughly tied around his forehead. He was unconscious.

Forgetting her former animosity, she half ran, half fell, to his side. Dropping to her knees, she placed her fingers under his chin, feeling for a pulse. Thank God! It was weak, but regular. She had no petticoats to tear to stop the flow of blood from his wound and was at a loss to know how to proceed. He was too heavy to lift so she
must
rouse him. She slithered to the edge of the water and rubbed the hem of her habit across the ice. This might help to wake him.

'Colonel Wescott? Can you hear me? You cannot remain here, it's far too cold. You will catch your death or get a congestion of the lungs.'

Gently she rubbed the dampened cloth across his face, praying it would work.

'Sir, I beg you, wake up so that I can assist you to your horse.'

His eyelids flickered and he was staring back at her.

'Thank God! Colonel Wescott, you have fallen from your horse and injured your head. I intend to get you home, but I require your cooperation.'

'Give me a moment, my head's spinning, I can't attempt to get up until I'm confident I shall remain upright. I require a few more minutes.'

'No, Colonel Wescott, you must
not
go back to sleep. Get up at once. I thought you a brave soldier. Do not lie here like a coward.' She grasped his arms and pulled him into a sitting position.

Instantly, his face paled. He turned his head to cast up his accounts. Poor man, he had a concussion. She supported him until the retching ceased.

'Colonel, you need the attention of a physician urgently. Put your arm around my shoulders and together we shall have you back home in no time.'

He was more or less unconscious but assisted as best he could. The ride back was a nightmare. She was obliged to hold him steady in order to prevent him from crashing to the cobbles. The horses seemed to understand the urgency and moved forward of their own volition. Thankfully, Pegasus was able to find her way home without difficulty.

'Jenkins, Billy, come at once. Colonel Wescott has taken a tumble and he's in a bad way.'

The clatter of boots heralded the arrival of both men, and without further ado they lifted the injured man from his saddle. It took a further two grooms to assist them in transporting him to the house. She gathered up her skirts and raced ahead to warn the household of their arrival.

Edward was down and took charge. 'You're a brave girl. My brother might well owe his life to you. Now, my dear, leave matters to me. You must take care of yourself. I shall send word to you after the doctor has visited.'

She viewed the stairs with disfavour. Her legs were leaden. Every bone in her body hurt. How was she going to climb these? She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and found a reserve of strength from somewhere to get herself back to her chambers. Martha was instantly at her side.

'My word, Miss Peterson, whatever next? Your lovely habit is quite ruined and there's blood all over it. Are you injured? Did you take a tumble?'

Lydia was too tired to explain. 'Yes, we both fell. Colonel Wescott is badly hurt but I am merely bruised. Is my bath ready? I think a long soak will soon restore me.'

An hour later she was safely in bed, hot bricks at her feet and a breakfast tray across her knees. She'd waited in vain for a message from her brother-in-law. Her appetite had deserted her but she drank the coffee, leaving the sweet rolls and honey. How could she rest without knowing how the patient did? Was his condition so dire Edward had not wished to alarm her? Then someone hurried along the passageway outside and tapped briskly on the door.

'Martha, go at once and see who it is. I'm desperate for news.'

Her brother-in-law hovered in the doorway of her bedchamber, his expression anxious. Her throat constricted; the news must be bad indeed. 'Tell me, Edward, how is the patient?'

'My dear girl, I am concerned about you. I had no idea you had fallen also. I have the physician waiting downstairs. Shall I send him to you?'

'I suffered no lasting harm, sir. I am stiff and sore but will be up and about in an hour or two. Your brother, is he better?'

'Simon's in no danger. He has a nasty gash, which has been sutured, and a slight concussion. He's being instructed to remain in bed for a few days, but knowing him he will be up tomorrow showing no ill effects from his experience.'

'Thank God! Did he tell you what happened?'

He shook his head. 'He did not, my dear. Simon says he has no recollection of the accident. I was hoping you could enlighten me. How did you come to fall as well? I can't imagine how such expert riders came to grief in this way.'

How could she tell him what had happened when she scarcely understood it herself? Far better to prevaricate and wait until she'd spoken to the colonel. 'I'm sorry, it's too distressing to talk about. I have a frightful megrim. Please forgive me. I do not feel able to continue the conversation at present.'

'Of course, my dear girl. I shall leave you to rest. Nothing matters apart from the fact that you are both relatively unharmed. Time enough to discuss the details when you're fully restored.'

She closed her eyes, her cheeks pink, waiting until he'd left the chamber to sit up. She hated to deceive him, but could not to reveal Wescott's part in the accident. She was at a loss to know what had prompted his extraordinary  behaviour. She would like go to his apartment as soon as he was well enough for visitors and ask him why he'd snatched her from the saddle. The only explanation she could think of was that he was demonstrating his superior horsemanship.

But that was a ridiculous notion. Why would a man of his years behave like a schoolboy?

'Martha, please close the shutters and draw the bed hangings. If Lady Grayson inquires for me, could you tell her that I'm sleeping? I will come and see her as soon as I awake.'

Her maid tutted under her breath, unimpressed by her deceit.

*

Simon waited impatiently for his brother to return with news of the chit. He was indebted to her. He could think of no other female of his acquaintance who could have accomplished what she had this morning.

However, it did not alter the fact that her behaviour had caused him to fall. He'd said nothing to Edward; he must get matters straight before he revealed what had actually happened.

Despite his headache, his mouth curved. He understood why his sister-in-law had been so insistent that Lydia visited whilst he was there. For some unfathomable reason, she believed the two of them could make a match. Ellen was correct; they were similar in some ways, both strong willed, preferring the outdoor life to prancing around in overheated ballrooms dressed in fine silks and satins. Lydia was as brave as a soldier, had a sharp wit and grasp of matters he'd often seen his officers fail to understand. If he was honest, he was beginning to like her very well.

The door to his bedchamber opened and Edward strolled in.

'You look a good deal better, Simon. Your pallor has receded; how is the head?' He perched on the edge of the bed. 'I'm delighted to tell you, old fellow, that the heroine of the hour insists she is only bruised. She was unable to explain how both of you came to be unseated. Perhaps you can enlighten me?'

'I had
not
intended to discuss it until I had clarified matters with her. However, I shall tell you the whole and see if you can explain the unexplainable.'

His brother listened. By the end of the tale he was, much to Simon's consternation, laughing heartily.

'Good grief! What are numbskull you are, Simon. Do you not listen to anything I tell you? Lydia is an expert horsewoman. I told you she runs a stud with her younger brother. She must have believed you were a stranger trying to abduct her. Why would she have thought you were attempting to save her from a bolting horse?'

'I cannot credit that a young woman, even someone as fearless as she, could remain sufficiently calm to deliberately tip me out of the saddle.'

'That's exactly what must have happened. There's no other logical explanation. I have no sympathy for you. If you'd broken your neck that would have served you right. However, this does not explain how Lydia came to fall.'

'When I fell, she was face down across the pommel. She must have slipped to the ground. I owe her an apology, as well as my gratitude.' He chuckled. 'She already considers me an overbearing man. I wonder how she'll greet my serving of humble pie?'

'You shall have to wait until tomorrow to find out. I'll leave you to rest. I cannot wait to tell Ellen what you did.'

His brother left him but it was difficult to sleep. Until he had made things right between himself and his rescuer and was certain she was unharmed from her fall, he would be unable to settle. He could not recall having been so agitated about a young lady before.

*

By lunchtime, Lydia was more than ready to stir. She could not speak to the colonel. Even she drew the line at visiting a gentleman in his bedchamber. She had promised her nephews a trip to Hatchards bookshop; this afternoon would be the ideal time to do so.

Her maid was in the dressing room. 'Martha, I wish to get up. I have some errands for the chambermaid to run.'

Dressed in a becoming buttercup-yellow gown, the waist fashionably high and the skirt full enough to walk with ease, she surveyed her reflection in the full-length glass. 'I do not look too bad considering what happened earlier. I shall wear the matching pelisse and kid half boots.'