Page 16 of An Earl Most Inconvenient (Regency Mishaps #2)

CHAPTER 16

“ I think we shall have fine sport today, gentlemen,” Tristan declared. He clambered up onto his horse and watched as the other gentlemen in the group did the same. The horses were skittish with excitement now; he was sure they were all intelligent enough to know what was coming next. He thought, in fact, that horses were more intelligent than some people of his acquaintance.

The crisp autumn air was alive with anticipation as the sun cast its golden light over the sprawling grounds of Tristan’s estate and he felt a moment of pride as he surveyed the scene. The trees, adorned in shades of amber and crimson, whispered secrets to the wind, while the sound of the hounds barking filled the atmosphere with excitement. Tristan was excited for the hunt to get underway.

Before long, the hunt leader blew his horn, a piercing sound that cut through the hubbub of noise. The hounds bayed in eager anticipation, and the gentlemen, all mounted on their horses, sat upright, ready to start. The thrill of the chase was palpable.

“Ready yourself, Pembroke,” Tristan called over his shoulder, his voice laced with a teasing challenge. “I expect you to keep up this time. Last season, I nearly caught the fox while you were busy admiring the scenery.” He felt a sudden desire to outdo the man who had upset Diana so much, but he tried to quash the thought. It was not sensible to take thoughts of revenge out onto a hunt, and it was even less sensible, he thought, to be thinking about Diana at this particular moment in time.

Lord Pembroke gave a lopsided grin as he adjusted his grip on the reins. “I merely took a moment to appreciate the beauty of nature, Everton. You know, not all of us are driven solely by the thrill of the hunt.” He nudged his chestnut stallion forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I assure you, today will be different. I intend to give you a run for your money.”

With a shared glance of camaraderie, the two gentlemen spurred their horses into action, galloping side by side as they dashed into the woods, the sound of hooves thundering on the ground and the hounds’ eager cries echoing behind them. The thrill of the chase surged through Tristan’s veins, the fresh air invigorating as they wove through the trees, laughter and shouts mixing with the calls of the hunt. Each leap over a fallen log and each turn through the underbrush brought them closer to the quarry. Tristan felt, if only for a fleeting moment, as if he could leave the burdens of the expectations of society behind him.

As the hunt progressed, the excitement reached a fever pitch, with hounds yipping and the scent of the fox guiding the riders deeper into the woods. Lord Pembroke, riding with a reckless abandon that was both exhilarating and dangerous, urged his stallion forward, his laughter ringing out as he leaned low over the horse's neck, ducking to avoid a low branch.

But in a moment of distraction, his foot slipped from the stirrup, and the stallion, startled by a sudden rustle in the underbrush, reared up violently. Pembroke was thrown off balance, his grip faltering as he was unceremoniously tossed to the ground, tumbling amidst the swirling leaves and twigs. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he landed hard on the forest floor, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs and leaving him momentarily dazed.

Tristan, who had been a few paces behind, witnessed the entire calamity unfold in horror. Without a second thought, he spurred his mare forward, rushing to Pembroke’s side.

“Stay still, Pembroke!” he ordered, his voice firm yet filled with concern as he dismounted in one fluid motion. He did not like the man, but he had not wished for this outcome for him, not really.

Pembroke groaned, attempting to sit up, but Tristan knelt beside him, assessing the situation with a quick glance. “You’ve taken quite a spill, my friend,” he said, helping him to his feet with a strong grip. With a determined look in his eye, Tristan lifted Pembroke under the arm, guiding him toward his own horse. “You’ll ride with me. We need to get you back to the house.” Carefully, he hoisted Pembroke onto the saddle, ensuring he was secure before mounting behind him. With the hounds still barking in the distance and the thrill of the hunt lingering in the air, Tristan urged his horse forward, steadying Pembroke against him as they made their way back. He did not want to leave the hunt, and his heart lurched a little as the sounds of chaos faded, but he knew that he had to do the right thing by his guest and ensure that he was safe and well back at the house. There would be other hunts, he thought glumly.

As Tristan guided his horse back toward the estate, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoed against the cobblestone path, blending with the distant chatter of guests gathered in the drawing room, the windows thrown open to let in the evening breeze.

His thoughts were a whirlwind of concern for Pembroke and the thrill of the hunt, but as they drew closer, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in his chest. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the grounds, but the vibrant colors did little to ease his mind. Upon entering the grand foyer, he was met with the sight of guests milling about, their laughter and conversation filling the air with an infectious energy. Yet, as he dismounted and stepped inside, he felt a sudden twinge of discomfort from the scratch on his own arm. He was not even sure how it had happened, amidst the chaos that he had just navigated but it was causing him pain now, and he was not sure how much longer he could ignore it. But getting Pembroke safely inside was his priority.

Tristan made his way inside, Pembroke’s limp form resting heavily against him. The laughter and chatter of the guests in the drawing room faded into a dull murmur as he navigated the polished marble floors, determined to finish the task of bringing Pembroke to safety. Then, and only then, would he think about himself.

Pembroke's earlier bravado had vanished; he was pale and visibly shaken, a stark contrast to the jovial man who had ridden into the woods just hours before. With each step, Tristan’s heart raced, not only from the exertion but from a growing concern for the man’s well-being.

Just as they reached the hallway, Pembroke's legs buckled, and he faltered, collapsing against the wall with a heavy thud. Tristan quickly adjusted his grip, cradling Pembroke's upper body to prevent him from falling completely. “Stay with me, Pembroke,” he urged, his voice low but firm, as he tried to ignore the surge of panic threading through him.

At that moment, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed behind them, and a few of the estate's servants rushed forward, their expressions turning from curiosity to alarm as they assessed the situation. “My Lord!” one of them exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside Pembroke, while another quickly fetched a blanket from a nearby chair. “What happened?”

“He fell from his horse,” Tristan explained. “He needs to be taken upstairs, and we need to get him a physician, as soon as possible.”

The servants sprang into action. They carefully lifted Pembroke, supporting him under the arms and legs. With a coordinated effort, they maneuvered him up from the floor, and Tristan stood back, his heart heavy as he watched them take charge. “Be gentle,” he cautioned. “He’s hurt.”

“Of course, My Lord,” one of the servants replied, nodding as they began to carry Pembroke toward the staircase. Tristan felt a surge of relief that his part in the disaster was now over; he had brought the man home safely, the physician would be there soon, and he felt optimistic that things would turn out well in the end. But amidst the chaos, he couldn’t shake the feeling that their carefree day had transformed into something far more serious, and the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon his shoulders.

As Tristan made his way back to the drawing room, the cheerful atmosphere felt jarring against the weight of the incident he had just witnessed. He paused at the threshold, gathering his thoughts, before stepping inside to face the curious glances of the ladies, who would no doubt have heard the hubbub in the hallway.

His eyes fell immediately on Diana, who was looking at him with concern.

But it was Lady Bretherton who leaped to her feet and spoke first. “Lord Everton, what on earth happened?”

He took a deep breath, the familiar warmth of the room contrasting sharply with his heightened pulse. “Lord Pembroke has had an accident. He fell from his horse during the hunt. I brought him back inside, but he collapsed in the hallway. The servants are attending to him now, and we are awaiting the doctor.”

The room fell silent, the jovial chatter replaced by gasps of surprise and concern. “He seemed dazed but conscious when I last saw him. I trust he will be all right, but I wanted to ensure you all were aware.” Murmurs of sympathy spread through the group

“I am sure you did your best, My Lord,” Lady Eliza said, looking up at Tristan through her long lashes. “Let us hope that the doctor will be here soon.”

Tristan nodded, and withdrew to a corner of the room. He did not want to be the focus of anyone’s attention right now, but he did not feel that he could leave his guests either.

As he stood there, attempting to shake off the adrenaline of the earlier chaos and his lingering worry for Pembroke, he sensed eye on him and when he looked up, he saw that Diana was navigating her way through the room, which was now slightly crowded with guests. Her movements were purposeful, and as she approached him, her keen eyes sharpened with intent.

“My Lord,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise around them. “What’s that on your arm?” He instinctively glanced down at his sleeve, where the blood had begun to seep through the fabric.

“It’s nothing,” he replied with a wave of his hand, attempting to brush it off as unimportant. But Diana was not easily deterred. Her brow furrowed, and the concern in her eyes deepened. “It’s clearly something, and you’re not fooling anyone,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Before he could respond, she took his arm and gently pulled him aside, her touch both firm and reassuring.

“Come with me,” she insisted, her gaze unwavering as she led him away from the crowded drawing room. Tristan felt a mix of gratitude and disbelief at her determination; he had no choice but to follow her through the hallways of the estate. The quiet of the corridor enveloped them, a welcome separation from the lively gathering. “We need to tend to this,” she said, her voice softening as they reached a small, unused sitting room. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in a sanctuary away from the prying eyes of their peers.

Diana motioned for him to sit on a nearby sofa, and as he complied, he couldn’t help but admire her focus.

“Stay here,” she instructed him. “I’m going to find something to use as a bandage.”

He nodded, and sat mutely as he waited for her to return. She was so decisive in her actions, that he did not feel he should do anything else.

When she came back, she set to work. She had found a small first aid kit from somewhere – he had no idea where – and she seemed fully prepared to use it.

“You really should take better care of yourself,” she chided gently, as she knelt beside him, her fingers deftly unrolling the bandages. There was no awkwardness between them, even after the moment they had exchanged in the maze the previous evening, and Tristan found that he could not take his eyes off her.

“Hold still,” she instructed, her voice steady as she began to clean the wound. He watched her work, captivated not only by her skill but by the intimacy of the moment. The soft brush of her fingers against his skin sent an unexpected thrill coursing through him, grounding him in a reality that felt suddenly fragile.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he tried to reassure her, but she shot him a look that silenced him, a mix of exasperation and affection in her eyes.

“Then why are you bleeding?” she countered, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. Her focus shifted back to the task at hand, and as she applied the antiseptic, he felt a sharp sting followed by the cool relief of the ointment. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, and as she bandaged his arm with delicate precision, Tristan found himself caught in the moment, appreciating the intimacy of her care.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his earlier fears slipping away as she finished the last knot. “You really shouldn’t have concerned yourself with me.”

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” she replied, her smile brightening the room.

Tristan realized, in that moment, that she was the only person who had noticed that he was injured, the only person who had bothered to check that he was alright. He could not deny, either, that he had enjoyed the attention. The intimacy of the moment, as she had bandaged his arm, had drawn him in, and he found that now, he did not want the moment to end.

“I mean it, Diana,” he said softly, looking at her. “Thank you.”

“You should not be so reckless,” she said, getting to her feet. “Perhaps you should consider giving up hunting. It seems to only cause chaos!”

“And perhaps you should keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you,” he shot back, though his voice held no malice. “Are you always this bossy?”

“Only when it comes to saving your life,” she replied.

Just then, footsteps echoed nearby, shattering the moment. Diana stared at Tristan, panic in her eyes. She knew, just as wel las he did, that they should not be alone together.

“Hide!” he whispered.

She quickly ducked behind a nearby couch. He could hear her breathing, behind him, and he positioned himself on the couch so that she could not be seen. He instinctively reached out to touch her hair, gently pushing it behind her ear to keep her hidden.

“Tristan?” came a voice, light and inquisitive. It was Cecilia. “I was looking for you.”

“Cecilia,” he replied, his voice steady as he attempted to mask the tension. “What do you need?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the garden party,” she said, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. “There are many arrangements we still need to make.”

He smiled, though his eyes betrayed a hint of annoyance. “I will speak to you about it soon, I assure you. But I need a moment alone.”

Cecilia narrowed her eyes, a hint of suspicion crossing her features. “Are you sure? You seem… distracted.”

“Quite sure,” he said firmly. “Please, I’ll see you later. Just?—”

Before he could finish, she turned and walked away, leaving the air thick with tension. Diana emerged from her hiding spot. She looked shaken; clearly, the near miss had affected them both.

“That was too close,” she breathed, her cheeks flushed. “We could have been caught!”

Tristan sighed, running a hand through his hair, the tension in his shoulders evident. “Indeed. I didn’t expect Cecilia to find us here.”

Diana took a step back, suddenly aware of the gravity of their situation. “I should go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Diana, wait—” he began, but she was already turning away. The moment had shifted, and the air between them crackled with intensity. He knew that they would have been caught up in a scandal if anyone had found them alone together, and yet, he did not want the moment to end, in spite of the risk.

The door clicked shut behind her and he was left alone with his thoughts, and reality began to seep back in. He knew his duty and he would not deviate from it, no matter how much he might want to at this moment in time.