Page 34 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

34

“Good God, Gus, slow down,” Julia shrieked in my ear as one of the large back wheels left the road on a particularly bumpy stretch.

I steadied the horses, the phaeton bumping back down onto its four wheels. Julia gasped at the jolt and braced her feet wider on the footboard beside my own. Ahead, Evan and Mr. Kent galloped in tandem, the glows from their lamps seesawing across the dirt road and dense woodland on either side. Our lamp had gone out about a mile back, and now Weatherly grimly clamped it between his knees while hanging on to the blunderbuss and the edge of the groom’s seat.

“Still there, Weatherly?” I yelled over my shoulder.

“Still here, my lady,” he yelled back.

We had all caught sight in the distance of a horse without a rider standing on the road, and increased our speed. Was it Hester and Miss Grant’s horse? And if so, why was it abandoned?

“I do not see anyone near it,” Julia said over the sound of our wheels and hooves. “Do you think they are on foot?”

“Duck!” I ordered, unable to avoid a low arch of overhanging branches. We all ducked, the bare twigs scraping along my riding hat. I glanced back at Weatherly. He was bent double over the gun across his thighs but had lost his own hat.

“Sorry,” I yelled over my shoulder.

“Only so far I can duck down, my lady,” he replied, at his driest.

Understood. Unless I wanted a headless butler, best to avoid the branches. A six-foot man was not meant to sit in a groom’s seat.

Evan and Mr. Kent had slowed their momentum into a trot, no doubt in an effort not to spook the horse ahead. I drew on the reins in my hand, slowing the bays to a trot, then a walk. Ahead, I saw Evan dismount and hand his reins to Mr. Kent. The abandoned horse must be near.

I drew the phaeton to a halt. “Weatherly, go to their heads.” The phaeton rocked as our butler clambered down from his perch. “Do you feel up to taking the reins, Julia?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, then expertly looped the offered reins in her left hand and took the whip in her other. “For heaven’s sake, Gus, you taught me yourself.”

Clearly, still annoyed with me. And she was indeed a competent driver, if not an enthusiastic one.

I waited until Weatherly had hold of the pair’s harness, then gathered the skirts of my habit and found the step down. It was a bad stretch of road: holes and rocks under a canopy of trees that, although autumn-leaf depleted, still blocked some of the meager moonlight.

Ahead, Evan was closing in on the horse. The animal stood alert, watching him approach. It was hard to judge color in the moonlight, but I saw a diamond blaze and no saddle. Without a doubt, Bruno.

I walked to Mr. Kent, still mounted and holding the reins of Evan’s horse as he studied the gloomy woodland on either side.

“Anything?” I asked.

“No signs of trampling through the undergrowth,” he said.

“May I take your lamp?”

He passed it to me and I continued onward, picking my way around the rocks and ruts in the warm circle of its glow. Evan had masterfully caught Bruno and was stroking the horse’s muzzle. I raised the lamp as I approached, studying Bruno’s legs and chest.

“He looks unhurt,” I said, glancing at Evan for confirmation.

“His gait is sound. His reins were hanging, but as far as I can tell he is not blown.”

I walked to the edge of the road and peered into the dark woodland beyond, holding up the lamp. The bright arc of my search swept across bushes, lichen-patched tree trunks and, beyond, a stone stacked fence.

“Any sign?” Evan asked. “Do you think they are walking now?”

“If I had a horse and someone who could not go far on foot, I would not abandon my mount. Even if he were spent. And Bruno is not spent.” I paced a few yards onward. The undergrowth here was undisturbed too. I swung around and studied the road but could find no sign of fracas: no churned dirt or new wheel ruts. The anticipation I had felt at finding the horse chilled into foreboding. I turned back to Evan. “Hester is not up to walking across the fields. I think Bruno has come back on his own. We need to ride on.”

With that decision made, we returned to Mr. Kent with the loose horse in tow. Kent volunteered to lead Bruno; he’d had a great deal of experience doing so on the Continent, he said, whenever one of his fellow cavalrymen had fallen in battle. Evan and I looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Mr. Kent clearly had a great deal more history than we had suspected. But then, did not everyone?

Evan handed over Bruno’s reins and I returned to the phaeton, reporting our finding—and lack of finding—to Julia and Weatherly and retrieving the reins and whip from my sister.

From the seat behind, Weatherly bent close to my ear. “You think there is serious trouble ahead, my lady?” he asked.

“Always,” I said, flashing a wry smile back at him.

He settled Hades more firmly across his thighs.

“Walk on,” I called to the bays, and we jolted once more into motion behind Evan and Mr. Kent. We did not travel as fast this time, more trot than gallop, for the sake of caution and to save the horses. We did not know how far Bruno had wandered alone.

The answer was not long in coming.

“Look!” Julia said, pointing ahead.

Evan and Mr. Kent suddenly accelerated, pulling Bruno with them into a gallop. Beyond them I saw the reason why: a dark, huddled form upon the road.

I flicked my whip over the heads of my pair.

“Dear God,” Julia said, leaning forward as we lurched into a slow gallop. “Who is it? Are they dead?”

Evan, unencumbered by the extra horse, dismounted in one swinging move and ran over to the hump of dark cloth as I pulled up the bays. His horse stood where he had left it: thank God Charlotte always trained her horses well. I thrust the reins into Julia’s hands again and climbed down the step, almost tripping upon my hems as I found the ground.

“Hold them,” I said.

“Wait—” Julia started.

But I had already launched myself across the stony ground, skirts hauled up above my ankles. At the corner of my eye, I saw Weatherly climb out behind me, scouring the shadowy woods on either side of the road, blunderbuss ready.

“It is Miss Grant,” Evan called, crouching at her side.

She had uncurled a little by the time I reached them, one hand clutching the capes upon Evan’s greatcoat, the other held awkwardly against her chest.

“He has her,” she said. Tear tracks striped her pale face. “Lord Deele has her.”

“Are you hurt?” Evan asked.

“My arm,” she said. “I couldn’t catch the horse.”

“May I see?” Evan gestured to her cradled arm. “Gus, can you help her sit up, please?”

“Do not worry about me. We must find Hester,” she said. “We must go after them.”

“First your arm,” Evan said, although I knew he, too, wanted to be on a horse and after Hester.

“What on earth were you thinking, taking Hester out on a horse at night?” I said, a little too sharply. I crouched behind her and settled stiffly onto my knees. “Where did you think you were going?”

She rallied a little at my tone. “I had to do something. Hester was going to do herself harm if we didn’t act on our own account. You kept on promising we would go and then nothing happened. You saw how frightened she was and yet all you did was tell her to wait.” Her scathing glance took in both myself and Evan.

He raised his brows at me: She has a point.

“Lean into me,” I said, drawing her back against my body. “The sooner you let him examine you, the sooner we will be after Hester. Remember he is a Belford, too, and nothing stops them.”

She managed a wan smile at my conciliatory tone: the two of us, loving our stubborn, brave Belfords. Finally, a point of affinity.

Farther back, Mr. Kent dismounted and called over Weatherly, exchanging the reins of the three horses for Weatherly’s blunderbuss. Evan carefully dug his fingertips along Miss Grant’s right arm. She gasped when he reached her elbow.

“I take it that is painful,” he said.

“Yes,” she managed.

“My apologies, but the good news is that it is only wrenched and bruised. Not broken.”

Mr. Kent jogged up to us. “What happened?”

“Deele’s man pulled me from the horse,” Miss Grant said. “Then they grabbed Hester and bundled her into the carriage.”

A dangerous maneuver that could have killed both women. “And Deele left you on the side of the road, injured,” I said, trying to come to terms with such villainy.

“How long ago?” Kent asked.

Miss Grant shook her head. “I cannot be sure. No more than fifteen minutes.”

“We can pursue.” I looked at Evan for accord, then at Kent, drawing him into the discussion. “The three of us on horseback. We have guns; we can stop the coach. Julia can drive the phaeton behind with Miss Grant and Weatherly.”

Evan gave a nod and stood, brushing road grit from his hands. He offered his hand to me. I took his firm grip and felt my not-insubstantial self pulled to my feet. My face heated: his easy strength always did unseemly things to my innards.

“The three of us?” Kent echoed. “You cannot think to come, Lady Augusta. It will be far too dangerous.”

“Save your breath, Kent,” Evan said. “If Lady Augusta says she will come, then she will come.” He allowed a grim smile. “It would seem you are both joining me on the high toby.”

“But this is not highway robbery,” Mr. Kent said.

“No, it is worse,” Evan said. “It is abduction. My brother has the right to take Hester back.”

“God’s blood, I knew I would end up hanged,” Mr. Kent muttered.

“This is my area of expertise,” Evan said, with a side glance at Mr. Kent. “It will be too difficult to stop my brother’s coach from behind. We must circle around in front of it. Once we sight it, we will cut across fields and meet it farther along.”

He outlined the plan: a mad mix of strategy, knowledge of his brother, and derring-do.

“Now I know why you have never been caught,” Mr. Kent said. “Does your brother know you are in England? In the vicinity?”

“A good question,” Evan said. “I have no idea.”

He glanced at me, but I answered with a shrug. Mulholland could have told him, but then again, it was just as likely he did not. Hester, too, might let slip the information in extremis.

“He must know Julia and I are involved, since he brought our brother to force us to hand over Hester,” I said, “but that does not necessarily mean he knows Lord Evan is here.”

“And I do not know how he will react when he discovers I am the one stopping his coach,” Evan added. “He has not hesitated to enact violence upon our sister, so I would assume he would have no compunction shooting me.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Kent said dryly. “Do I need to add that it would be better if we do not shoot a lord of the realm?” He fixed a stern gaze upon me from under his brow. “You may wish to ride with us on this mad enterprise, Lady Augusta, but Lady Julia must not be exposed to such danger. She is, I think, more gente—” He stopped, clearly realizing he was about to insult me.

I eyed him for a long moment; he still had a lot to learn about my sister. Nevertheless, I did agree with him about Julia’s safety.

“Let us help Miss Grant to the phaeton,” I said. “She and my sister can follow at a judicious distance.”

“No, they should not follow,” Mr. Kent said. “They should go back to Davenport Hall. Miss Grant is hurt.”

“Absolutely not,” Miss Grant said vehemently. “I could never abandon Hester.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Besides, we will need the phaeton to carry Lady Hester once she is retrieved.”

In truth, our options for Hester’s safety had now dwindled to one possibility: the two women, and most probably Evan, must flee the country via boat. I pushed away the familiar burst of anguish that squeezed my heart. Evan would have to go; he could not let them travel unaccompanied. As it stood, Hester could not go back to Davenport Hall; we had already brought too much trouble upon Charlotte, and even if we did return, Porty would probably just hand her over to Deele. Nor, it seemed, could we find a safe haven from them elsewhere in the country. Holyhead was too far away, so we were left, then, with the closest port: Liverpool. In her current state, Hester might not survive a sea journey, but I could see no other course of action.

Evan helped Miss Grant to her feet, the maneuver draining her face into a pasty gray. She did, indeed, look very bad, but took a gulping breath and stalwartly continued to walk with the support of both Evan and Mr. Kent.

At the phaeton, I told Julia our plan to stop Deele’s coach as Miss Grant leaned upon Evan’s shoulder and gingerly levered herself into the seat beside my sister. The well-sprung carriage rocked under her arrival, the horses shifting in the traps.

“Are you sure you are up to managing this pair?” I asked.

“Have I not already said so?” Julia said. “More to the point, you have been in the saddle all day. Are you sure you can ride all night too?”

“Indeed, there is no sidesaddle for you, Lady Augusta. Perhaps you should ride in the phaeton too,” Mr. Kent said as if it were some kind of fait accompli.

“For heaven’s sake, I am not in my dotage,” I said to my sister, then sent her a swift, silent apology; she was not going to like this next admission. “And I will ride astride on Bruno. Charlotte and I have been riding astride at the hall for years, when no one was watching.”

Julia clicked her tongue, no doubt mourning my last shred of ladylike dignity. Thank heavens I had worn my full knitted pantaloons under my habit.

“Of course you have been riding astride,” Evan murmured, allowing a glint of amusement to show through his urgency. “Are we ready? Do we know our parts?”

We did. Now it was up to our nerve, my beloved’s skill, and a good dose of luck.

With excitement thrumming through my body, I followed Evan over to Weatherly, who still held the other two horses. Perhaps it was unladylike to feel such invigoration at the prospect of holding up a coach, but I could not help it. Nor could I help the anger that burned in my innards; Lord Deele had caused immense anguish and pain to his sister, and now he wished to do so all over again.

Evan leaned down beside Bruno and offered his laced hands as a mounting step. I placed my booted foot onto his outstretched palms and swung my other leg over the horse’s unsaddled back, dragging my skirts and petticoats up in a most indecorous manner. I wrenched them into a more demure arrangement, the warmth of Bruno underneath me almost canceling the chill of the night air on my stockinged legs. I looped the reins and settled into my seat.

Evan looked up at me, and I could see him carefully not noticing my exposed calf. “Is it worth me asking you to retreat if they start shooting?”

“Only if you do.”

He sighed. “Just do not get shot. I could not bear it.”

“Nor could I,” I said dryly. Still, the danger was very real. “I should have brought a pistol too.”

“Do you wish for the blunderbuss, my lady?” Weatherly asked, holding out the big rifle.

It was tempting—if only to horrify Mr. Kent—but I shook my head. “Keep it to protect Lady Julia and Miss Grant.”

“Of course, my lady.”

He bowed and jogged back to the phaeton, the blunderbuss still in hand.

“I brought two pistols; you can have one of mine,” Evan said.

Mr. Kent stared at him. “You are going to give Lady Augusta a pistol?”

“Well, not until we are closer,” I said, flashing a smile at Evan. “I do not have a saddle holster.”

Evan snorted and swung up onto his horse.

“We’ll all be hanged,” Mr. Kent muttered as he mounted his horse.

We looked at one another—a shared moment of resolve—then the three of us sprang our horses, leaning forward into the building rush of the gallop. We had lost at least another ten minutes behind Deele, but hopefully he would not be pushing his horses now. He had his prize in hand and would not be expecting his outlaw brother to be riding hard behind.