Page 51 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
The journey seemed endless, but in the distance, Henry soon spotted a gig abandoned at the end of the road. As he pushed closer, he was then able to discern through the haze of rain, two figures standing on the Hangman's Bridge. It was them!
Henry pressed himself low against his saddle, as he urged his Arab onward; the beast was slick with rain and sweat, and Henry was not much better, but there was life in them yet.
A woman's scream rang out, audible despite the thunder and rain. Henry was now able to tell the two figures apart, though it gave him little comfort.
Mrs Fairweather, her auburn hair loose and blowing wildly in the wind, was dragging Miss Mifford toward the bridge's low stone wall.
"Stop," Henry was close enough to hear Miss Mifford plea, "Don't."
Mrs Fairweather did not listen, she pushed Miss Mifford against the wall, and would have pushed her over had Henry not let loose a roar of anger.
"Don't you dare."
His cry was booming, startling Mrs Fairweather enough so that Miss Mifford was able to wrench herself free from her grasp. The seamstress eyed Henry like a frightened deer might eye a huntsman and before she acted, Henry knew what she would do.
"Mary, don't look," Henry called, as Mrs Fairweather clambered onto the wall of the bridge and threw herself into the raging waters beneath.
Henry pulled his steed to a halt and dismounted, breathlessly running to the wall to see if he could spot Mrs Fairweather in the water. He began to shrug off his coat and would have kneeled down to take off his boots, had a small hand not reached out to take his arm.
"Don't." Mary gazed up at him with eyes wide, pleading, and brimming with tears, "Please don't, you cannot save her."
She was right; the current had swept Mrs Fairweather away so quickly that she was no longer in view. If Henry were to plunge in after her, it would not be a rescue mission but suicide instead.
"Are you hurt?" Henry whispered, cupping her face with one of his hands.
"Just shaken," Miss Mifford replied bravely, "And soaked to the bone. How did you know where to find me?"
"I followed my heart," Henry whispered back, then--as a wave of English reservedness came over him--he hastily corrected his painfully romantic reply, lest he add nausea to Miss Mifford's current predicament. "Well, actually I followed Dr Bates' directions, if truth be told; he saw which way you went when you ran from the manor."
"Oh." Miss Mifford's shy smile faded a little, as Henry lapsed back into pragmatism.
"Nevertheless," Henry continued, willing himself--just for a second--to be a little more French in his approach to love, "That does not take away from the fact that it was my heart which led me to you, Mary. At the mere thought that anything might happen to you, it had already broken."
"Oh," Mary gave a happy sigh and placed her gloved hand against Henry's chest, "I am happy it is still whole."
"Not quite," Henry drew back to look at her, "There is one thing which can assure that it continues to remain intact."
"And what's that?"
"Your hand," Henry took Mary's hand, "In my hand, forever."
And then he kissed her, but only momentarily, for a half-dozen footmen arrived on the scene, quite ruining the moment. Henry broke away from Mary to issue orders--notify Mr Marrowbone, set up a search party once the weather had abated, and the return of the gig to Primrose Cottage--then turned back to his bride-to-be and lifted her into his arms.
"What are you doing?" she squawked, as Henry lifted her up into the saddle, before hauling himself up behind her.
"I am riding off into the sunset with my lady love," Henry replied, which is what he had wanted to do last night, "Well riding off in the rain to Northcott Manor, where you might have a hot bath."
"And where I might explain to your mother my earlier madness," Mary wailed, burying her head in Henry's coat, "Will she ever forgive me?"
"Oh yes," Henry replied lightly, "Once I explain to her that we plan to provide her with dozens of grandchildren."
"We do?"
"We do," Henry smiled, "In fact, I am of a mind to ride to London in the morning to secure a special license from the Archbishop, so that we might set about our task as soon as possible."
"That's madness," Mary laughed, "We can wait for the banns to be read, surely?"
"My dear," Henry replied, drawing her close to him, "I cannot wait another second."
