Page 23 of The Lost Lord
“Can we put up the hood?” Miriam asked meekly, hating her body for its fallibility.
“Certainly.” Richard busied himself with the flaps but the mechanics of raising the canvas top seemed to escape him. He tapped the driver for assistance, distracting them both. Mrs. Kent hovered over her until Miriam wanted to scream at the woman who cared so deeply and well for her. Mrs. Kent did not deserve the brunt of her frustration. It wasn’t her fault that Miriam’s first carriage ride with a gentleman caller was turning into a disaster.
Fast hoofbeats came up behind them.
“Pull aside!” Mrs. Kent demanded in a panicked yell.
Richard checked over his shoulder. His hair flew and his jacket strained as he tried to haul the canvas hood up to protect them, but it stuck, leaving them fully exposed. Miriam inhaled short bits air as she tried to breathe through her panic, then froze, breathless, as a group of men on horseback flew past them at a gallop. Their horses’ flying hooved kicking up a storm of dust.
“Hold this,” Mrs. Kent demanded as she pressed a fine scarf over Miriam’s face. More heat, and now it was hard to breathe. Panic tightened her muscles like the turning of a screw as Miriam’s first breath came with a full, harsh wheeze.
* * *
Miriam’s bodyhad gone rigid beside him. Fear hollowed out Richard’s belly. Beside him, Miriam kept her face turned upward to the sun, what he could see of it. The shawl Mrs. Kent had insisted she use to cover her face was plastered over her mouth and nose in a ghoulish echo of a death mask. Richard did not know how to help, and anyway Mrs. Kent didn’t appear to want his assistance. She had lurched out of her seat like a frantic crow flapping over its offspring.
Good lord, I’ve killed her, Richard told himself with a shot of fear. One death at his hands was bad enough. He could not be responsible for another, no matter how accidental. Miriam was too gentle and lovely to deserve death on a balmy summer afternoon. His terror awakened the small part of Richard that wanted to deserve her.
“Drive slower! You’re kicking up too much dust,” Mrs. Kent ordered. Richard murmured to the driver, who grunted and complied. The next minute Mrs. Kent demanded, “Drive faster, we must get her home.”
A pale sweat had broken out over Miriam’s forehead as she lay back against the squabs.
If only he’d failed to secure the stupid carriage, this could never have happened. But he’d been loath to disappoint Miriam, so last night he’d sent a messenger to Lizzie’s husband’s domicile to ask for a carriage and horse suitable for courting. He had left the note unsigned.
This morning he received a similarly terse communication.Rent one.
Richard delayed her errand boy long enough to compose a brief reply, though not his temper.If you wish for me to court your friend, find me a horse and carriage for tomorrow afternoon.
An hour ago, Lizzie had knocked at his apartments. She’d brushed past him with a glacial sidelong glare. “The buggy outside belongs to my sister. I need it back in an hour. She thinks I’m shopping for a gift for Arthur. He’s agreed to drop his annulment petition. For now.”
She’d seemed upset, but Richard was finished with Lizzie’s dramatics and he didn’t bother to inquire as to why. His thoughts were tangled with Miriam’s curls and the milky paleness of her soft skin. There had been nohello, how are you feeling?Every ordinary thing two people might say upon meeting had felt like a waste of breath. His hatred of Lizzie had grown in direct proportion to his affection for Miriam. He couldn’t walk away from Miriam, in part because he knew now that Lizzie intended to have her friend’s fortune by any means necessary. He was only the dupe stupid enough to have fallen into her blackmail scheme. Foxy Lizzie had outwitted him—but he still hoped to return the favor. Not that he meant to protect Miriam, precisely, but if that proved to be a way to strike back at Lizzie, he had no compunction about courting the girl.
“What will you do while I’m out?” he’d demanded.
“Sit here. Read your newspapers.” Lizzie’s footfalls tapped over the floor, silencing abruptly when she came to the large rug that covered the floor. She traced a finger along the surface of the wardrobe where he stored his few belongings. Her glove came away covered with a thin layer of dust. She rubbed her fingers together. “Drink your wine, if you have any.”
“I don’t.”
“My, my. You have fallen hard and fast for frail Miriam Walsh,” Lizzie mocked.
Richard’s hands had clenched into fists, but they remained at his sides. There was no point in challenging her, and for all his many faults, Richard had never hit a woman. “I see you’re residing with your husband again.”
Lizzie sniffed. “For the moment. I’ve no intention of living as an outcast if you fail at wooing Miriam into marriage. Lord knows how she has pined for a man’s affections. It ought to be a simple task to win her heart. Even you ought to be able to accomplish it.”
Richard had slammed the door behind him as he departed. He didn’t like leaving her in his home. His few letters from his brother—more often, from his brother’s secretary—were locked in a drawer, along with his banking information and a bit of coin he used for daily needs. Though he kept the key on his person, he didn’t put it past Lizzie to pry open the drawer and read or steal its contents.
Fearing a slip of a woman a head shorter and five stone lighter shamed him, yet there was an inexplicable devilishness to Lizzie. Richard could never speak of it aloud, especially not to Miriam, who insisted upon believing the best about her friend. He couldn’t tell Miriam the truth without revealing his part in this fiasco, either. Instinct told Richard that she would take Lizzie’s side over his. In his experience, women took heartbreak hard—witness the courtesan who’d left him over a rundown piece of property. Blast Lizzie and her schemes. Richard didn’t like thinking about money, or people’s motivations, or worst of all theirfeelings.
Jarred back to the present, he finally located the last flap holding the buggy’s hood back and hauled it upward. Between the driver’s attempts to accommodate Mrs. Kent’s contrary, panicked demands, and focus on the horses, he had been little help with raising the top. But now he had it in place. Richard savored his small, singular accomplishment. Mrs. Kent fumbled with the little kit, pouring water and a powder into a small tin bowl.
“Let me help,” he offered, steadying the bowl so Mrs. Kent could use both hands.
“Lean over it and breathe, as best you can,” she murmured to Miriam.
The harsh, high-pitched sound Miriam made as she struggled for each breath chilled the marrow of Richard’s bones. Guilt and shame, his ever-present companions, sullied his relief at Miriam’s slow improvement. After a few minutes awkwardly draped over the bowl, she sat up, pale. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Miriam refused to meet his eyes.
“Drink this,” Mrs. Kent held out a tiny flask. Miriam made a face but meekly tossed it back. She gagged and handed it back.
“I am so embarrassed,” she whispered hoarsely with a stricken look in her eyes.
