Page 6 of His Runaway Duchess

Where are we going?

She began to panic.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but Daphne was sure she could hear the thud of horses’ hooves behind her. Was she being pursued?

Ridiculous though it was, Daphne had a sudden, horrifying vision of being dragged bodily back to the church, where the Duke waited for her.

Gritting her teeth, she leaned forward. The horse took this as a hint to gallop faster and increased its speed.

Daphne lost track of time very quickly. They plunged in and out of the forest, sometimes crossing fields and rolling hills. The rain drizzled on for an hour or two, and then abruptly grew heavier, until her hair grew bedraggled over her shoulders and her wet dress began to chafe her skin.

Where am I? Which direction did I ride in?

Now that the initial panic had eased off, the first real twinges of worry began to set in. Daphne reined the horse into a little clearing and glanced around her.

Well, I have no idea where I am. And on the day I leave my compass at home, too!

The compass had been a present from her father many years ago. Daphne had a compass, and Emily had a spyglass. Emily’sspyglass was pristine, well-polished, and displayed atop a selection of astronomy texts in her room.

Daphne’s compass was dented, scratched, and generally well-used, with odd quirks like a few grains of sand beneath the glass cover, and she had no idea how they had worked inside. She used it almost daily, taking it out and looking at it even when she knew exactly where she was. It was a stark contrast to Emily’s obsessive, vigorous maintenance of her gift, and it nicely highlighted the difference between the twins.

The compass was, if Daphne remembered correctly, in a specially sewn pocket in her bridesmaid dress.

Which, of course, Emily was wearing.

She bit back a sigh.

“Better retrace my steps, then.”

By her estimation, it was somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, as the wedding had been scheduled for midday. By now, Daphne was sore, her back and legs aching painfully, and the bones in her corset were digging into her sides. She did not relish the prospect of a painful, wet ride back, but really, there was nothing for it.

She steered the horse towards home.

Abruptly, a crack of lightning split the sky, the iron-grey clouds looming darker than ever. A roll of thunder followed straight after, loud and close enough to rattle her teeth.

The horse screamed, flinging itself onto its hind legs. Daphne yelped, grabbing for the bridle, but the leather was slippery, and her hands were numb and wet. She lost her grip, tumbling backward out of the saddle just as the horse lurched forward.

Thump.

She hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her body. The horse galloped away, its ears pressed back against its head, and disappeared into the forest.

Daphne lay there for a moment, spreadeagled on her back. The squelchy, muddy ground beneath her was soaking her dress, and rainwater pelted down on her from above.

I think it would be best all around if I were just struck by lightning. Right now. Boom.

She lay there for a few minutes more. Lightning jolted down a second time, but this time the thunder took a count of five seconds to come. The storm was moving away.

It seemed she was not going to be struck by lightning right away.

Daphne heaved herself into a sitting position, not daring to look at her once-ice-blue gown. It was, of course, soaked with mud, torn in several places, and essentially good for nothing but rags.

She put her hands on her hips and whistled for the horse. Belatedly, she remembered that it was not her precious Gulliver she had been riding, but a strange horse, one that probably did not come when it was whistled at.

Well, now what?

Retracing her steps was out of the question, of course. A ride of several hours, while uncomfortable before, was now clearly impossible. Glancing around, Daphne saw nothing but more trees. No paths, no roads, no dwellings.

Just before despair set in, however, she spotted something else. A fence, well-built, sturdy, and fairly modern, weaving through the trees.

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