To Catch a Husband.... Sarah Mallory

over the low parapet at the turgid water.

      ‘I should not like to fall in there today,’ remarked Mrs Midgley. ‘The rains have swollen the stream so much it is in danger of overflowing its banks.’

      ‘It has certainly flooded on this side,’ said her husband, who had walked to the edge of the bridge and was prodding the grass with his cane. ‘The ground is sodden here.’

      Mrs Midgley followed her husband to where the cobbles of the bridge ended and the grassy track began.

      ‘Well, we have to get across,’ she said prosaically.

      She laid her hand on her husband’s arm and put one foot on the track. Immediately she sank ankle-deep into the mud.

      ‘Oh, good heavens!’ cried Mrs Midgley, picking up her skirts and stepping quickly back on to the cobbles. ‘The ground is a quagmire. We cannot walk on that!’

      ‘I am afraid we have no choice, my dear,’ cried her spouse.

      They watched as he strode purposefully forwards to the carriage, his feet sinking into the ground until the mud came halfway up his top-boots. When he finally reached the road he turned and looked back rather helplessly.

      ‘Well, what else are we to do, my love? The carriage is on this side now, so we must cross somehow.’ Daniel Blackwood stepped forward. ‘Allow me, mistress.’ In one easy movement he scooped Mrs Midgley into his arms and carried her across the muddy stretch, setting her gently on her feet beside her husband, where she stood, a little red-cheeked and flustered by such cavalier treatment.

      ‘Oh, well done, my boy!’ cried Mr Midgley, clapping his hands. ‘Now if you will do the same by Miss Wythenshawe we will be on our way.’

      Kitty’s throat tightened in alarm. That big brute of a man was bearing down upon her, a look of unholy enjoyment in his eyes. She looked at the mud and wondered if she dared run through it, but the thought of ruining her new half-boots and very likely muddying both her walking dress and her petticoats was too horrific to bear. Her dark tormentor stood before her, grinning.

      ‘Well, Miss Wythenshawe, if tha’s ready?’

      She bit her lip and nodded. The sensation of being swept off her feet left Kitty feeling giddy and very helpless. She was held tightly against the man’s chest, her face only inches from his jaw, so close that she could see the black stubble on his cheek and smell the damp wool of his greatcoat. As he turned his feet slipped a little on the cobbles and her hands flew up around his neck. His arms tightened even more. He held her firmly but he was not crushing her, yet for some reason she found it difficult to breathe. Her heart was pounding erratically, thudding against her ribs as if trying to escape her body. She had a sudden and inexplicable desire to lean her head against the man’s shoulder. She had to admit it looked very inviting, and reassuringly wide. She realised that this was a situation she had dreamed of, a chivalrous knight coming to the rescue of a beautiful maiden. Only in her dreams her hero was a fair, handsome young knight, one deserving of his reward, not a big, brutish oaf with no manners. She peeped up at the strong, rather hawkish face of her rescuer, noting the long black lashes around his eyes, his straight nose and the smooth curve of his lips. Suddenly, surprisingly, Kitty found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

      He glanced down at that moment and she found herself staring into those dark eyes, unable to look away. For one alarming moment she thought he had read her mind and that he would actually kiss her. She was in his arms and completely at his mercy. Her heart raced. A moment’s heady excitement was followed quickly by panic. To cover her confusion she said crossly, ‘Pray do not hold me so tightly. You are crushing my dress.’

      He chuckled.

      His amusement only served to increase her discomfiture. She said angrily, ‘I vow I cannot breathe! Loosen your hold, you oaf!’

      The black brows snapped together and a dangerous gleam flared in his eyes. He released his grip on her legs and she gave a little cry as her feet touched the sodden ground.

      ‘Ee, lass, seems I lost my grip on thee.’ Her tormentor still had an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. She managed to free one hand and brought it up to his grinning face with a slap.

      ‘How dare you do that to a lady?’

      He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. Then, very deliberately, he let her go. She gave a shriek, her arms tightening around his neck as she tried to lift her feet from the mud. Calmly he reached up and pulled her hands away and she was obliged to stand, the cold muddy water oozing around her ankles and into her boots.

      ‘If that wants trettin’ like a lady,’ he growled, ‘then that mun act like one.’

      And with that he turned and walked to the carriage.

      Kitty lifted her sodden skirts and pulled one foot clear of the sticky, cloying mud. With slow, unsteady steps she made her way to the road, biting her lip in rage and mortification. She had been very rude, to be sure, but how dare he drop her in the water? She looked down at her feet. Her new boots were ruined and instead of a jaunty yellow decoration around the hem of her walking dress, the bottom six inches of her skirts glistened with slick brown mud.

      When Kitty reached the road she was too upset to speak and after scraping the worst of the mud from her boots and stockings she climbed silently into the carriage, biting her lip while Mrs Midgley clucked and fidgeted around her like a mother hen.

      Daniel looked down at his legs. His topboots were almost completely covered in mud and it had splashed up over his buckskins. He walked to the edge of the ford to wash the worst of the dirt away before climbing back into the carriage. Mr Midgley gave the word and they set off again. The atmosphere inside the carriage was distinctly uncomfortable. Daniel looked at the young woman huddled in the corner: she was staring out of the window, her jaw set hard. He saw her blink rapidly and guessed that she was trying not to cry.

      ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quietly. ‘Miss Wythenshawe, I—’

      ‘Now, now, my boy, you did your best,’ put in Mr Midgley. ‘I did not see quite what happened, as I was helping my wife into the coach, but I am sure it could not be helped. We must be thankful that one of our ladies at least was carried safely across the mud. I have no doubt Miss Wythenshawe is most grateful for your efforts, isn’t that so, my dear?’

      Daniel saw the little chin tremble. Miss Wythenshawe averted her face but he could not mistake the bitterness in her voice when she replied.

      ‘Mr Blackwood’s efforts will not be forgotten.’

      ‘There, now, all’s well, you see.’ Mr Midgley beamed around the carriage. ‘Once the mud has dried, we can clean it off and your boots and your gown will be as good as new!’

      Daniel sat back, closing his lips against further comment. Mrs Midgley did not look convinced by her husband’s cheerful assurances and as for Miss Wythenshawe, she kept her gaze fixed firmly upon the passing landscape. He leaned forwards, his hand going out to her.

      ‘Perhaps you will allow me to—’

      ‘Pray do not touch me!’ she said icily. ‘I think you have done quite enough damage today!’

      Daniel drew back immediately. He had been about to offer to pay for a new gown, but it was quite clear the young woman wanted nothing further to do with him. Stifling a sigh of exasperation, Daniel turned to stare out of the window beside him, praying that his nightmare journey would soon be over.

       Chapter Two

      The carriage slowed to negotiate a winding village street and Daniel sat up, relieved to recognise the familiar buildings.

      ‘Hestonroyd.’ He turned to Mr Midgley. ‘This will do for me, sir, if you would direct your driver to stop.’

      Mr Midgley pulled the check-string and Daniel jumped down. He bowed and offered his thanks to Mr and Mrs Midgley but when he touched his hat to Miss Wythenshawe she merely hunched her