A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

Predictably, Geoffrey was the first to find his wits. Shift­ing his gaze back to the coachmen, he glibly stated, "Ac­tually, I don't think you've quite taken our measure. We have powerful backers you might not care to cross."

"Ho! That's a good one," the larger of the coachmen jeered. “Very likely, that is, with you three and the young miss making your getaway in the dead of night."

"Indeed, I fear I must agree with our friend here," Philip remarked in his finest Bond Street drawl. "I must admit the point mystifies me—you'll really have to explain to me, Geoffrey, why you saw fit to haul your sister out in the dead of night."

Both coachmen froze—they exchanged sideways glances, then the heavier of the two swung about, huge fists rising. He never saw the clip that caught him on the jaw and laid him out upon the rug. The second coachman came in, arms flailing. Philip ducked, caught his assailant with hip and shoulder and threw him across the room. He landed with a resounding thud against one wall, then slid slowly down to slump on the floor.

Philip waited, but neither villain was in any condition for further argument.

"Great heavens! I never knew you boxed."

Straightening, automatically resettling his coat, Philip glanced over his shoulder; Antonia stood a mere foot behind him, a heavy candlestick in one upraised hand. Lips com­pressed, he reached out and took the candlestick. "I told you to stay put."

She met his gaze openly. "If you'd told me you boxed, I would have."

"My boxing prowess had not previously figured in my mind as an inducement to wifely obedience," Philip heard himself say—he had to fight an urge to close his eyes and groan.

Catriona arrived to fling herself into Antonia's arms; in the same instant, a furious pounding came on the door.

"Open up in there! This is a respectable inn, I'll have you know."

"The landlord," Geoffrey somewhat unnecessarily re­marked.

Philip directed a feeling look at the ceiling. "Why me?" He didn't wait for an answer but strode to the door, indi­cating with one long finger that Geoffrey and Henry should pick up one comatose coachman.

As they struggled to lift their burden, Philip opened the door. "Good evening. I'm Ruthven. You, I take it, are the landlord?"

With glowing approval, Antonia listened as Philip glibly explained how his wards, never specified, and their friends had decided to return to town rather than remain at a nearby houseparty and had, for reasons he did not deign to clarify, decided to meet with the coachmen they had hired at the inn, rather than at the residence they had visited, only to be grossly deceived in the character of their hired help.

Under Philip's artful direction, the innkeeper professed all sympathy, agreeing, as they all did, that it was exceed­ingly fortunate that, responding to the note his wards had sent him, Philip had arrived in the nick of time to rout the villains.

By this time, the villains had been hauled out of the inn and left groaning in the ditch. Catriona, truly rattled, had been soothed.

Having arranged to hire the inn's own coach and the services of a groom and coachman, both of whom needed to be roused from their slumbers at a nearby farm, Philip repaired to the inn's parlour, where, at his suggestion, his party now waited. Shutting the door firmly on the reassured innkeeper, he swept the gathering with a jaundiced eye. “Would one of you care to explain precisely what is going on?"

As intrigued as he, Antonia glanced at the younger mem­bers of the party.

Catriona's expression instantly turned mulish. Ambrose squirmed, looking even more gormless than usual. Henry Fortescue reddened, then cleared his throat.

Geoffrey spoke first. "It's straightforward enough—or at least, our plan was. Catriona's sure Lady Copely will take her in and support her in marrying Henry."

"I remembered that Aunt Copely came to visit," Ca­triona put in. "Quite early on, just after I'd joined Aunt Ticehurst's household. I was banished to my room through­out but I overheard the maids saying that there'd been the most awful row. Aunt Copely must have wanted to see me—if I'd known Aunt Ticehurst didn't have any legal right to insist I stay with her, I'd have gone to Aunt Copely long ago."

"Given that," Geoffrey continued, "there didn't seem much point in going to inform Lady Copely then returning to Ticehurst Place to rescue Catriona, particularly if the gorgon was going to keep on trying to marry her to Ambrose."

"We decided that if we four all went up to town together, there'd be no question of impropriety," Henry explained. He glanced at Ambrose. "Hammersley did not wish to re­main at Ticehurst Place—particularly not after their lady­ships discover Catriona's disappearance. He volunteered to hire the coachmen—unfortunately, they turned out to be less than honest."

Ambrose grimaced. "Didn't want to go to any of the local places—they might have got back to Lady Ticehurst. Found a hedge-tavern—those two were the best I could find."

Philip raised a long-suffering brow.

"Never mind—as it fell out, there was no real harm done." Antonia smiled reassuringly. "Thanks to Ruthven," she added as Philip turned his gaze on her.

"Indeed, my dear—but I have yet to hear your reasons for mounting such a dangerous pursuit."

The comment focused all eyes on Antonia; realizing that none other than Philip knew she had taken his horses and phaeton, she kept her expression serenely assured. "I caught sight of Geoffrey and Catriona leaving in the gig. Naturally, not knowing their plan, I hurried after them."

Philip pondered that "naturally". "You didn't, per­chance, consider informing me?"