Page 6 of Tall, Dark & Wicked
Petra straightened the bonnet, making sure the remainder of the flowers gracing the crown were still intact. Satisfied all was well, the bonnet once more perched fetchingly on her head, Petra moved to stand. Unfortunately, she could not. Looking down, she saw the skirts of her dress were caught between the edge of the leather seat and the coach wall, possibly on a wayward nail. Giving a gentle tug, she tried to free herself.
Mother’s eyes bugged and her hands waved frantically at the tearing sound. “Don’t youdarerip your dress, Petra. We spent hours choosingexactlythe right fabric and trim for the dress in which you would meet your future in-laws. The color is perfection. You father nearly had a fit of apoplexy at the cost. We arenotgoing to appear on their doorstep in torn clothing as if we arebeggars. First our servants appear unsupervised at the door of Brushbriar, and now you wish your future mother-in-law’s first impression of you to be one of you in rags? Whatever are you thinking?”
“I was thinking I should like to return to my seat. What do you suggest I do, Mother? Spend our visit in the coach? Won’t such a thing be much more ill-mannered?” Petra tried to make herself more comfortable without tearing her skirt further.
A rap on the door silenced her mother’s retort. “My lady?” It was Jenkins, the driver. “We’ve a problem with the coach.”
“Well, fix it,” her mother ordered. “It can be repaired, can it not? We don’t wish to be late.”
Jenkins made an odd sound as if something were stuck in his throat. More likely he didn’t know what to say to her mother, who expected the world to bow to her dictates. Everyone in the Marsh household, including Father, certainly did.
Because of James. Petra thought guiltily of her long-dead brother, Mother’s favorite and the heir. He’d been gone for many years but his death still left such a pall over the family that Petra and Rowan had been raised to never displease Mother.
“Of course, my lady.” Jenkins’ lips drew taut as he tipped his hat. He caught sight of her on the floor of the coach. “Are you injured, Lady Petra?”
“I’m fine, Jenkins. Thank you.” Nausea was slowly making its way back through her mid-section, followed by a vague cramping sensation.
An hour later, the coach still sat in the road while Jenkins and the two grooms attempted to fix whatever had caused them to stop. Sounds of banging and masculine grumbling came from the back of the coach, although Jenkins assured her mother all was well.
Petra slumped against the seat of the coach, still stuck in place. Every time she attempted to move, Mother shot her a look of pure murder. After the third such admonishment, Petra asked, “Whatisyour plan, Mother, concerning my dress? I assume you have one.”
“Oh, I can’t worry about such a thing now. I’m quite concerned we shall have to stay the night out here in the open.” Her hands flapped around tragically. “Whatever shall we do? Lord Pendleton will think some great ill has befallen us. Kidnapped by highwaymen or eaten by wild animals.”
It was a struggle to keep from laughing out loud at her mother’s dramatics. The slightest inconvenience could be a cause for a concern. A broken heel on one’s shoe, a missing earring, serving fish instead of chicken, tearing an expensive traveling dress. Another painful cramp tightened Petra’s stomach. Her daughter becoming ill upon catching sight of the man who’d offered for her and his family.
“Petra, cease moving this instant.” Mother’s chin quivered. “I cannot think with such a distraction.”
“Ho, there.”
A deep baritone sounded from outside the coach, and the greeting was returned in kind by Jenkins. Someone had miraculously found the Marsh coach on this road in the middle of nowhere. Petra hadn’t heard another coach or even the sound of a horse approaching. The newcomer must be on foot.
Boots crunched outside. The coach swayed, followed by a male grunt as the visitor examined the wheel. “You’ve broken the axle. See there. A tiny fracture but enough to dislodge the wheel.”
The raspy, low voice sent a ripple over Petra’s skin, temporarily dislodging the awful cramping in her stomach. Though faintly familiar, Petra had no idea who the visitor could be.
“We haven’t the means to repair it,” Jenkins answered. “We are on our way to Brushbriar, the estate of Lord Pendleton. Do you know of it?”
A snort answered Jenkins’s question. “You’re going the wrong way, my good man. Brushbriar is due west of here. You took the right fork in the road, not the left.”
A deep sigh of exasperation followed the information.
Poor Jenkins.
“Don’t worry. Happens all the time. The road isn’t well marked, and if you aren’t familiar with the area, it’s quite easy to get lost. And I’ve a man who can fix the axle.”
“Thank you.” Jenkins was overjoyed at having a solution to the broken axle. “I’ll inform Lady Marsh.”
“Lady Marsh?” The visitor seemed to contemplate the presence of Petra’s mother. “I’m acquainted.”
Mother gave Petra an odd look and shrugged. She didn’t know who their rescuer was, either.
The door to the coach flew open to reveal a broad set of shoulders followed by a mop of dark curls.
Bloody hell.Could the journey to Pendleton’s become any worse? If Petra hadn’t been ill before, she most certainly wasnow.
The Earl of Morwick invaded the small space of the coach, the slightly battered coat he wore dripping moisture on the floor. A leaf was stuck in the unruly tangle of his hair, and the stain of a beard darkened his jaw. He looked savage and wild, much like the landscape outside. His beautiful eyes flashed with mild annoyance at seeing Petra and her mother.
A delicious trickle of awareness suffused Petra’s skin. She allowed the feeling to sink into her bones before remembering how horrible Morwick was.
