The Honourable Fortune Hunter (Scandalous Miss Brightwells 5)

It took Theo a good five minutes to reach the water’s edge where the carriage had plunged into the murky depths, thankfully throwing the coachman free. By some miracle, the horses had torn themselves loose and were floundering up the riverbank on the opposite side, but the real horror was that there was still one unaccounted-for female inside the almost fully submerged capsule.

Theodore threw off his coat and kicked off his boots while he kept one eye on the carriage which was lodged fast, thank the Lord, against an overhanging willow branch. But if the person inside could not swim, she was probably fast succumbing to the rising waters and no Herculean effort of his would get him to the other side of the river in time.

He was about to dive into the water when he saw splashing and, with a lurch and a lunge, a young woman emerged, arms flailing as she blindly managed to cling to an overhanging willow branch.

Theodore paused. If she was free, it bought him a few seconds to run to the bridge and cross there, rather than risk being carried away by the swiftly flowing river, himself.

“Hold tight! I’m nearly there!” he shouted, hoping the sound of his voice would give her the necessary few more seconds’ strength she needed.

And perhaps it did for just as her frightened eyes showed she might be about to give up and loosen her grip, they flickered brightly once more with hope as Theodore made it over the bridge, scrambled down the riverbank, and secured himself around a tree as he reached out an arm.

“Grip my wrist, not my hand!” he shouted, thankful there was just enough length in it for him to risk the rescue without tearing him from his own security. He certainly didn’t want to drown in a frenzied rescue gone wrong.

Fortunately, the weather was fine and there was no high wind to carry his words away. Fortunately, also, the young person was obviously not of a panicky constitution for, although he saw the terror in her eyes as she contemplated the

obvious danger in dislodging herself even slightly from her security in order to launch herself forwards, this was overridden by self-preservation and common sense as she thrust out her hand.

Gripping her wrist tightly, Theo hauled her out of the water and onto the riverbank.

It was an incongruous situation, the weather cold but close to perfect on this winter’s evening that was fast closing in. No keening wind or raging storm as a backdrop to this dramatic rescue.

For a few moments, he allowed her to remain unmoving in his embrace, not because of any tender feeling on his part. The truth was, he was simply relieved neither he nor young Tom were going to hang for inadvertently causing an innocent young lady’s untimely death. He was rather tired of rescues gone wrong.

And she was, clearly, a young lady of privilege, on account of the expensive cut of her gown, whereas the bedraggled maid in her cheap grey cotton dress was now coming towards them.

“You saved my life,” the young woman finally said through chattering teeth as he helped lower her onto the grass, and she hunched up her knees, looking at him as if he were some kind of conquering god.

Which, the Lord alone—and all of society knew—was as far from the truth as it was possible to be.

“Don’t go thanking me when…” He was about to reveal that it was a potential poacher’s rifle shot that had inadvertently led to the drama then decided against it. No point in embroiling anyone unnecessarily in anything. Theodore’s impulsiveness in telling the truth and taking decisive action had got him into too much trouble already.

He adopted a brisk tone of voice in order to bring the drama to a close. It was getting late and Theo was ready to return home to a nice warm fire and another tolerably enjoyable, solitary evening. “Now, miss, where are you headed so I can help reunite you with your loved ones?” He scanned the horizon which was showing the dismaying signs of a fading sun. Hopefully her kin would not be too far away.

“My loved ones?” She screwed up her nose as she tilted her face to look at him. “No loved ones where I’m going, or where I’ve come from. I believe there was still another four hours of travelling before we reached our destination. My maid told me—”

She broke off, gasping, before seeing the small personage a few feet away. “Thank goodness you’re all right, Mabel!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “And where’s John Coachman? And the horses?”

At least on this score Theodore could be honest and deliver the reassurance she needed, for John Coachman had already climbed into Theo’s cart having tied up the horses.

Tom, the miscreant who had fired the offending shot had long since bolted, but he’d not taken the donkey cart that was half stacked with firewood. This left just enough room for Theo’s three passengers—all of whom he intended depositing somewhere safe so he could return to planning the far from straightforward travel itinerary that would see him heading for France in a little under five days.

And, indeed, he seemed well on the way to achieving this when the innkeeper cheerfully agreed to accommodate John Coachman, before adding, “Though it’ll be in the loft above the stables, of course, as all our rooms are taken.”

Miss Hipplethwaite, who ran the Ladies Seminary in the village was the next possibility Theo dreamt up in his desperation to be rid of young Miss Lizzy Scott—as he discovered she was called—but when he announced his intentions, with a flick of reins to direct the donkey there, he was faced with a conundrum as he stared across at the bright brown eyes that shone from the mud-smeared face of the young lady he had just rescued.

“I have had enough of Ladies Seminaries, though thank you for thinking of it, Mr McAlister. Really, I am not concerned in the slightest if I don’t go home tonight or tomorrow—or ever, really,” she said with a frightening air of sincerity as she and her maid bounced along in the gathering twilight.

A rather heated feeling of desperation warmed Theodore’s neck under his carelessly knotted necktie as he handled the reins, now heading towards his home, which seemed the only place he could take her at this late hour.

“You may not be concerned, but I fear your family will,” he muttered, leaning across to tweak the blanket that covered her sodden clothing so that it better hid her torn gown. The last thing he needed was to be put into a compromising situation when his own matrimonial plans were finally proceeding as designed. This little chit, who resembled a water rat with her hair hanging damp and loose over her shoulders, had shed her shock with remarkable speed and now appeared to regard this as a wonderful adventure.

“Besides, if you are taking Mabel and me to your house where your sister lives—you did mention a sister, I think—there’s no need for concern,” she went on.

Theo steeled himself and said stiffly, “My sister died last year. The publican failed to mention that in the conversation you overheard, Miss Scott. No, it will not do to take you to my home, but I don’t know what else to do with you. Fortunately, Mabel is here, and tomorrow I can make arrangements to deliver you to your family.”

She sighed. “I wish I’d not told you my real name. At the third Ladies Seminary I was sent to, I started to call myself Miss Marzipan, that being something that I’m quite partial to, but was never allowed because Mrs Hodge refused me anything beyond porridge. I could only imagine what most sweetmeats tasted like since Mrs Hodge, who looks after me, refused me every pleasure in life.”

“Indeed?” Theo said, unmoved. “And did she lock you up in the attic, tied to a chair, and feed you only bread and water every three days, too?”