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‘That’s thy road.’ He pointed to the lane where the bullock cart was disappearing around a bend. ‘Just follow yon wagon t’bottom of t’hill.’
With a slight nod of acknowledgement Joshua flicked the reins and they began to move.
‘Thank you.’
Kitty felt obliged to utter the words as they drove away, but she kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. From the tail of her eye she saw the man tug his forelock but there was nothing subservient about the gesture and she could not shake the horrible conviction that he was enjoying her discomfiture.
***
Daniel Blackwood watched the gig pull away, a deep crease in his brows. He was in the worst possible humour but he should not have taken it out on that young couple. He had been travelling since yesterday afternoon, his horse was lame and he had been obliged to spend the night on the moors. He was in a devil’s own temper and it had not been improved by being addressed by an arrogant chit as if he was a lackey!
He had seen the gig approaching, but knowing the young couple could do nothing to help him he had ignored it, only to be summoned like a servant to give directions. True, the girl was young and pretty, but he was in no mood to appreciate the heart-shaped face, the large green eyes fringed with dark lashes or the dusky curls that escaped from beneath her wide-brimmed straw bonnet. He watched the gig rolling away down the hill, the little figure in her green robe and yellow bonnet sitting rigidly upright beside the boy who was driving. Probably some farmer’s daughter trying to impress her swain by acting the great lady. Well, she had chosen the wrong man to try out her airs and graces!
With an angry snort he bent to pick up his greatcoat and hat from the grass verge and gathered up the reins of his horse.
‘Come up, Marnie. I’ll walk you to the inn and Fletcher can keep you there until you’re fit to come home.’
Kitty arrived at the Crown and was informed by the landlord that she was expected: Mr and Mrs Midgley were waiting for her in the coffee room. Kitty nodded and he directed one of his servants to carry her trunk across to the travelling carriage standing in the middle of the yard. Before stepping into the inn she turned to say goodbye to Joshua, thanking him for his trouble and pressing into his hand a sixpence which he was somewhat embarrassed to take, but she insisted. She watched him drive away in the gig, a tiny pang of homesickness mingling with the excited anticipation she felt for the journey ahead of her.
Mr and Mrs Midgley greeted her with unfeigned delight, declaring that she had not kept them waiting at all, and begging her to sit down and join them for breakfast before they set off.
‘For if I am not mistaken,’ said Mr Midgley, twinkling at her, ‘you were up before dawn, miss, and too excited to take a bite to eat.’
‘Very true,’ laughed Kitty, removing her bonnet and shaking out her dark curls. ‘If you are sure we have time?’
‘All the time in the world, my dear,’ replied Mr Midgley. ‘We travel to London in easy stages. I don’t mean to press the horses, for we shan’t be changing them again for some while, unlike the mailcoach.’
‘Nor will we be careering along at such a breakneck speed,’ added Mrs Midgley, chuckling. ‘So come along, my dear, sit by me and you can tell me how your dear mother does.’
Kitty readily complied. She was not well acquainted with her hosts but their warmth and kindness soon broke down any reserve and she found herself chattering away quite naturally while they breakfasted upon freshly baked bread rolls and scalding coffee.
‘So you arrived in style, Miss Wythenshawe,’ remarked Mrs Midgley, when they had finished their meal and Mr Midgley went off to check if their carriage was ready. ‘You say the farmer’s boy drove you in his gig? I have no doubt your mama was very pleased you were not obliged to travel here with the poultry for market!’
‘If I had done so then my driver might have known the way,’ replied Kitty with a sigh.
She decided not to recount the incident at the crossroads. The man had been odiously rude and not a little frightening, but Kitty was aware that her own conduct was not what it ought to have been. If she had not spoken in such a proud, disdainful way perhaps the whole unpleasant incident might not have occurred. She deeply regretted her own conduct but it was too late to apologise. She would learn from it and do her best to make sure she did not act in such an ill-mannered fashion again.
She gave Mrs Midgley a bright smile. ‘But I am here now, and very much looking forward to our journey.’
‘Bless you, my dear, then we shall be off directly,’ declared Mr Midgley, coming in at that moment. ‘If you would care to don your bonnets and cloaks, ladies, the berline is ready and we can be on our way! Oh, and we have a passenger for the first part of the journey: I’ll just go and hurry him along.’
With that he was gone, leaving his wife to tut and direct a rueful glance at Kitty as they gathered up their belongings and headed out to the yard.
While they had been breaking their fast the clouds had gathered and now it was raining steadily, a fine, soaking drizzle. The ladies hurried across to the waiting carriage and made themselves comfortable on the forward-facing seat while they waited for Mr Midgley. He soon appeared at the door, standing back and addressing someone beyond her view.
‘Get in, my boy, get in. You will find Mrs Midgley inside, and our young guest Miss Wythenshawe. This is Mr Blackwood, my love,’ he called in through the open door. ‘His mare is lame, so I said we would take him up as far as Hestonroyd.’
A large figure in a greatcoat and wide-brimmed hat filled the doorway, his shadow momentarily darkening the interior of the carriage, but as he sat down opposite her, Kitty bit back a gasp of dismay. It was the boorish stranger from the crossroads! He had washed his face and hands and tied back his hair, but there was no mistaking that strong jaw shadowed with its dark stubble or the coal-black eyes that now rested upon her with a look of cool disdain. Embarrassed, Kitty looked down and nervously twitched her skirts out of the way. He had such long legs that she was obliged to keep her feet tucked in to avoid dirtying her hem on his muddy boots. She knew her walking dress would not remain clean for very long, but it was new and she was determined to take care of it. She fully appreciated all the hard work Mama and Aunt Jane had put in, making all the gowns and clothes for her stay in London. She had helped, of course, but Mama had worked long into each evening, sewing by lamplight until her eyes were red and sore with strain.
‘There, now, we are off at last!’ declared Mr Midgley as he climbed into the carriage and they began to move. ‘What a merry party we shall be.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Blackwood here lives at the Holme and—’
Daniel was quick to interrupt him, saying in a very broad accent, ‘Nay, sir, I don’t think the ladies is fetched to know about me.’ He glanced at the young woman sitting opposite and added, ‘They’d be more interested in frills and furbelows.’
Mrs Midgley chuckled.
‘You are far too modest, Mr Blackwood. I take it you are Samuel Blackwood’s son?’
‘Aye, ma’am.’ Daniel kept his response brief: if they knew his father they might well wonder why his son spoke in such an uneducated manner!
‘We are well acquainted with your parents,’ Mrs Midgley went on. ‘If we had time I would suggest we call upon them when we drop you off, but Mr Midgley is determined to reach Market Harborough tonight, so we must not tarry. Do, pray, remember me to your mama.’
Dan nodded silently in response and earned a disapproving frown from Miss Wythenshawe. He returned her look with a cool one of his own and had the satisfaction of seeing her blush. As well she might, given her own behaviour towards him that morning.
He wondered if he should have hired a horse after all, but by the time he had walked Marnie to the inn the rain had set in and Mr Midgley had been most insistent. Daniel had seen the cheerful-looking gentleman with his full wig and bushy side-whiskers sheltering under the arch leading to the stableyard and he had nodded as he passed him. The man touched his hat.
‘By Gad, sir, you look as if you have been through the wars!’
Daniel stopped. He looked down at his muddy clothes and gave a wry grin.
‘My horse took a tumble yesterday evening and I landed in the dirt. I was unhurt but my mount was lamed, so I was obliged to spend the night on the moors.’
‘And in the rain, too.’ The gentleman shook his head.
Daniel shrugged.
‘A little damp won’t hurt me. I am even now going to find our host and hire a horse to take me back to Hestonroyd.’
The man looked up, his little bright eyes gleaming.
‘Oh? Not the Holme, by any chance? Samuel Blackwood’s place?’
‘Why, yes, sir. I am his son.’
The gentleman gave a hearty laugh.
‘Well met then, Mr Blackwood! My name is Midgley. I have known your father for many a year—a good man, and an honest businessman, too!’
‘Indeed.’ Daniel nodded. ‘I will give him your regards, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see if Fletcher can find me a horse …’
‘No need, sir, no need,’ cried Mr Midgley. ‘I am going your way—that is my berline over there. We shall be setting off shortly—we have many miles to cover today!—but I should be delighted to take you up.’
‘Indeed, sir, I would not wish to put you out.’
‘Not at all, my boy, not at all. You do not want to be riding in this weather. And besides, we shall be driving through Hestonroyd and can drop you at the very gates of the Holme. Now, there is plenty of room in my carriage for another body, so let me hear no more arguments!’
Daniel hesitated, but only for a moment. His greatcoat was still wet and the idea of getting another soaking was not a tempting prospect, so he accepted Mr Midgley’s offer. Now, looking across at Miss Wythenshawe’s haughty profile, he thought that if he had known she was one of the party, he would have preferred to walk back to Hestonroyd in the rain rather than sit in a closed carriage with such a disagreeable wench.
Kitty stared resolutely out of the window. Heavens, she had thought Joshua taciturn, but this man had no conversation at all, except to be uncivil. Her conscience suggested that this might be her own fault. The thought made her uncomfortable, but she could not bring herself to utter an apology before Mr and Mrs Midgley: if she did that she would also be obliged to give them an explanation. She decided to put the matter from her mind and concentrate on the passing countryside.
The view could not fail to excite her. She had never been so far abroad before and as they travelled on, the harsh grandeur of the moors was left behind for a softer, greener landscape. Orderly fields stretched away on either side towards rolling, wooded hillsides. She was only a few hours from home and already everything looked strange: how much more diverting would it be in London? Mr Midgley said it would take two full days’ travelling to reach the capital. A little tremor ran through her: how would she go on? She had never even been to school!
There had never been any money to send her to one of the select academies that taught young ladies how to behave. Not that her education had been lacking. Mama and Aunt Jane had seen to that. When Papa had died they had been obliged to release her governess but Mama and Aunt Jane had continued her lessons, which she had augmented by extensive reading of the books kept from her father’s well-stocked library. Most had been sold to pay his debts but those suitable for a young lady’s education had been retained—as well as less improving works. Mama might not wholly approve of novels, but she and Aunt Jane enjoyed listening to Kitty reading from the works of Mr Fielding or Mr Richardson while they sewed. They had managed to keep the little pianoforte for her to practise upon but there had been no money for a dancing master, so Kitty had joined the Squire’s daughters for dancing lessons, repaying this kindness by helping their harassed governess with their schooling. Mama had been at great pains to teach her to be a lady. There had been extensive descriptions of life in a big house, lessons on how to address the various ranks of nobility and how to prepare tea, but Kitty suspected it would be very different practising all she had learned in London rather than in the tiny cottage in Fallridge.
She clasped her hands together. Mama had never taught her how to deal with rough, wild-looking gentlemen like the one now sitting opposite her. The only men she had met before had either been the young boys of the village or fatherly types like the Squire or Mr Midgley. In all her nineteen years she had never met anyone who had made her feel so ill at ease. She stole a glance across the carriage at Daniel Blackwood. He had removed his hat and was leaning back against the leather squabs, his eyes closed, his head moving gently with the swaying motion of the carriage. If, as Mr Midgley said, he had been travelling all night that would explain his wild, unkempt appearance. But it was clear that he did not favour a powdered wig, for he wore his own dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck and that, together with his heavy dark brows and straight nose, gave him a rather hawkish appearance. With his greatcoat hanging open she could see the broad width of his chest straining beneath his brown riding jacket and the outline of his muscled thighs encased within the buckskin breeches. He exuded strength and power. She thought back to their first meeting on the edge of the moors above Halifax: that, she realised, was the perfect setting for such a wild, vigorous creature. He was not a man to be crossed, but it occurred to her that he would be a good man to have as a friend.
At that moment Mr Blackwood opened his eyes and Kitty found herself once more staring into their coal-black depths. She had the oddest feeling that he was looking into her very soul and reading her thoughts. Blushing, she forced herself to turn away. She fixed her gaze on the window again. Really, the man was insufferable. She hoped they would be reaching Hestonroyd very soon, so that they would be free of his unsettling presence.
The carriage lurched and bumped as their route wound down through a steep wooded valley. The rain had stopped, but the leaves and the ground glistened in the watery sunlight, while tumbling streams ran down the hillside, creating frothy waterfalls between the trees. The carriage slowed and came to a stand. Mr Midgley let down the window and put out his head to direct an enquiry to his coachman. Kitty could not hear the man’s reply, but it caused his master to climb out of the carriage, closely followed by Mr Blackwood. Kitty leaned across to look out of the open doorway. They had reached the valley bottom where a new cobbled road had been laid to take vehicles through the ford. Now, however, the stream was swollen by the recent rains and it rushed and tumbled across their path. Mr Midgley came back to speak to them.
‘Roberts doesn’t want to drive across the ford with you ladies inside,’ he told them. ‘He is afraid of what might happen to you if the carriage should be overturned by the fast-flowing waters. You can see that it would not be unprecedented.’ He nodded towards the far bank of the stream, where the remains of a farm cart protruded from the water. ‘Roberts thinks it would be safer for us to use the bridge yonder.’
He pointed upstream, where an ancient stone bridge arched across the waters. It was wide enough for a single horse, but it was clear that it would not accommodate a carriage.
‘Is it quite safe?’ enquired Mrs Midgley, eyeing the bridge with some misgiving.
‘Oh, aye, ma’am, the bridge is sound enough,’ said the coachman cheerfully. ‘It’s not much used now we have the new road, but the pack-horses still cross by it.’
Kitty gave a little shrug. ‘And so must we, it seems. Let us go to it.’
She followed Mrs Midgley out of the carriage and the party stood and watched as the coachman slowly drove across the ford. The water surged between the horses’ legs and frothed around the wheels of the carriage, splashing up over the coach body and making it sway alarmingly, but at last the berline was drawn up safely out of the water on the far side.
‘Excellent,’ declared Mr Midgley, ‘Well done, Roberts.’ He held his hand out to his wife. ‘Come along then, ladies. It is our turn!’
He set off towards the little bridge. The track was wet and overgrown and the ladies were obliged to hold up their skirts to keep them out of the mud. Kitty did her best to ignore Daniel Blackwood, who fell into step beside her but did not offer her his arm. The bridge was soon reached and they paused for a moment on the apex to gaze over the low parapet at the turgid water.
‘I should not like to fall in there today,’ remarked Mrs Midgley. ‘The rains have swollen the stream so much it is in danger of overflowing its banks.’
‘It has certainly flooded on this side,’ said her husband, who had walked to the edge of the bridge and was prodding the grass with his cane. ‘The ground is sodden here.’
Mrs Midgley followed her husband to where the cobbles of the bridge ended and the grassy track began.
‘Well, we have to get across,’ she said prosaically.
She laid her hand on her husband’s arm and put one foot on the track. Immediately she sank ankle-deep into the mud.
‘Oh, good heavens!’ cried Mrs Midgley, picking up her skirts and stepping quickly back on to the cobbles. ‘The ground is a quagmire. We cannot walk on that!’
‘I am afraid we have no choice, my dear,’ cried her spouse.
They watched as he strode purposefully forwards to the carriage, his feet sinking into the ground until the mud came halfway up his top-boots. When he finally reached the road he turned and looked back rather helplessly.
‘Well, what else are we to do, my love? The carriage is on this side now, so we must cross somehow.’ Daniel Blackwood stepped forward. ‘Allow me, mistress.’ In one easy movement he scooped Mrs Midgley into his arms and carried her across the muddy stretch, setting her gently on her feet beside her husband, where she stood, a little red-cheeked and flustered by such cavalier treatment.
‘Oh, well done, my boy!’ cried Mr Midgley, clapping his hands. ‘Now if you will do the same by Miss Wythenshawe we will be on our way.’
Kitty’s throat tightened in alarm. That big brute of a man was bearing down upon her, a look of unholy enjoyment in his eyes. She looked at the mud and wondered if she dared run through it, but the thought of ruining her new half-boots and very likely muddying both her walking dress and her petticoats was too horrific to bear. Her dark tormentor stood before her, grinning.
‘Well, Miss Wythenshawe, if tha’s ready?’
She bit her lip and nodded. The sensation of being swept off her feet left Kitty feeling giddy and very helpless. She was held tightly against the man’s chest, her face only inches from his jaw, so close that she could see the black stubble on his cheek and smell the damp wool of his greatcoat. As he turned his feet slipped a little on the cobbles and her hands flew up around his neck. His arms tightened even more. He held her firmly but he was not crushing her, yet for some reason she found it difficult to breathe. Her heart was pounding erratically, thudding against her ribs as if trying to escape her body. She had a sudden and inexplicable desire to lean her head against the man’s shoulder. She had to admit it looked very inviting, and reassuringly wide. She realised that this was a situation she had dreamed of, a chivalrous knight coming to the rescue of a beautiful maiden. Only in her dreams her hero was a fair, handsome young knight, one deserving of his reward, not a big, brutish oaf with no manners. She peeped up at the strong, rather hawkish face of her rescuer, noting the long black lashes around his eyes, his straight nose and the smooth curve of his lips. Suddenly, surprisingly, Kitty found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
He glanced down at that moment and she found herself staring into those dark eyes, unable to look away. For one alarming moment she thought he had read her mind and that he would actually kiss her. She was in his arms and completely at his mercy. Her heart raced. A moment’s heady excitement was followed quickly by panic. To cover her confusion she said crossly, ‘Pray do not hold me so tightly. You are crushing my dress.’
He chuckled.
His amusement only served to increase her discomfiture. She said angrily, ‘I vow I cannot breathe! Loosen your hold, you oaf!’
The black brows snapped together and a dangerous gleam flared in his eyes. He released his grip on her legs and she gave a little cry as her feet touched the sodden ground.
‘Ee, lass, seems I lost my grip on thee.’ Her tormentor still had an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. She managed to free one hand and brought it up to his grinning face with a slap.
‘How dare you do that to a lady?’
He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. Then, very deliberately, he let her go. She gave a shriek, her arms tightening around his neck as she tried to lift her feet from the mud. Calmly he reached up and pulled her hands away and she was obliged to stand, the cold muddy water oozing around her ankles and into her boots.
‘If that wants trettin’ like a lady,’ he growled, ‘then that mun act like one.’
And with that he turned and walked to the carriage.
Kitty lifted her sodden skirts and pulled one foot clear of the sticky, cloying mud. With slow, unsteady steps she made her way to the road, biting her lip in rage and mortification. She had been very rude, to be sure, but how dare he drop her in the water? She looked down at her feet. Her new boots were ruined and instead of a jaunty yellow decoration around the hem of her walking dress, the bottom six inches of her skirts glistened with slick brown mud.
When Kitty reached the road she was too upset to speak and after scraping the worst of the mud from her boots and stockings she climbed silently into the carriage, biting her lip while Mrs Midgley clucked and fidgeted around her like a mother hen.
Daniel looked down at his legs. His topboots were almost completely covered in mud and it had splashed up over his buckskins. He walked to the edge of the ford to wash the worst of the dirt away before climbing back into the carriage. Mr Midgley gave the word and they set off again. The atmosphere inside the carriage was distinctly uncomfortable. Daniel looked at the young woman huddled in the corner: she was staring out of the window, her jaw set hard. He saw her blink rapidly and guessed that she was trying not to cry.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quietly. ‘Miss Wythenshawe, I—’
‘Now, now, my boy, you did your best,’ put in Mr Midgley. ‘I did not see quite what happened, as I was helping my wife into the coach, but I am sure it could not be helped. We must be thankful that one of our ladies at least was carried safely across the mud. I have no doubt Miss Wythenshawe is most grateful for your efforts, isn’t that so, my dear?’
Daniel saw the little chin tremble. Miss Wythenshawe averted her face but he could not mistake the bitterness in her voice when she replied.
‘Mr Blackwood’s efforts will not be forgotten.’
‘There, now, all’s well, you see.’ Mr Midgley beamed around the carriage. ‘Once the mud has dried, we can clean it off and your boots and your gown will be as good as new!’
Daniel sat back, closing his lips against further comment. Mrs Midgley did not look convinced by her husband’s cheerful assurances and as for Miss Wythenshawe, she kept her gaze fixed firmly upon the passing landscape. He leaned forwards, his hand going out to her.
‘Perhaps you will allow me to—’
‘Pray do not touch me!’ she said icily. ‘I think you have done quite enough damage today!’
Daniel drew back immediately. He had been about to offer to pay for a new gown, but it was quite clear the young woman wanted nothing further to do with him. Stifling a sigh of exasperation, Daniel turned to stare out of the window beside him, praying that his nightmare journey would soon be over.
Chapter Two (#ulink_f595f030-a969-5f31-b321-c4c77679a820)
The carriage slowed to negotiate a winding village street and Daniel sat up, relieved to recognise the familiar buildings.
‘Hestonroyd.’ He turned to Mr Midgley. ‘This will do for me, sir, if you would direct your driver to stop.’
