The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

“Like the devil, but at least the pounding isn’t so bad I can’t think.” He steered her toward the groom who held his horses.

“Lovely pair, m’lord,” the groom said, offering up the ribbons he’d fashioned into serviceable leading reins. “Doesn’t appear they took any harm.”

“Thank you for seeing to them.” Frederick accepted the reins and passed the groom a shilling. “They’re my favorites.”

The groom grinned. “They’d be my favorites, too, if I had ’em.” He bowed and returned to where his master’s carriage was waiting for the blockage to be cleared.

Frederick and Stacie started down the hill with the bays trailing behind, jibbing every now and then, still unsettled by what had occurred.

A horseman cantered up from behind. “Are you making for the inn?”

Squinting up at him, Frederick nodded.

“If you like, I’ll send the ostlers up to help with the horses.”

“Thank you,” Stacie said. “That would be a great help.”

Frederick managed a nod of assent; with the way his head was thudding, it was the best he could do.

With a salute, the horseman rode on.

Two minutes later, two eager young ostlers came running up the hill. Their eyes rounded; in happier circumstances, their expressions of awe would have been comical. They took charge of the bays with all due reverence, which seemed to calm the flighty beasts.

Relieved of the horses’ reins, Frederick didn’t have to concentrate on anything beyond taking the next step, and they progressed without incident to the inn, where they were received with exclamations and assurances of the very best of care for the horses and for themselves.

By then, the pain in Frederick’s head had reduced to a dull ache; the walk had, indeed, helped.

Stacie was relieved when, on entering the inn, Frederick released his hold on her shoulders and, standing straight and tall, with his usual commanding air, issued crisp orders that saw the two ostlers riding his bays back to Albury House, a crew of stable hands dispatched to remove and dispose of the wrecked curricle, and a groom and coachman off readying a carriage to transport him and her back to Albury House.

He looked at her, then ordered tea to be served in a private parlor while they waited for the carriage to be prepared.

Having realized by then that they had real nobility gracing their small inn, the innkeeper’s wife broke out her special tea service and served them hot tea and quite scrumptious scones with homemade jam.

Stacie thanked the woman, and she bobbed and withdrew. Stacie poured and was relieved to see Frederick not just sip the tea but devour three scones with obvious relish.

She knew she was staring, but couldn’t stop. Relief was like a drug, seeping through her veins as the realization sank in that he was recovering as well as might be expected. The effect of that relief, its depth and intensity, threw the power of her earlier emotions—the shock, the panic, the expectation of devastating grief—into sharp focus.

As she sat staring at her husband—who was looking more disheveled than she’d ever seen him, yet, to her eyes, was the most glorious sight she’d ever beheld—she couldn’t avoid recognizing the obvious truth.

Sometime over the past weeks, she’d fallen in love.

They reached Albury House after the bays, the arrival of which—sans curricle—had, understandably, caused considerable consternation.

Stacie realized they should have sent a message with the ostlers. “Our apologies, Fortingale—we had other things on our minds.”

As Fortingale had, by then, taken stock of his master’s state—and Stacie’s dusty skirts as well—he regally forgave her. “Quite understandable, my lady.”

One hand at his temple, Frederick asked, “Is my mother in, Fortingale?”

“No, my lord. She and Mrs. Weston are attending a luncheon at Lady Harborough’s. I could send word, if you wish?”

“Good God, no.” Frederick met Stacie’s eyes. “It’s late for luncheon, and I’m famished.” He glanced down at his clothes. “I’m in no fit state to sit down at anyone else’s table, but I’d rather eat before going up to change.”

She interpreted that as meaning he was still feeling shaky and needed the bolstering food would provide. She looked at Fortingale. “I’m sure Mrs. Macaffrey and Cook can put together a cold collation for us.”

“Indeed, my lady.” Fortingale bowed. “If you and his lordship will go through to the dining room, I will bring in their offerings within minutes.”

Fortingale—and Mrs. Macaffrey and Cook—were as good as his word, and once the food was set before Stacie, she discovered she was ravenous, too. Between them, she and Frederick made decent inroads into the dishes provided, then both sat back with somewhat weary sighs.