Chapter Two
Though Emma knew the accident that had befallen the gentleman wasn’t her fault, she still felt a stab of fear.
Good lord. He’d lost his memory! Or part of it, anyway. He must have bumped his handsome head much harder on the road’s uneven surface than she’d realized. Perhaps there’d been a rock or a cobble sticking out. Should she search through his hair for a wound?
Why was the thought of touching him once more so appealing?
“Damnation!” He broke free of her grip and tried to jump down again, but the carrier stepped in front of him.
“Will you be quiet now, zur?” Marshman suggested, brandishing his stick.
Their unhappy prisoner stilled, cleared his throat, and said, “Would a handful of coin not dissuade you? I have a full purse in my waistcoat.”
Emma wondered again why he was so desperate to get on with his journey. Surely, he could wait until he returned to his proper senses? Until he remembered his own name, at least?
Marshman said, “You can keep your money, zur, unless you wish to pay me for your passage back to the Four Swans. I’m an honest fellow, always have been, and I don’t take no incentives from no gentry. If Miss Hibbert says you have to go to the Four Swans, then that’s where ye shall go.”
The man’s broad shoulders slumped. “It seems I have no choice but to sit tight for the present,” he said, “but if my day’s business is ruined because of this, expect retribution.”
“Hardly the words of a gentleman,” Emma replied, frowning.
“Since you have pointed out—despite several clues to the contrary—that you are not a lady, I shan’t apologize.”
“I don’t know why we’re bothering to help you,” she said, glaring at him.
“I don’t want your help,” the stranger replied, capturing her gaze. He refused to look away and raised his elegant eyebrows in challenge.
How rude! She had a sudden image of this grand gentleman soaked in cider as she emptied one of Marshman’s barrels over his head, and couldn’t help a secret smile. Her antagonist’s frown faded, and he gave her a searching look that made her cheeks heat.
Before she could question her reaction, Marshman leaped back into the driver’s seat, and the heavily laden cart lurched back to life. As it made an awkward turn to head back the way they’d come, the man’s face paled, and she eased her skirts away from him, just in case.
The journey back to the Four Swans was completed in bristling silence. The gentleman’s hands clenched every time they rattled over a pothole, but he spoke not a word of complaint.
The rain eased, and a light breeze sprang up. She adjusted her bonnet and tried to brush her skirts down. Whatever would her new employers think of her arriving in such a state?
Maybe it was for the best. She wanted them to think she was from the lower orders of society. Yes, a gentlewoman of some learning. But a descendant of a noble family fallen on hard times? No. It was too humiliating. Besides, she didn’t want to give away anything that would harm the standing of her parents. There was still a chance their fortunes might recover…wasn’t there?
More than anything, she wanted to preserve Tresham Hall. She loved its rambling passageways and corridors, the warm red of the brickwork, the overgrown gardens and espaliered fruit trees, and the pervasive scent of wood smoke. She would miss it intensely, desperate for her half-day off to arrive so she could hurry back for a visit. Assuming she could make it there and back in half a day. She’d chosen to accept the post at the Keanes’ because they lived far enough away to know nothing of her situation or background. Visiting would be much harder as winter closed in.
If only she had taken during her Season, before the “Year without a Summer” ruined everything! A wealthy husband would have wholly revived the family’s fortunes. But she’d been awkward, she’d been shy, and just too well-educated. And there was always some girl prettier, more biddable, more prepared to simper at a gentleman. Whereas she… Well, she just couldn’t stomach the vacuous nonsense that filled most young ladies’ heads. Or the gentlemen who fell for such drivel.
She wanted a man with whom she could talk on an equal footing. Someone who’d discuss classical authors with her, and poetry, and the state of the factories. She wanted a man who’d explain more about the war against Napoleon and have ideas on how best to deal with the hardships assailing Britain in its aftermath. Above all, she wanted a man she could respect, and one who could, just by walking into a room, light it up for her like a beacon.
But no gentleman she’d met approved of ladies indulging in meaningful conversation. A lady was meant to be purely decorative.
Unfortunately, in the eyes of the ton she would be anything but that. She was unfashionably tall and had chestnut hair instead of guinea gold curls. Her eyes, in repose, could be described in no more romantic a term than…brown. Her darling brother, George, had once praised the animation of her face, the dazzling beauty of her smile, and the mischievous light that gave hazel glints to her eyes. She assumed he’d just been teasing.
Then had come that one brief moment of hope. Elias Hartley, Earl of Overcrich, had singled her out for his attention. Elias Hartley, the youngest, most devilishly handsome bachelor of the ton.
The man who had humiliated her, broken her heart, and sworn her off attractive, magnetically appealing dandies forever.
The gossips had loved the debacle, the obvious courtship that had connected her name with his, when all the while he was engaged to someone else. Why had no one taken pity and told her? He was bored, his affianced was stuck in France, struggling to find a ship to bring her home, and he needed the company of an adoring female.
Several females—as she’d subsequently discovered, just to rub salt into the wound. But none of the others as innocent or naïve as herself. She’d emerged from the affair bruised, scarred, and unable to trust anyone who mingled with the upper echelons of Society.
But most particularly, handsome, perfectly formed, supremely self-confident gentlemen. They were all vain, selfish, unkind, and totally unreliable.
Why was she thinking about all this now? She’d set out for her new life in a much more optimistic frame of mind, even pondering that if she succeeded well at being a governess, she could run her own school one day, using the unoccupied rooms at Tresham. Then the house would never be at risk of being sold.
That dream seemed to have melted away in the rain. It didn’t help that a cloud of gloom surrounded the stranger wedged between her box and the other side of the wagon. It was impressive how a person could convey so much disapproval simply through the way they breathed, and fidgeted, and tilted their head at one. He was determined to unsettle her, the odious creature. And he was making her retrace her steps when she needed to be moving onward.
Despite his tousled appeal and good looks—and more probably because of them—she couldn’t wait to be rid of the man.
Thus it was a huge relief when the Four Swans finally came into view, with its cheerfully lighted windows and smoke wafting from its chimneys. It would be a good thing if she were to go inside and dry out a bit before resuming her journey, but that would make them even later.
Carrier Marshman dealt with the deposition of the disobliging gentleman at the inn. Emma hovered, keeping her face averted, while the landlord was instructed not to let the stranger leave until he’d eaten—and kept his meal down—and shown himself able to walk the length of the inn without staggering or getting lost.
And—most important—remembered what his name was.
Her unwilling traveling companion departed from her with a baleful glare on his aristocratic face, and not a single word of thanks. And reinforcing her low opinion of handsome aristocrats.
She gritted her teeth. She’d done the right thing. If George were here, he’d definitely approve. And the stranger’s injury was not her fault but his own—if he hadn’t been careering about on his stallion at breakneck speed on a wet day, he would never have been thrown from his horse. She and Marshman were not responsible for the skittishness of his mount, and they’d done everything they could thereafter to help.
Well, good riddance to him, ungrateful beast. She almost wished she might meet him again when he was feeling better, to give him a piece of her mind. That would put a flush on his noble cheekbones, and no mistake!
She looked up at the rain-drenched skies, and a feeling of impending doom settled over her. What if he turned out to be someone terribly important, like an earl, or even a duke?
Whatever her feelings about High Society, it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy of a powerful person. Not now, with her family in such a vulnerable financial position. So, for the sake of everything she held dear, she fervently hoped she’d never see the man again.