He wished she’d say something, but of course she didn’t. Not now, not when he would have actually welcomed her babble.
And then finally, softly, she said, “I could introduce you."
“What?” He had no idea what she was talking about.
“I could introduce you,” she said again, “to some of the young ladies. The ones you said you didn’t know."
Oh, for God’s sake, was that what she thought the problem was? He’d met every lady in London; he just didn’t know any of them.
“I would be happy to do it,” she said kindly.
Kindly?
Pityingly?
“Unnecessary,” he said in a brusque voice.
“No, of course, you’ve been introduced—"
“I just don’t like—"
“You find us silly—"
“They talk about nothing—” “Even I would grow bored—” “The truth is,” he announced, eager to be done with this conversation, “I hate London."
His voice came out much louder than he’d intended, and he felt like a fool. A fool who was probably going to have to take a knife to his second-best pair of boots. “This isn’t going to work,” he said.
She looked confused.
“We’ll never make it back to Fensmore like this.” He could see her struggling to contain an I-told-you-so and decided to save them both the indignity by saying, “You’ll need to go back to Bricstan.
It’s closer, and you know the way.” Then he remembered who he was talking to. “You do know the way, don’t you?"
To her credit, she did not take offense. “I just need to stay on the path until I get to the small pond. Then it’s up the hill, and I’m almost there."
He nodded. “You’ll have to send someone to get me. Not from Bricstan. Send instructions over to Fensmore. To Jimmy.” “Jimmy?"
“My head groom. Just tell him I’m on the Bricstan path, about three miles from home. He’ll know what to do."
“You’ll be all right here on your own?"
“As long as it doesn’t rain,” he quipped. They both looked up.
A thick blanket of gray stretched ominously across the sky.
“Damn,” he said.
“I’ll run,” she said.
“Don’t.” She was liable to step in a real mole hole, and then where would they be? “We don’t need you tripping and falling as well.” She turned to leave, then stopped and said, “You’ll send word when you’re safely at home?"
“Of course.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to send word about his well-being to anyone. There was something rather disconcerting about it. But nice, too.
He watched her go, listening until the sounds of her footsteps disappeared. How long would it take before help arrived? She needed to get back to Bricstan, which was a bit more than a mile, assuming she did not lose her way. Then she had to write a letter and send someone off to deliver it to Fensmore. Then Jimmy had to saddle two horses and make his way through the woods on a path that was much better suited for walking.
An hour? No, ninety minutes. Probably longer.
He slid to the ground so that he could lean against the fallen log.
Lord, he was tired. His ankle hurt far too much for him to sleep, but he closed his eyes, anyway.
That was when he felt the first raindrop.
Chapter Six
By the time Honoria reached Bricstan, she was drenched to the bone. The rain had started barely five minutes after she left Marcus at the fallen tree. It had been light at first—just a few fat drops here and there. Enough to annoy, not enough to do damage.
But as soon as she’d reached the end of the path it had started coming down in a fury. She’d raced across the lawn as quickly as she was able, but it had made no difference. Ten seconds in the downpour and she was soaked through.
She didn’t even want to think about Marcus, stranded in the woods for at least another hour. She tried to recall the topography where she’d left him. Would the trees shelter him from the rain? It was still spring, and the branches were not yet thick with leaves.
She first tried to enter Bricstan through a side door, but it was locked and she had to skirt the building to the front. The door opened before she could even knock, and she tumbled in.
“Honoria!” Sarah exclaimed, rushing forward to steady her. “I was watching for you through the window. Where have you been? I have been frantic. We were just about to send out a party to search for you. You said you were going off to collect flowers, but then you never returned."
Honoria tried to interrupt between each of Sarah’s sentences, but she only managed to catch enough of her breath to say, “Stop.” She looked down; pools of water had formed at her feet. One rivulet had broken free of the circle and was slowly rolling toward the wall.
“We need to dry you off,” Sarah said. She took Honoria’s hands. “You’re freezing."
“Sarah, stop.” Honoria pulled Sarah’s hands free and grabbed hold of her cousin’s shoulder. “Please. I need some paper. I must write a letter.” Sarah looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Now. I have to—” “Lady Honoria!” Mrs. Royle hurried into the hall. “You had us all so worried! Where on earth did you go off to?"
“I was just looking for flowers,” Honoria lied, “but please, I need to write a letter."
Mrs. Royle felt her forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.” “She’s shivering,” Sarah said. She looked at Mrs. Royle. “She must have got lost. She’s terrible that way."
“Yes, yes,” Honoria said, willing to agree with any insult if it would only mean the end of this conversation. “But please, just listen to me for a moment. I must act quickly. Lord Chatteris is stranded in the woods, and I told him I would—"
“What?” Mrs. Royle screeched. “What are you talking about?"
Briefly, Honoria related the story she’d concocted while hurrying home. She’d wandered off from the group and lost her way. Lord Chatteris had been walking in the woods. He had told her that the path went back and forth between the two properties.
Then he’d twisted his ankle.
It was mostly true.
“We will bring him back here,” Mrs. Royle said. “I will send someone at once."
“No,” Honoria said, still a bit out of breath. “He wants to go home. He asked me to send word to the head of his stables. He told me exactly what to say."
“No,” Mrs. Royle said firmly. “I think he should come here."
“Mrs. Royle, please. Every moment we’re arguing, he is stranded out there in the rain."
Mrs. Royle was clearly conflicted, but finally she gave a nod and said, “Follow me.” There was a writing desk in an alcove down the hall. She took out paper, pen, and ink and stepped aside so that Honoria could sit down. But Honoria’s fingers were numb; she could barely grip the pen. And her hair would surely drip all over the paper.
Sarah stepped forward. “Would you like me to do it for you?"
Honoria nodded gratefully and told Sarah exactly what to write, all the while trying to ignore Mrs. Royle, who was hovering behind her, interrupting every so often with what she thought were helpful comments.
Sarah finished the letter, signed Honoria’s name, and then, at Honoria’s nod, handed it to Mrs. Royle.
“Please send it with your swiftest rider,” Honoria begged.
Mrs. Royle took it and hurried off. Sarah immediately stood and took her cousin by the hand. “You need to get warm,” she said in a voice that brooked no protest. “You’re coming with me right now. I already told a maid to heat water for a bath.” Honoria nodded. She had done what she needed to do. Now she could finally collapse.