One Night with a Regency Lord. Lucy Ashford

very long hours before she heard the horse and cart pull up in the yard. Two hours of nervously keeping watch at the parlour window, ready to run should Rufus Glyde reappear. And two hours of thinking of Gareth, alone and cold, lying in that ditch. He might be spotted by a labourer returning home from work, but it was unlikely that a passer-by would search the gully without reason. And by now he probably lacked the strength to attract attention. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left him? What if he caught a fever or, even worse, died? It would be all her fault. No, that isn’t fair, she countered angrily—it would be his fault. If he hadn’t stopped the coach, told such appalling lies about her and forced her to go with him, the accident would never have happened. He wouldn’t be lying badly injured and she’d be safe with her grandmother instead of stranded in this dreary inn.

      ‘I heerd you had an accident.’ Mr Skinner was as stout as his wife was thin and by good fortune lacked her chronic ill temper. He smiled pleasantly at Amelie, ‘I’m sorry I weren’t home to help, but I’ve told Will to pack up the cart with blankets and brandy and then go arsk the doctor to come quickly. When the horse is fed, Will and me will be off sharp to look for your brother.’

      ‘Thank you truly, Mr Skinner. I’m very worried about him.’ And to her own astonishment, she shed genuine tears.

      ‘Don’t you fret, miss. It’ll be all right. It’s May and the weather ain’t too bad. Happen he’ll be a little cold and mebbe in pain, but he’ll come off fine.’

      ‘Can I come with you?’

      ‘No, m’dear—best stay here. It’s getting dark and we don’t want another accident.’

      She had docilely to agree. But now that dusk had fallen, she thought it would prove difficult to locate the injured man by lantern light. If she’d been allowed to accompany the rescuers, she was sure she would have found the place easily. Instead she was forced to remain at her post by the window, scanning the darkness with such intensity that it seemed she might cut a path to Gareth through the gloom and herself bring help.

      In the first hour after Amelie left, Gareth remained cheerful. She’d had the chance to break free and he’d expected her to desert him. He was surprised that she’d even hesitated. He thought of her attempts to help him. It had been excruciatingly painful, but he’d borne with it because she’d cared enough to try and because she was near. What was it about this girl that led him to behave so rashly? She seemed to exercise a malignant charm over him. By rights he should be at ease in his London hotel, sending a message to his lawyer and planning his escape to the Continent. He supposed wryly that this was a kind of escape although hardly one he would have chosen.

      The minutes ticked slowly by and he grew colder as the sun waned and the chill of dusk settled around him. He began to fall into a troubled dream in which a card table and a chandelier swam around the periphery of his vision while a beautiful, chestnut-haired girl danced in front of him. Gradually, he lapsed into a feverish state, the dreams becoming more vivid and frightening. The girl had disappeared and the chandelier was burning his eyes. The cards rose from the table and smacked him hard around the face. Blearily he swam back into consciousness as a hand gently slapped his cheek and a homely country voice encouraged him. ‘Come on, sir, time to go. We’ll have you in the cart in a twinkling and get you back to a warm bed.’

      Mr Skinner’s plump build belied a strength that was needed to raise Gareth from the depths of the gully. Only then could Will reach down to help them both up the steep bank. Gareth was now as weak as a kitten; though he tried manfully to aid their struggle, he had to allow himself to be pulled, pushed and finally lifted from his mossy bed onto the rough boards of the cart. A twinkling had been an exaggeration, he thought, in the throes of extreme pain. At some point he must have passed out. He came to, choking on the brandy that Mr Skinner trickled down his throat. The blankets wrapping him smelt slightly fetid and the jolting of the cart sent shock pains through his leg. At last when he felt he could bear it no longer, they turned into the yard of the George Inn.

      The first face he saw was Amelie’s. He could hardly believe she was there. He’d been too dazed to think how his rescuers had found him, but now he saw he had her to thank.

      ‘You’ve found my brother,’ cried Amelie, running forwards and gratefully squeezing Mr Skinner by the hand. She hoped that Gareth was alert enough to grasp his supposed relationship. The innkeeper lifted him carefully down from the cart and, with Will’s help, carried him up to the spare room. Gareth was no lightweight and Will could only gasp between breaths that the doctor would be with them presently. Once in the room, Gareth sank, pallid-faced, onto the bed.

      With difficulty, he turned to Mr Skinner, and murmured in a faint voice, ‘My sister and I are most grateful for your kindness in coming to our aid.’

      She was thankful for his quick thinking. If he’d repudiated the relationship, she was sure that Mrs Skinner would have instantly ejected her from the inn, darkness or no darkness.

      After the doctor had visited his new patient and made his examination, she crept quietly back into Gareth’s room.

      ‘What’s the verdict?’ she asked anxiously.

      He looked up slowly and smiled. It was the warm smile she’d seen in the London inn. That seemed a million miles away now.

      ‘I haven’t broken the ankle, thank the lord, but I’ve sprained it badly and I’m likely to be laid up for a good few days. The doctor’s left me a draught for the pain and he’ll come back the day after tomorrow to change the bandages.’

      She could only smile in response. She felt tongue tied, badly shaken by how intense her relief had been when Gareth was carried into the inn courtyard and how sharp her distress at seeing him in pain. Powerful feelings had surfaced despite her effort to control them. There was an awkward silence. The painkilling draught was already having its effects and Gareth lay dozing. She was about to tiptoe out of the room, when his voice stopped her in her tracks.

      ‘I should say thank-you.’

      ‘There’s no need,’ she said quickly.

      ‘You could have taken your revenge by leaving me to my fate.’

      ‘I am not dishonest,’ she said squarely, ‘and neither am I heartless. You’d suffered a misfortune and needed help. I would have done the same for anyone.’

      ‘You could have told them here of the accident and then gone on your way. You need not have stayed.’

      His smile had vanished and his voice was almost brusque. It was as if he resented her help, resented being put in a situation where he was beholden.

      ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be staying long,’ she said in a cool voice, ‘just tonight and then I’ll be gone.’

      ‘Where will you sleep? This seems to be the only spare room.’

      ‘I’m to share a chamber with Betsy—the kitchen maid.’

      ‘Good,’ he said mysteriously.

      She couldn’t see anything good about it. She’d never shared a bedroom in her life and a kitchen maid would not have been her chosen companion. A more worldly-wise Gareth was satisfied. If she were indeed the innocent young woman she claimed to be, then Betsy’s chaperonage would be invaluable.

      ‘No doubt I’ll see you in the morning before you leave?’ His tone was indifferent; it was clear that he was dismissing her and preferred to be alone.

      ‘If you wish,’ she replied distantly.

      He closed his eyes in weariness, looking so ill and worn that she instantly regretted her coldness. She would have to leave on the morrow as she’d promised, but a small inner voice was urging her to stay and make sure that he recovered fully. The thought was dismissed even as it occurred. It was impossible to remain at the inn; she’d spent the entire day evading his unwelcome attentions, so what on earth would he think if she continued by his bedside?