Taffeta & Hotspur (21 page)

Myriah’s temper was as hot as her
excitable father’s. However, she had enough control left to contain
her fire. She knew her father to be in the right of it, at least,
his right of it. From where he stood things must look bad, and when
he was in a temper, there was no curbing his highhandedness. If she
were to save the situation, she must act rationally. She calmed
herself, knowing that to defy him now would not serve.

“
Very well, Papa … if you
will but give me a moment to tidy myself, I shall be very happy to
accompany you to the ballroom and hear my engagement to Sir Roland
announced.”

Sir Roland’s eyes flickered and flew
to her face. What was the chit about? ’Twas not like her to concede
so easily.

His lordship, on the other hand,
thought too much of his authority over his daughter to question her
sudden submission. He grunted and allowed her to pass.

Myriah raced up the back stairs and
avoided the interested servants as she made her way to her room.
She would have to act quickly or be undone, for once such an
announcement was made her father would never make a retraction.
Indeed, she felt even she could not weather such a
scandal.

“
Papa, oh dear Papa,” she
said to herself sadly as she rushed about her room, flung off her
elegant gown, and donned instead a smartly cut riding habit of dark
blue velvet. Her father, beloved, doting, and kind, could be
terribly steadfast in his decisions, especially when his sense of
propriety had been ruffled. The only way to prevent doom was to
absent herself. She flung two gowns into a small portmanteau,
scurried about for her toiletries, pulled on her riding boots, and
without another glance made her way, portmanteau in hand, to the
back stairway.

The sounds of servants rushing about
with food trays, wasping at each other in their haste, caused her
to slow down cautiously. She must not be seen. Another movement
brought her to the side door of their fashionable London town
house, and a moment later she was breathing in the night
air.

With a hurry born of need, she made
the three blocks to the Whitney stables unseen, for there was but
one thing she could do and one place she could go: to her
grandfather at Guildford House.

The extensive Whitney stables loomed
out of the darkness. It was late, well past ten, and she was
certain most of the livery boys would be in bed. She pulled on the
wide wooden latch, lifted it out of its catch, and swung the door
gently open.

“
Who’s that?” came the gruff
voice of a small man ambling toward her. The stables were dimly
lit, and he pushed the candleholder in his hand toward the
intruder’s face.

“
M’lady!” he cried out in
surprise.

“
Hush, Tabby,” Myriah
whispered, putting one gloved finger to her lips. “I need your
help, old friend.”

He squinted at her intently, his dark
eyes noting her disheveled attire. He scratched his short gray
hair, and his mouth moved dourly. “Eh, now, child, what ye got
yeself into this time?”

“
Oh, Tabby, there is no time
to explain now. Just trust me and help me saddle my horse
immediately, and, Tab, I will ride astride!”

“
Hold now, m’girl,” said the
groom authoritatively. “You ain’t thinking of riding out at this
time of night?”

“
Oh, Tabby, please—just
saddle Silkie for me. We need to hurry. If we don’t escape I shall
be undone!”

There was no denying the note of
desperation in his lady’s voice. He had mounted Myriah on her first
pony. He had served her as he had served and adored her mother, but
he was not beneath putting a spoke in her wheel to save her from
herself. He hesitated. “First you best tell me what’s got you
running.”

“
Papa means to marry me to
Sir Roland … He is in a temper, Tabby, and there is no gainsaying
him. I must go to Grandpapa.”

“
That won’t serve, m’lady.
It’ll set up your father’s bristles, it will.”

“
If you care for me, get my
horse, Tab—please!” Then, with a bit more authority, she added,
“Now—or I shall do it myself.” Myriah was out of
patience.

Tabson grumbled but disappeared into
the darkness while Myriah fidgeted, fearing her father’s explosion
on the scene. Perhaps he would not realize for a time, but then he
would send up a maid to fetch her, and then … her absence would be
reported, and he would have to say she had gone to bed
ill.

In what seemed interminable but was
actually a short time, Tabby returned with his lady’s horse and a
saddled roan for himself.

“
Tabby, what do you think
you’re doing?”

“
I be going wit ye! Not the
devil ’imself could stop me!” announced her groom as he watched her
cinch her saddle in place and hoist herself nimbly onto her
horse.

She laughed. “Now, Tabby, I have to
tell you that you should fear my powers a bit more than the
devil’s.” She laughed again and added, “I’ve a notion to let you
come—so be it!”

She flung him a purse containing a
tidy sum and led the way, cooing to her glossy, quiet stallion as
she urged him onto the cobbled street. His ears flicked at the
sound of her voice. A breeze caressed her cheeks, and Myriah
laughed a wild, unbridled laugh. She was free—at least for the
moment.

~ Two ~

AS THEY PICKED their way through the
narrow streets toward Charing Cross, Myriah’s eyes were bright with
excitement. Even the thought that London at this time of night was
not safe for a well-armed man, let alone a young woman, could not
disturb her spirits.

“’
Tis a wild ride we ’ave
ahead of us, m’lady,” Tabson said sourly.

“
Ain’t it grand, Tab?
Imagine! Riding on the open road with not a soul to say us
nay!”

“
Humph … providing no
bridle-cull spots us,” returned the groom
pessimistically.

“
And if he does, we’ll give
him our trinkets and be on our way—’tis nothing!” said the lady,
snapping her finger for emphasis and laughing at the thought of
such an escapade.

A company of merry gentlemen stumbled
out of a tavern singing quite loudly, out of tune and not at all
concerned with this deficiency. They spotted Myriah and called out
robustly for her to stop awhile. She chuckled but kept up her proud
chin, urging her horse to move at a faster pace.

“
Humph!” grumbled Tabby. At
last they reached the toll-gate. After watching Tabby attend to the
fee, Myriah gave her horse his head. They bounded forward in rhythm
with one another, and Myriah’s restlessness lost itself in speed.
How she loved riding freely.

Tabby caught up after some effort and
called to his mistress to slow her horse into a canter. “Don’t be
all hell and fire, m’lady … leastways not in the dark! Ye’ll be
planting yerself in some rut or other and giving that stallion ye
say ye love so much a strained fetlock!”

She laughed but did indeed ease her
spirited horse into a slower gait. After the docile rides in Hyde
Park, this carefree exercise created euphoria, banishing Myriah’s
concern.

Tabson felt it incumbent upon himself
to bring his mistress to a sense of reality and dispel the
sweetness of her fantasy with his gruff practicality. “’Twill not
serve, m’lady, and well ye know.”

“
Hush, Tab, I won’t have you
growling at me.” Myriah laughed.

“
Growl, is it?” said the
man, sticking out his lower lip. “And what will ye be calling it
when yer papa bowls down upon us at Guildford House?”

Myriah sighed, and a slight crease
marred her brow. “Oh dear … he will do so, I suppose.”

“
Hang me if he doesn’t! Then
what will ye say? Fine set-to there will be!”

“
Oh, Tabby, I never thought
of that. Papa will be angry to be sure, but he and grandpapa are
good friends …”

“
Humph! Lord Guildford will
take your side in the matter, and it’s plain as pikestaff yer papa
is bound to take umbrage. A rare set-to there will be!” grumbled
the elderly man.

Myriah’s frown deepened. “Oh, Tab, you
are taking too doleful a look at the whole thing. I shall fix
things up right and tight. See if I don’t!”

To this her groom had little to say.
However, he continued to mumble incoherently. Myriah lost her
patience and moved her horse forward, leaving Tab some distance
behind her.

When they reached Tunbridge Wells, the
horses were watered and rested for a few minutes. Then once again
they set south on the main pike. The adventure had lost its initial
thrill for Myriah, and her mind was now busy with the problems
facing her. There was Sir Roland, who surely would be upset. She
had done him an injustice leaving as she had, allowing him to
believe she had acquiesced to her father’s outrageous plan. But
then, she had not missed his expression, which told her he had not
been completely fooled. But Papa—there was no telling what he might
do, though she was fairly certain he would post down to her
grandfather’s in the morning … and then there would be a
scene.

The road meandered past rich green
farms and through meadowlands boasting of spring wildflowers, whose
scent was carried on the growing breeze. The aroma infiltrated her
senses, and for a moment she just breathed it in and sighed.
Feeling rejuvenated, Myriah said, “Just look about at all this
glory.”

“
Look at what, m’lady?”
asked her astonished groom as he came up alongside her. “What can
ye see in the darkness? ’Tis half-daft to try!”

“
Oh, Tabby, don’t vex me so!
I can see … with my mind’s eye, and I do so love Kent!”

“
Aye!” Tabson agreed,
relenting, for it had been his home as well, and he too was
heartily sick of town life.

They maintained a steady pace for the
next half hour without speaking. In her haste Myriah had neglected
to put on a riding hat, and her fiery ringlets had tumbled down
upon her shoulders. The breeze was stronger now and whipped the
long, thick locks across her cheeks. With an exasperated sigh she
reined in, pulled off a glove, and pinned back the wayward
tresses.

Tabson looked up at the sky and
mumbled a complaint that made Myriah raise her eyes heavenward. “Oh
dear …”

Clouds had gathered and obscured the
moon’s glow, and a low mist had set in and seemed to be getting
thicker. They had been on the road for nearly three hours, and
Myriah knew their horses would soon need a proper rest.

“
We are nearly there, are we
not, Tabby?” She pulled a face and added, “This mist is dreadful. I
can barely see ten feet in front of me.”

“
Humph,” agreed her
companion.

For the next thirty minutes they
continued, the silence punctuated now and then by an unladylike
exclamation when Myriah found herself off road and in the thicket.
At last a fingerpost loomed up at the crossroad, and she rode up to
the narrow white wood.

“
Dymchurch three miles—oh,
no, Tab,” Myriah exclaimed. “We must have taken the wrong
turnoff—we are heading in the wrong direction.”

“
Humph. Thought the air a
bit too salty. Nothing for it, m’lady. We’ll have to take the coast
road. It cuts through the marshlands farther down, and we can
follow the river a bit to Northiam.”

“
Oh, Tabby, I am so tired.
We’ve been traveling for hours—how much longer do you think it’s
going to take?”

He scratched his head. “One … maybe
two hours if this mist holds up.”

“
One or two hours! Why, it
must be past two in the morning. Good lord.”

“
Best be moving on, m’lady.
Dymchurch be no place for lingering at night.”

“
Why?” asked Myriah,
surprised.

“
Because it
ain’t!”

She was too weary to press him further
and this time allowed him to lead the way.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the
mist vanished, and only the dewy grass and moist bushes retained
evidence of its earlier visitation. Low, flat, and marshy lands
were dark and eerily foreboding in the blackness.

The road was lined by narrow dikes,
glistening rills, and shadows that teased Myriah’s imagination. She
spurred her horse forward, passing her groom. A chill and strange
sensation seized and swept through her. All at once, the eerie
feeling made her pull her horse up short, sure that she had heard
something …

Tabby halted his horse directly behind
her and leaned forward in his saddle. “What be that?”

“
Hush,” commanded his
mistress, listening intently.

Again the sound came to her ears, and
this time she could identify it. A horse—it was the snort of a lone
horse. She squinted through the darkness, zeroing in on a clump of
evergreens and shaggy bushes. There—she saw it! The animal had
shaken its head, and she caught the movement, following the line
down the horse’s nose to a dark clump at its hooves.

“
Oh no, Tab!” Myriah uttered
worriedly, her heart racing.

She couldn’t really see, and yet
instinct—a certain ‘feeling’—told her someone lay injured beside
the horse. Without another word she closed the distance to the
object of her interest, slid off Silkie, and went down on her knees
beside a young man.