Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin

‘I am too heavy for you.’

He gave her an odd look. ‘I hardly think it will be a problem. Now hurry. My feet are getting wet.’

Gingerly, she sat on the edge and lowered herself towards him. Then he took her in his arms, turned and walked a little way up the hill to a dry place. He proved himself right, for he carried her easily. His body was warm against hers; suddenly and unreasonably, she regretted that she had not lain closer to him in the night. It felt delightful to have his arms about her and she allowed her own arms to creep about his neck, pretending it was only to aid in balance and had nothing to do with the desire to touch him.

Too soon he arrived at the safe place and set her down on the ground. ‘Wait for me here, Sister.’

Was the last word a reminder of her role? she wondered. As he laboured behind the coach, she could not manage to think of him thus. His broad shoulders strained, outlining themselves against the linen of his shirt. She could see muscle, bone and sinew in the strength of his arms and his legs as well, his lower anatomy well defined by the tightness of his mud-splattered trousers.

It made her feel strange, rather like she had first thing in the morning, when he had been staring at her. She put a hand to her forehead, wondering if she had taken ill, and then let it fall to her side in defeat. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that her reactions to Mr Hendricks were related to heat or indigestion. It excited her to have his attention, if she fluttered at every glance and touch.

Perhaps her sister’s foolishness was contagious. She was normally far too sensible to be looking at a man and thinking the things she was. More importantly, she should not be looking at this particular man. She had hired him, for heaven’s sake. He was her inferior. Not a suitor. Not a lover. Not even a friend. It was no different than Priscilla and her dancing master.

Except in one thing. Mr Hendricks had shown no interest in seducing her. Last night, with the candour brought on by too much alcohol, he had admitted that his heart was already bruised. He had been eager to withdraw from civilisation, particularly the company of women. If he had even the slightest idea what was going on in her head, he would depart from her at the first opportunity, leaving her to face this calamity alone.

As if to punish her for her lapse, the horses gave a tug and the body of the coach overbalanced still further. And then, with a horrible splintering, the mired wheel gave way. She covered her eyes with her hands, wishing she could reject the reality of the destroyed transport and the attractiveness of her companion. It was all ruined, as was her Priss.

And she could not help but think that it was all her fault. If she had behaved with more foresight while they were still in London, been more strict … Or perhaps less so … If she had been a better example, or listened with more compassion to her sister’s problems … then Priss would not have run away. And she would not be sitting beside a broken coach, staring at a man’s shoulders and thinking nonsense.

She felt the shadow of him cross her face, before he spoke. ‘Well, then. That’s done for.’

‘It’s over.’ Because it was. She could not walk to Scotland. By the time they could find another carriage, the couple would be even farther ahead of them. She might as well adjust to the idea of Mr Gervaise for a brother-in-law, and a father so angry that she would never see polite society again, lest she follow the path of her younger sister and humiliate him.

He gave a short laugh. ‘Then you will be glad that I am here. For while the coach is done, the journey is hardly over. If you wish to continue, that is.’

‘Continue? Of course.’ Her eyes flew to the coach. ‘Can they get us a post-chaise?’

‘They’ll do it for two passengers, but not for three.’

‘There are only two of us,’ she said.

Mr Hendricks cocked his head in the direction of their companion who was leaning against the broken axle. ‘After the way we have treated him, it is unlikely that he will yield his place to us. And do not think for a moment that you will change partners as though you were waltzing at Almack’s and go on with him instead,’ Hendricks said firmly. ‘I hesitate to think what might happen to you if he gets you alone.’

A variety of responses occurred to her. She should have told him that she was not that foolish, that he had no right to talk to her in that tone. Instead, she announced, ‘I have never been waltzing at Almack’s, and, if I had, I certainly would not leave you in the middle of a dance.’ It was true. She had procured the vouchers with Priss in mind. She had not needed Father to tell her that the girl would not show to best advantage if both of them were on the floor. But it made her look like a looby to announce the fact now. It was bad enough to be thought foolish, but worse to be seen as exactly what she was: a wallflower spinster, too busy watching over the virtue of others to get the benefit of a Season.

Mr Hendricks was staring at her as though she has sprouted feathers. ‘Go and speak to the driver. See what else can be done,’ she commanded in her most aristocratic tone. ‘I wish to be in Scotland before tomorrow, Hendricks. There is no time to waste.’ He did not need to be told his job. She hated people who solved their problems by tongue-lashing the nearest servant, but at least it made him turn from her so she could no longer see his look of pity.

He came back a short time later, holding out a hand to her as though there was nothing strange between them. ‘The coachman tells me that southbound drivers claim it is this bad and worse for quite some way. Not fit for coach or wagon even if we could get one. But two horses, keeping to dry ground and travelling cross country, will have more success. I’ve bribed the driver to give us the wheelers and let us go on alone.’

‘You want us to continue on horseback?’ As though that was not obvious, without her chattering like a parrot at the poor man.

He answered with a nod; if he thought her dull witted, he was kind enough to ignore it. He produced a compass from his pocket, glancing up at the sun for confirmation. ‘We will travel north and hope for drier roads when we reach Lancashire.’ Then, as though remembering that it was not he who led, said, ‘Does this meet with your approval, my lady?’

She blinked, wondering if she would have managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in such a handy way had she not found him. ‘I think I am most fortunate to have taken you on, Mr Hendricks.’

‘Thank you, Lady Drusilla.’

Chapter Five

Thank you, Lady Drusilla. As you please, my lady. Even as John walked back to help unhitch the horses from the coach, the voice in his head mocked him. In taking this trip, hadn’t he been planning to get out from under the thumbs of attractive and unattainable women? He’d only just got clear of Emily. And now, this.

When he’d realised that there was no space at the inn, he should have offered to pig up with the cit instead of carrying the farce any further. But he’d been drunk and querulous and the man annoyed him more than the girl.

Of course, it had been fortunate that he’d got time alone with Lady Drusilla Rudney and found a way to make himself invaluable. The Duke of Benbridge was terribly high in the instep; a letter of thanks from him would be a welcome addition to his references. But there would be no glowing recommendations if he was caught playing chamber games with the duke’s lovely daughter.

Only moments after he’d accepted her offer of employment, he’d got a look at those shapely calves bared as the stockings came off and begun to regret the whole plan. When he’d managed to sleep, he’d dreamt of her. And he’d woken with a morning’s desire, hurrying from the room before she could notice and enquire.

He had avoided her at breakfast, drinking strong black coffee to dull the after-effects of the gin and keeping busy with the plans for their departure. Then he had taken his place beside her to prevent the other man from encroaching upon her space. The carriage rocked her against his body in a way that would have been pleasant had not his role as her brother prevented any enjoyment. To curb the effect her nearness had on his nerves and body, he’d been forced to close his eyes and sink into the headache still plaguing him.

It disgusted him that his resolve to forswear all women and live in solitude had not even lasted as long as his inebriation. But he could hardly be blamed; the cit in the carriage had been panting after her as well and he had not been forced to share a bed with her. Lady Drusilla was a damned attractive woman, but seemed unaware of the effect she had on the men around her, wandering about alone and putting her virtue at risk. Any feelings John had for her were not a symptom of fickleness. They were proof that he was male.

But when she’d said she had an ‘understanding’ with the gentleman they were chasing, his first thought had been, At least you are not yet married. As if that would matter. Even if she was unattached, she was a duke’s daughter and he was the bastard of who knew who.

Of course, she had said her Gervaise was a plain mister and not the Marquis of Gretna Green. It seemed that if the lady’s heart was engaged, a title was not required. And John knew himself to be a better man in one respect. No matter what the circumstances of his birth, at least he was not the sort who made promises to one lady and ran for the border with another.

He had half a mind to thrash sense into this Gervaise fellow for running off on her. Though Lady Dru’s tongue was sharp, she deserved better. That John would find himself rushing her north and into the arms of such a lacklustre lover was an even sharper irony. It was too like the part he’d played in the reconciliation of Emily and her husband.

He’d told himself often enough that his own parentage was not a reflection of his worth as a man. But when given a chance to test the theory, society always proved the opposite. And if Lady Dru was eager enough for her Mr Gervaise to set off cross country without a feather to fly on, hoping to win him back, then she would not be interested in some itinerant gentleman she met in the coach, even if that man was unwise enough to take a fancy to her.

Which he did not mean to do. John thought of a certain amiable widow who lived near the Folbroke country estate. It had been some months since his last visit to her. The extended period of celibacy must be addling his brain. Though he never seemed to be the target of it, the haze of feminine lust around his recent employers had raised something in him that was nothing more than envy disguised as infatuation and a desire to take care of natural and unmet needs.

When the carriage had got stuck, as he’d known it would, it had been almost a relief to exercise some of demons from his brain with pushing on the thing. Of course, to do it he had taken his employer in his arms and taken her to high ground, which had only made things worse. She was curvy under the simple gown she wore. And she had clung to his neck as though she’d enjoyed it, her red lips parted in surprise at how easily he’d carried her. He’d set her down quickly, out of the mud, before she could notice her lapse and his impropriety. If she spotted it, she would scold him for it, putting up barriers of rank and bad temper that were not the least bit threatening, once one knew her.

Strangely, he felt he did know her. Perhaps he was reading too much into the intent way she looked at him, or how easy it had been to talk to her on the previous evening, when they had been alone and no one could hear.

Then there had been that moment of awkwardness she’d displayed earlier, when she’d said she had not danced at Almack’s. She must have meant that she had no permission to waltz and that she would not have been so rude as to slight any partner. For a moment, it had almost sounded as though she was woefully inexperienced in the arts of society and had some personal reason not to give him up when he’d held her.

He shook his head. He was dreaming again. If he was fortunate, at the end of the journey he would find a Scottish widow sympathetic to his plight, and he would regain his equilibrium.

As he led the horses back to Lady Dru, he put on his most proper and deferential air, getting clear in his own mind the distance between them and the relationship they must have: respectful courtesy on his part and complete indifference on hers.

She looked dubiously at the horses, which were probably not the fine bloods to which she was accustomed.

‘You have experience enough to ride, do you not?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she answered, although her tone did not make her sound the least bit sure. ‘But I did not pack a habit.’

He almost sighed in relief to hear the sort of clothes-obsessed response he’d expected from a smart young lady of the ton, foolish and easily dismissed. ‘There is no place to change into it, even if you had it.’ He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘In any case, there will not be room enough to take much luggage. You will have to make do with a single bag; the rest will travel north to meet you when you reach your destination.’

‘I do not have more than that now,’ she said, glaring at him again. ‘I left in rather a hurry and am not such a great ninny that I wasted what time I had in packing band boxes.’

Damn. ‘Of course, my lady.’

Then she whispered more urgently, ‘But, Mr Hendricks, there is a problem. This saddle is … wrong.’

‘You are referring to the lack of a side saddle?’ he asked. ‘Coach horses are not generally equipped for a lady’s Sunday ride. These are accustomed to having a postillion, so at least we will not have to worry about being thrown into the dirt. But I cannot promise more than that.’

Such an enormous beast would frighten a normal woman to tears, but his employer was staring at the horse with a raised chin and a dark look. Then she stared back at the saddle with apprehension. ‘But what am I to do?’