Miss Peterson & The Colonel Read online

  'Colonel Wescott? Can you hear me? You cannot remain here, it's far too cold. You will catch your death or get a congestion of the lungs.'

  Gently she rubbed the dampened cloth across his face, praying it would work.

  'Sir, I beg you, wake up so that I can assist you to your horse.'

  His eyelids flickered and he was staring back at her.

  'Thank God! Colonel Wescott, you have fallen from your horse and injured your head. I intend to get you home, but I require your cooperation.'

  'Give me a moment, my head's spinning, I can't attempt to get up until I'm confident I shall remain upright. I require a few more minutes.'

  'No, Colonel Wescott, you must not go back to sleep. Get up at once. I thought you a brave soldier. Do not lie here like a coward.' She grasped his arms and pulled him into a sitting position.

  Instantly, his face paled. He turned his head to cast up his accounts. Poor man, he had a concussion. She supported him until the retching ceased.

  'Colonel, you need the attention of a physician urgently. Put your arm around my shoulders and together we shall have you back home in no time.'

  He was more or less unconscious but assisted as best he could. The ride back was a nightmare. She was obliged to hold him steady in order to prevent him from crashing to the cobbles. The horses seemed to understand the urgency and moved forward of their own volition. Thankfully, Pegasus was able to find her way home without difficulty.

  'Jenkins, Billy, come at once. Colonel Wescott has taken a tumble and he's in a bad way.'

  The clatter of boots heralded the arrival of both men, and without further ado they lifted the injured man from his saddle. It took a further two grooms to assist them in transporting him to the house. She gathered up her skirts and raced ahead to warn the household of their arrival.

  Edward was down and took charge. 'You're a brave girl. My brother might well owe his life to you. Now, my dear, leave matters to me. You must take care of yourself. I shall send word to you after the doctor has visited.'

  She viewed the stairs with disfavour. Her legs were leaden. Every bone in her body hurt. How was she going to climb these? She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and found a reserve of strength from somewhere to get herself back to her chambers. Martha was instantly at her side.

  'My word, Miss Peterson, whatever next? Your lovely habit is quite ruined and there's blood all over it. Are you injured? Did you take a tumble?'

  Lydia was too tired to explain. 'Yes, we both fell. Colonel Wescott is badly hurt but I am merely bruised. Is my bath ready? I think a long soak will soon restore me.'

  An hour later she was safely in bed, hot bricks at her feet and a breakfast tray across her knees. She'd waited in vain for a message from her brother-in-law. Her appetite had deserted her but she drank the coffee, leaving the sweet rolls and honey. How could she rest without knowing how the patient did? Was his condition so dire Edward had not wished to alarm her? Then someone hurried along the passageway outside and tapped briskly on the door.

  'Martha, go at once and see who it is. I'm desperate for news.'

  Her brother-in-law hovered in the doorway of her bedchamber, his expression anxious. Her throat constricted; the news must be bad indeed. 'Tell me, Edward, how is the patient?'

  'My dear girl, I am concerned about you. I had no idea you had fallen also. I have the physician waiting downstairs. Shall I send him to you?'

  'I suffered no lasting harm, sir. I am stiff and sore but will be up and about in an hour or two. Your brother, is he better?'

  'Simon's in no danger. He has a nasty gash, which has been sutured, and a slight concussion. He's being instructed to remain in bed for a few days, but knowing him he will be up tomorrow showing no ill effects from his experience.'

  'Thank God! Did he tell you what happened?'

  He shook his head. 'He did not, my dear. Simon says he has no recollection of the accident. I was hoping you could enlighten me. How did you come to fall as well? I can't imagine how such expert riders came to grief in this way.'

  How could she tell him what had happened when she scarcely understood it herself? Far better to prevaricate and wait until she'd spoken to the colonel. 'I'm sorry, it's too distressing to talk about. I have a frightful megrim. Please forgive me. I do not feel able to continue the conversation at present.'

  'Of course, my dear girl. I shall leave you to rest. Nothing matters apart from the fact that you are both relatively unharmed. Time enough to discuss the details when you're fully restored.'

  She closed her eyes, her cheeks pink, waiting until he'd left the chamber to sit up. She hated to deceive him, but could not to reveal Wescott's part in the accident. She was at a loss to know what had prompted his extraordinary behaviour. She would like go to his apartment as soon as he was well enough for visitors and ask him why he'd snatched her from the saddle. The only explanation she could think of was that he was demonstrating his superior horsemanship.

  But that was a ridiculous notion. Why would a man of his years behave like a schoolboy?

  'Martha, please close the shutters and draw the bed hangings. If Lady Grayson inquires for me, could you tell her that I'm sleeping? I will come and see her as soon as I awake.'

  Her maid tutted under her breath, unimpressed by her deceit.

  *

  Simon waited impatiently for his brother to return with news of the chit. He was indebted to her. He could think of no other female of his acquaintance who could have accomplished what she had this morning.

  However, it did not alter the fact that her behaviour had caused him to fall. He'd said nothing to Edward; he must get matters straight before he revealed what had actually happened.

  Despite his headache, his mouth curved. He understood why his sister-in-law had been so insistent that Lydia visited whilst he was there. For some unfathomable reason, she believed the two of them could make a match. Ellen was correct; they were similar in some ways, both strong willed, preferring the outdoor life to prancing around in overheated ballrooms dressed in fine silks and satins. Lydia was as brave as a soldier, had a sharp wit and grasp of matters he'd often seen his officers fail to understand. If he was honest, he was beginning to like her very well.

  The door to his bedchamber opened and Edward strolled in.

  'You look a good deal better, Simon. Your pallor has receded; how is the head?' He perched on the edge of the bed. 'I'm delighted to tell you, old fellow, that the heroine of the hour insists she is only bruised. She was unable to explain how both of you came to be unseated. Perhaps you can enlighten me?'

  'I had not intended to discuss it until I had clarified matters with her. However, I shall tell you the whole and see if you can explain the unexplainable.'

  His brother listened. By the end of the tale he was, much to Simon's consternation, laughing heartily.

  'Good grief! What are numbskull you are, Simon. Do you not listen to anything I tell you? Lydia is an expert horsewoman. I told you she runs a stud with her younger brother. She must have believed you were a stranger trying to abduct her. Why would she have thought you were attempting to save her from a bolting horse?'

  'I cannot credit that a young woman, even someone as fearless as she, could remain sufficiently calm to deliberately tip me out of the saddle.'

  'That's exactly what must have happened. There's no other logical explanation. I have no sympathy for you. If you'd broken your neck that would have served you right. However, this does not explain how Lydia came to fall.'

  'When I fell, she was face down across the pommel. She must have slipped to the ground. I owe her an apology, as well as my gratitude.' He chuckled. 'She already considers me an overbearing man. I wonder how she'll greet my serving of humble pie?'

  'You shall have to wait until tomorrow to find out. I'll leave you to rest. I cannot wait to tell Ellen what you did.'

  His brother left him but it was difficult to sleep. Until he had made things right between himself and his rescuer and was certain s
he was unharmed from her fall, he would be unable to settle. He could not recall having been so agitated about a young lady before.

  *

  By lunchtime, Lydia was more than ready to stir. She could not speak to the colonel. Even she drew the line at visiting a gentleman in his bedchamber. She had promised her nephews a trip to Hatchards bookshop; this afternoon would be the ideal time to do so.

  Her maid was in the dressing room. 'Martha, I wish to get up. I have some errands for the chambermaid to run.'

  Dressed in a becoming buttercup-yellow gown, the waist fashionably high and the skirt full enough to walk with ease, she surveyed her reflection in the full-length glass. 'I do not look too bad considering what happened earlier. I shall wear the matching pelisse and kid half boots.'

  'What about your new bonnet? You have not worn that at all since Lady Grayson purchased it for you last week.'

  'I shall never wear that monstrosity. Good heavens, Martha, it looks more like a coal scuttle than something to wear on one's head. No, I shall wear my usual bonnet; the ribbons match my ensemble.' She picked up her reticule and pulled on her long calfskin gloves. 'What can be keeping the boys? I heard the carriage drawing up in front a moment ago. I shall go down. If they do not join me within the next five minutes we shall leave without them.'

  With Martha hurrying behind her, she headed for the vestibule. Two small boys, miniatures of their father, raced to meet her at the bottom of the stairs, ignoring the remonstrations of their nursemaid.

  'Aunt Lydia, you've been an age. We've been waiting here for hours and hours.'

  'Arthur, I believe you are exaggerating. I understood you to be coming to my apartment. I have been standing there for a week at least. That is why I am late.'

  George, a replica of his brother, threw his arms around her knees. 'I love you, Aunt Lydia. You are the bestest fun of anyone I know.'

  'And I love you both, you are my favourite nephews.'

  'You don't have any other ones.'

  'That's enough, Master Arthur. Miss Peterson is waiting to leave, so stop your tomfoolery right now.'

  The visit to the bookshop was a resounding success. The boys had, amongst other books, a copy of Robinson Crusoe and she a new novel called Pride and Prejudice. She'd also bought some writing requisites for herself and drawing paper and paints for the boys. These parcels were neatly packaged, secured with string and sitting beneath the squabs.

  The carriage lurched and the coachman yelled for his horses to halt. Immediately Arthur was on his feet and lowering the window to hang out like an urchin.

  'Sit down at once, Master Arthur, it's not seemly to hang out like that.'

  The little boy ignored her. 'Look, George, there's a man running away.'

  The nursemaid reached out to remove her charge. 'Come along, young sir, do as you're bid—'

  Her words were lost as Arthur screamed in agony.

  Chapter Four

  The little boy crashed backwards, clutching his nose from which copious quantities of gore were pouring.

  'Keep still, Arthur, we must stem the flow of blood.' There was no need for Lydia to rip up her petticoat to use as a cloth for both Martha and the nursemaid produced linen squares from their reticules.

  'Let me deal with this, Miss Peterson, or you will spoil a second gown.' Martha was already on her knees, supporting the child with one hand and holding a folded linen square to his nose with the other.

  'Aunt Lydia, won't Arthur have empty legs if he bleeds so much?' George asked.

  'No, my love, a nose bleed seems far worse than it is. See, it's stopping now.'

  The groom appeared at the window. 'Is everything well in here, Miss Peterson?'

  'Yes, Master Arthur has a nose bleed. Tell Tom to return as swiftly as possible to Brook Street.'

  The groom vanished and the carriage rocked as the horses were urged into a brisk trot. Tom drove around the stationary vehicles in front. As he cracked his whip, the groom shouted for unwary pedestrians to remove themselves from their path.

  The swaying and bouncing jarred every bone in her bruised body. Arthur was back on the seat, revelling in his dramatic accident. 'Something hit me in the face! Did you see, Aunt Lydia?'

  His brother shoved him. 'Serves you right. If you hadn't opened the window, it wouldn't have happened.'

  'That's enough boys. Hold on tight or there shall be a second accident.'

  *

  Simon was determined to get up. 'Sam, fetch my robe. I'm not mouldering in my bed a moment longer. I shall sit in a chair by the window and watch the world go by in the street below.'

  His man hurried from the dressing room. 'It ain't wise, Colonel, the quack told you to stay put. That's a nasty knock on the head you've got, and you ain't no lightweight. You collapse on the floor, then you'll have to stop there, that's for sure.'

  His man had been with him these past ten years and was more of a friend than a valet. He'd accompanied him across the peninsula, making sure his billet was reasonable, his food – what there was of it – well cooked and ready when he returned, exhausted, from battle. This gave him the right to speak to him informally.

  'Fair enough, I'll take my chances. Let me lean on your shoulder; my legs are none too steady.' With considerable relief he collapsed into a winged armchair. Sam was right. He would have been better off staying where he was. He'd not been sitting there long when he saw the Grayson carriage rattling towards the house. The occupants must feel as if they were being tossed about in a storm.

  Whatever possessed the man to drive so recklessly?

  *

  The carriage rocked to a standstill at the front of the house. Their precipitous arrival had been observed by Ellen, who had been waiting by the drawing room window for their return. Lydia waved gaily, hoping to indicate there was nothing seriously wrong.

  'Your mama is watching, boys. Pray do not make too much of the accident; we have no wish to alarm her. Remember, she is in a delicate condition and must not be upset.' The new baby was expected next month.

  'We promise, Aunt Lydia,' the little boys replied.

  Her sister greeted them with dismay. 'Good heavens, Lydia, disaster, as always, appears to be following you about. Did Arthur fall from the seat?'

  'I didn't, Mama, I promise. Something came in the window and hit me on the nose. See, I'm covered in blood.'

  'Indeed I can see, young man. You shall have a fine black eye as well. Now, run along upstairs with your nursemaid and let Nanny clean you up. Come down to the small drawing room when you are presentable. I shall have Cook prepare a delicious tea for us all.'

  The children scampered off, leaving the poor nursemaid to keep up as best she could. Lydia smiled. 'Ellen, I cannot credit that twice in one day I have been covered in someone else's blood. Arthur was quite correct. We had halted because of some altercation just ahead, and a passerby threw in a stone which hit Arthur fair and square.'

  'Never mind, my love. The incident was not your fault. Neither accident reflects on you in any way. The colonel is much recovered, by the by, and is determined to get up tomorrow. He is most insistent you should join him in the library at nine o'clock.' She smiled archly, and tapped Lydia on the arm. 'I believe you've made a conquest, I can think of no other reason he should wish to speak to you alone unless he intends to make you an offer.'

  Lydia recoiled, catching her heel in the hem of her gown as she did so.

  'Botheration! See what you made me do, Ellen. Not only have I ruined my pelisse, I've torn my gown as well.' Recovering her composure she stared crossly at her sister. 'You're talking fustian; Colonel Westcott dislikes me as much as I dislike him. He wishes to thank me for my part in his rescue, nothing more.'

  She stomped back to her apartment, her sister's annoying laughter following her. Surely she'd not been mistaken in her assessment? They had done nothing but argue since they'd met last week. She believed that society was unfair to women and allowed them no freedom to live their lives. He believed a gentle
man's prerogative was to take control and that a female was incapable of making a rational decision or running her own life successfully.

  She snorted inelegantly, startling two footmen who were balanced precariously on stools, dusting the picture rails. She fixed them with a stony glare and they hastily resumed their work. How she hated being constantly observed! She longed to return home where she was free to roam about her estate without being gawped at by overzealous servants.

  *

  Simon roared for his man and Sam came bustling in. 'You want to go back to bed, sir?'

  'No I don't, Sam Smith. I want you to go downstairs at once and see why my nephews and Miss Peterson have returned in such disarray. Some mishap has befallen them. I wish to know what it was.'

  He closed his eyes, waiting for the pounding in his head to subside. An image of the girl danced behind his lids. He'd not realized how well-proportioned she was, how elegant her gowns were. How could he have ever thought her plain? When his manservant returned and told him the tale, he laughed.

  'I think I shall return to my bed; whatever I say, do not let me get up until tomorrow. I wish to be dressed and downstairs by nine o'clock. I have an appointment with Miss Peterson that I do not intend to miss.'

  *

  Martha was awaiting her return. 'If you give me your garments, Miss Peterson, I shall soak them in milk immediately. I reckon the stains will come out.'

  'I'm sorry to say, Martha, but I've also torn the hem. Perhaps it would be better if I remained in bed the rest of the day. I cannot imagine what other disasters might befall me before the sun sets.'

  She had eaten nothing since she rose and the thought of Cook's freshly baked scones and strawberry conserve drew her to the small drawing room. She was crossing the vast hall when the butler accosted her.

  'Excuse me, Miss Peterson, where would you like your purchases to go?'

  The books; she'd quite forgotten about them in the excitement of the accident. 'The drawing paper, paints and children's books go to the schoolroom, please, Foster. The rest can go on the bookcase in my sitting-room.'