Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel. Mary Brendan

a couch. Then, reaching for a cushion, he gently settled the boy’s head on to it and smoothed back the ragged mud-spattered hair from the grimy face.

      After some moments the reluctant innkeeper, followed by Tiptree, hobbled into the room carrying a bowl of hot water and a towel.

      ‘My eyesight baint too good, sir,’ she wheezed, as she dipped one corner of the linen into the water. She was about to attempt to bathe the boy’s forehead when Sandford took the cloth from her and proceeded to wipe the filthy brow himself.

      ‘We’re soldiers ourselves, ma’am,’ he explained, as he examined the ugly swelling which could now be clearly seen on the boy’s temple. ‘I’ve had to deal with many such incidents—aye, and worse,’ he added, almost to himself. Then, ‘Could you rake up some victuals, do you think? Cold pie or bread and cheese will amply suffice.’

      He turned to Tiptree, who was examining the patient for broken bones. ‘Well, Tip, what have we got, do you think? Is the boy done for?’

      ‘Shouldn’t think so, Guv,’ said that worthy cheerfully. ‘Thing is, though, what we have here ain’t exactly a boy!’ He pointed to the unbuttoned shirt, beneath which the beribboned top of a cotton camisole could be clearly seen.

      ‘Good God!’ exploded Sandford, stepping back in dismay. ‘Cover him—her up, Tiptree, for God’s sake!’

      He snatched a rug from a nearby chair and together they made a half-hearted attempt to make their patient decent as she gradually stirred and focused a pair of dazed green eyes upon them.

      ‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she protested faintly and tried to sit up. ‘Oh, my head! Wh-where am I—what has happened—who are you?’ She fell back on the cushion in pain and confusion, gripping the rug tightly to her chin as she regarded her rescuers with understandable apprehension.

      Sandford stared down at the girl in frowning consternation. No rough serving wench, as he immediately realised on hearing her voice, but surely no young lady of any breeding would appear in public, wearing such shocking attire?

      ‘You must forgive us, ma’am,’ he said curtly. ‘You were hurt at the roadside—we brought you here—thinking you to be a boy!’

      The girl flushed slightly, but a wan smile crossed her face. ‘Yes, well—I am in disguise, you see—could you help me up, do you think?’ She swung her breeched legs gingerly to the ground and Tiptree grabbed her arm as she swayed forward.

      ‘Oh, dear,’ she groaned. ‘I seem not to be quite myself—perhaps I should sit for a moment or two.’

      Sandford controlled his impatience with difficulty as the girl stared up at him in silent expectation, waiting, he supposed, for him to make the first move.

      ‘Allow me to present myself, ma’am,’ he eventually managed. ‘Sandford of Beldale at your service—Tiptree here is my man. You must forgive my haste—but I am on most urgent business and I have no time to waste, so I beg you to acquaint me with your destination and I shall see to it that you return home as quickly as possible.’

      ‘Oh, no! You don’t understand!’ the girl retorted crossly, as she once again attempted to rise. ‘I have run away—they were trying to force me to marry—Did you say Sandford?’ She looked up at him, amazement in her voice. ‘Not Colonel Sandford? But yes! I can see that you are indeed he!’

      She was, at once, on her feet and staring hard at his countenance.

      ‘I can claim that honour, ma’am,’ Sandford replied stiffly, ‘but you have the advantage—should I know you?’

      ‘Well, you hardly would—even if you remembered—in this outfit,’ countered the young lady, deftly straightening her clothing. ‘Allow me to introduce myself—Harriet Cordell—Sir Jonathan was my father—you will not have forgotten him, I’m sure.’ She looked at him confidently.

      Sandford nodded slowly. ‘No, indeed. Our paths crossed many times in Spain. So you are Major Jon’s daughter?’

      He surveyed the grubby apparition before him and Harriet had the grace to blush.

      ‘But what scrape is this that you are in? Your parents settled in Lincolnshire, as I recollect? How do you come to be in Leicestershire—and in this rig? Is it some sort of wager?’

      ‘No. It is as I said—I have run away from my home. I took the stableboy’s clothing and left yesterday morning before the house was up. I have walked miles and miles and I slept last night in a hayloft after the owner had put the horses to bed!’

      She looked about her in sudden concern. ‘Did you recover my bundle? My purse and gown are in it—I don’t see it here.’

      Sandford glanced at Tiptree, who shook his head. ‘We had our hands full with you, miss,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’ll go back down the road and take a look, sir, shall I—but I doubt it’ll still be there. It’s a busy road.’

      At the nod from his master he left the room.

      Just then the landlady re-entered, bearing a tray of refreshments, which Sandford, stepping forward, took from her hands, at the same time sending a warning frown to Harriet to remain silent.

      ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Our patient has recovered. This fare will set us up and we will all be on our way without delay. Here’s for your trouble.’

      He pressed some coins into her hand, ushered her out of the door and returned to the table. Selecting some of the cold pie and a piece of chicken, he handed the plate to Harriet and instructed her to eat the food.

      ‘And no missish airs, if you please,’ he commanded sternly. ‘A seasoned campaigner, such as you are, will be well used to eating what’s to hand. You spent your youth in the train, I collect?’ He helped himself to some food and sat down at the table, regarding her with undisguised curiosity as he ate.

      ‘I admit to having little appetite,’ Harriet acquiesced politely. ‘And I do have the most throbbing headache, but I shall do my best to take some nourishment. We—Mama and I—learned that lesson in the Peninsula. As you say, we often travelled with the baggage-train, along with the other wives and families. Our quarters were generally quite good, however, and we had our abigail, Martha, with us. Papa went out to Gibraltar when I was tiny and, of course, we went with him, for we had always stayed together …’ Her voice trembled slightly and she took a sip from the glass he had poured for her, pulling a face.

      ‘Ugh! Porter! I could never become accustomed to that!’

      She was immediately comforted by the sight of his quick grin and covertly studied her rescuer. Throughout her childhood she had listened in awe to the many tales of his daring exploits, so was intrigued and, she had to admit, not a little

      nervous at meeting her one-time hero at such close quarters. She recollected having been presented to him at a ball in Lisbon, but this had been in her youth and she doubted that the great man would recall such an insignificant incident.

      Having cast off both his driving-coat and jacket, Sandford was now in his shirtsleeves, riding breeches and top boots, all of which displayed his good shoulders and strong limbs to advantage. Although not precisely handsome, the viscount was blessed with regular features, crisp brown hair and a pair of steady grey eyes with which he now sat and frowningly surveyed her as she nibbled at her pie.

      There was a tap at the door and Tiptree entered, empty-handed. Harriet jumped up and started forward.

      ‘Oh, no! Don’t say you could not find it! Now I am in the suds!’ She spun round to face Sandford. ‘I wonder, sir—could I prevail upon you to advance me some money? I need to get to the staging post, you see. I am going to seek out my grandfather. I am sure he will help me …’ She broke off lamely. ‘What must you think of me? I will tell you the whole, if you can spare me your time?’

      Sandford sighed resignedly. ‘My business is most pressing, to be sure, but I cannot just walk out and leave