His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) (19 page)

“Pleas
e be quiet!” Emmaline commanded. Her heart missed a beat as a dreadful thought came into her mind. “Has something happened to his Lordship?”

“No, Miss,” said Noble before Juliana could gather her wits
and furnish a reply. “It’s Tocky, he’s hurt bad.”

“Show me,” Emmaline said firmly.

They hurried through the house and into the stable yard at the back to find Mr. Tockington, the coachman, lying on the cobbles bleeding profusely from a head wound. The horses, already harnessed to the waiting barouche, stamped and snorted nervously.

Emmaline wasted no time.

“Noble, get that team unhitched and away from here.” She knelt beside Tocky and inspected the wound, then looked over her shoulder. “Jenny, stop crying. I need fresh towels and clean water. Hurry. Juliana, does your brother retain a physician?”

Juliana nodded, her eyes wide.

“Send for him immediately. Mrs. Forrest, does Tocky have a room here?”

“Over the stables, Miss.”

“Then we need to get him there as soon as possible. Here, you two, stop gawping and help.”

Emmaline ordered the two grooms to lift the coachman by the shoulders and ankles and take him up to his room. Once laid on his bed,
she looked at the wound again.

A flap of skin hung over his left eye, revealing th
e white bone of his skull beneath. His face was tinged with grey and his breathing shallow. Jenny placed a bowl of water on the night stand and stood, eyes wide with dismay, holding the towels.

“
Get me a needle and thread,” Emmaline said as she took a towel.

“You surely don’t
mean to stitch him up, do you?” Juliana gasped.

“Yes, I surely do,” Emmaline
responded as she dabbed at the edges of the wound. “Better do it while the poor man is unconscious than wait for the doctor. I need a needle threaded with silk, Juliana, and don’t you dare have hysterics.”

Juliana
rebutted her comment with a snort and did as she was told. Emmaline cleaned the wound carefully, lifted the flap of skin and pressed it as gently as she could back in place. After nine neat stitches, the job was done.

“I think that will do.
” Emmaline cut the thread of the last stitch. “I suspect he has concussion and will have a dreadful headache when he comes round.”

She heard the doctor on the stairs and stepped aside as he came into the bedroom.

“So what have we here?” The doctor moved in close to the bedside and surveyed Emmaline’s handiwork. “Trying to take my profession over, young lady?”

“No, doctor, I simply thought it best to do what I could.”

“And you did it very well, I see. Is he in your care?”

“No, you should give direction to Mrs. Forrest and
Lady Juliana.”

The doctor
turned to Juliana and Emmaline took the opportunity to slip downstairs. She need not be involved in Tocky’s treatment and care, for London would soon be far behind her.

As soon as she appeared in the stable yard, Noble hurried towards her. She took one look at his white, worried face and smiled encouragingly.

“He will be fine,” she said. “He has concussion and will need rest, but there is nothing to indicate he will not fully recover.”

“Thank
the good Lord for that,” muttered one of the grooms.

“And no th
anks to that damn Sampson,” the other said.

Emmaline looked from one to the other, then at Noble.

“What happened?” she asked.

Noble scratched his head. “His Lordship
left instructions to be at Epsom to bring him home from the Derby, and to hitch the Hungarian team. He figured the distance might be a good work out and help get them sorted. But when Tocky went to hitch Sampson in his usual place, up he went on his hind legs and caught poor old Tocky with a fore hoof. Peeled his head just like an egg, he did.”

“Where are the horses now?”

“We turned ‘em loose in the carriage house where his Lordship has a ménage.”

“I’d like to see.”

The interior of the carriage house was dim, the air thick with dust stirred up from the tan surface by the restless, perfectly matched chestnuts.

“That’s Sampson, the off leader, Sateen is the near leader.” Noble pointed each horse out to her. “That there’s
Shiloh, he’s the off wheeler and Sahara is the near wheeler.”

“Has his Lordship tried them in a different order?”

Noble frowned. “Can’t say that he has, miss.”

Without a word, Emmaline picked up a coaching whip in one hand, her skirts in the other and stepped into the dusty arena. She walked into the centre and clucked and whistled to the horses,
as she trailed the whip’s thong on the ground behind them.

“I suspect, Mr. Noble, the reason this team ha
s not settled is because they are in the wrong order. Watch them now.”

The horses pressed together as Emmaline held the whip behind them to move them on. They trotted steadily around her in the small space.

“Do you see where they are placing themselves?” Emmaline said. “Sampson has run to Shiloh’s left flank and Sahara has moved up with Sateen on his right. Shall we try them in this order?”

“But they’re not going anywhere, miss,” one of the grooms told her. “Not with Tocky banged up.”

“Doesn’t his Lordship wish to be brought home from Epsom?” Emmaline asked innocently. The rashness of the scheme that popped into her head already set her pulse racing. Lucius would be appalled, furious. But what did she care? She would be gone.

“Yes, but. . . “ began Noble, then caught the look in Emmaline’s eyes. The realization of what she intended stunned him. “No, miss, no. I cannot allow it.”

“It is not for you to allow or disallow, Mr. Noble.” She turned to the grooms. “Catch these horses up, rub them down and harness them in the order I suggested.”

“Jem, Sid, you leave them be,” Noble ordered.

The grooms looked from Mr. Noble to Emmaline, who stood with her skirts still in her hand revealing trim calves above her half boots. Their mouths dropped open as she turned her gaze on them and smiled.

“Oh, Lord,” quavered Mr. Noble when he saw the resulting expressions on his grooms
’ faces. “That’s downright unfair, Miss Emmaline, and you know it.”

“I will take full responsibility, Mr. Noble,” Emmaline said,
now turning her smile on him. “His Lordship is quite out of countenance with me as it is, so I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Now, where is Tocky’s driving coat and hat?”

“Please, Miss Emmaline,”
Noble begged, “His Lordship will have my head.”

Juliana, coming to share the latest news, was intrigued by Noble’s plea.

“What i
s going on?” she asked as she joined them.

Noble quickly explained Emmaline’s scheme
.

“Lucius will be livid,”
Juliana said, “but all is well taken care of here. The doctor will call again tomorrow and has instructed Mrs. Forrest and Jenny in the use of the laudanum drops he prescribed for Mr. Tockington, so there is no need for me to stay. Besides, William has gone to Epsom and I do so want to see him.”

Lucius’
prized Hungarian horses, polished so they gleamed like copper and harnessed once more, were hitched to the barouche without further incident. Jem and Sid held the leader’s heads while Emmaline draped herself in the driving coat and settled herself on the box. Juliana handed her a three cornered driving hat and settled herself against the buttoned velvet squabs as Noble swung up onto the seat beside Emmaline.

“Have no fear, Mr. Noble,
I had an excellent teacher.” Emmaline carefully threaded the reins through the fingers of her left hand. “I drove a pony and trap when I turned six years old, a pair when I turned nine, a tandem when I turned eleven and my first four-in-hand on my fourteenth birthday. His Lordship shall not be disappointed.”

He might not be disappointed, Emmaline thought as she drove the team out of the yard, but he would undoubtedly be furious.

And that, in addition to the already circulating rumours, would be the end of all of her rash dreams.

CHAPTER 1
5

Excitement rippled like an undercurrent through the Derby Day crowd massed around the track. Lucius raised his sporting glasses to survey the field, only to lower them again when he felt pressure on his arm. He turned to Beamish with a raised eyebrow.

“What is it
?” he asked, his tone tinged with annoyance at having his attention drawn from the parade of horses in front of the stands.

“Ain’t that your equipage just pulling
in?”

Lucius looked to where Beamish was pointing.

“I do believe you are correct.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I’m impressed. They have arrived before time.”

“But something ain’t right,” Beamish said. “That don’t look like Tocky on the box and your team’s out of order.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes against the strong sunlight, trained his glasses on his barouche.

“Hell and damnation.
”

H
e swore as he realized the identity of the coachman. What the devil did Emmaline think she was doing? Had she driven all the way to Epsom? Had anyone recognized her? A vein throbbed in his temple and he curled his hands into fists. Headstrong enough to achieve the one she would not care about the other.

“Here, Beamish, put a monkey on
Sam to win while I discover what might be amiss.”

He passed a roll of notes to his friend.

“Sam, eh?” Beamish took the fold. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“Only that
Mr. Thornhill thought enough of his horse to bet fifteen thousand pounds on him and has faith in his jockey.”

Lucius
exited the stands and set out through the crowds. He ignored the various notables who raised their hats to him, paid no attention to those who occupied vehicles drawn up beside the course, did not hear the greetings from passengers standing atop their carriages for a better view. A few commented on the lack of his usual impeccable manners but quickly returned their attention to the race track.

His long stride
stirred up the dust from the parched and browned turf, marring the sheen on his Hessian boots.

Bookmakers, set up in the centre of the course, shouted their odds while he pushed his way past tents and marquees housing gamers and cock fighters. He ignored the ladies of ill repute who hailed him and directed them
, instead, to the company of bare knuckle boxers who were waiting to see the race.

Face rigid with fury, he
came to a halt beside Noble who had dismounted from the box and was at the lead horses’ heads. Glancing briefly at the coachman’s hunched figure on the driving seat, he noted the team’s new order and took in Juliana’s anxious expression as her gloved hand gripped the edge of the carriage door.

“So, Noble, I surmise there is a problem?”
He spoke in a clipped voice, his teeth almost snapping shut after each word.

“Indeed, my Lord,”
Noble replied, speaking quietly but quickly. “Tocky got knocked out when he tried to hitch Sampson this morning. Got fair scalped he did, and down he went. Miss Devereux stepped in and took charge.”

“Ah, the inestimable Miss Devereux,” Lucius
’ voice was soft but deadly. “I might have known she would have a hand in this.”

Noble nodded. “She had us
unhitch the team, had Miss Juliana send for Dr. Weston, but what with Tocky being concussed the doctor ordered him to stay in bed. She, um, well we were able to arrange another coachman so that you might have your barouche in time but. . . “

“Oh, Lucius,” broke in Juliana, much stricken and wishing her brother to solve everything. “We are i
n such a scrabble and it is all your fault!”

Lucius raised his eyebrows
in mock surprise.

“I rather thought it might be,” he remarked drily.

“It was very inconsiderate of you to demand your barouche when you could have returned to Town with whomever brought you,” Juliana sniffed.

“Forgive me, my dear. I would not have inconvenienced you for the world but I perceive you chose to include yourself in this party when you could have stayed comfortably at home. As for inconvenience, it would have inconvenienced the Langstons more had I accompanied them on to York.” Lucius turned away from his sister and looked the team over. “Have they been pressed, Noble?”

“No, my Lord. Nursed along most carefully.”

“Nurse them along some more.” Lucius handed ove
r another roll of notes. “Take yourselves off to the Bell. Have the horses strapped, watered and fed and be back here at six this evening. Refresh yourselves as well and make sure John Coachman keeps as low a profile as possible.”

He turned to the barouche
, ignoring as best he could the weight of Emmaline’s shadowed eyes. He would give her all the attention she wanted when he was good and ready. There was a hard glint in his eyes as he reached to open the barouche door.