The Hopeless Hoyden (12 page)

             
Chesterfield slung his shotgun over his shoulder.  “Very well, I'll go with Caldwell here."

             
“Who'll I be with?" asked Ellison, pointing his gun at Cecil, then Gabriel.

             
“Aim that damn thing down," growled Cecil.  “You'll kill someone if you aren't more careful."

             
Taking pity on the dandy, Gabriel placed a hand on the barrel of Ellison's shotgun and gently pushed it toward the ground.  "Come with Freddy and me, Ellison.  Just keep abreast of us, and make sure of your bird before you shoot."  Eying Cecil, he asked, “What area will you be covering?"

             
Cecil pointed toward the left.  "Chesterfield and I will stay to the west of your party.  We'll use that yew hedge as a divider," he said before glaring at Ellison.  "That way, we'll stay out of each other's shot. ‘Course, there’s little chance we’ll mistake Ellison for a bird.  His costume’s brighter than a peacocks."

             
Ellison smoothed the front of his red jacket over the purple and yellow vest, and stretched a leg clad in orange clocks. “Most kind of you, Caldwell,” he drawled with feeling.

             
Gabriel, Fordyce and Ellison gave their dog, Rufus, the command to flush out the coveys, and the threesome began a slow and methodical tramp over the ground.  When the spaniel rushed a low cover of bushes and a bird flew up, Freddy was the first to fire but missed the quail.  Ellison fired next, but also missed.  Gabriel, who had remained in the rear of the other two gentlemen, quickly stepped up and made the shot, sending Rufus bounding over the sparsely treed field toward the downed bird.  Then Gabriel sent the dog out front again to flush out more birds.  Thus it went over the course of an hour.  The spaniel remained out front, and the distance among the hunters widened as they traversed the area.

             
Gabriel had just brought down his fifth bird, and Rufus dashed off to investigate a small hedge up ahead but turned away before reaching it.  Watching how the spaniel uneasily circle the hedge, Gabriel broke the barrel of his gun open and began to reload.

             
Then, a shot was fired.

*** Chapter 6 ***

             
War had sharpened Gabriel's reflexes.  So before the second shot got off, Gabriel was already diving for a clump of nearby bushes.  Still, he wasn't fast enough, and the bullet creased the side of his head, just above the right ear.  He felt slightly dazed yet was clear headed enough to remain crouched behind a bush as he scanned the area, searching for a sign of his attacker.

             
“Hey, Gab."  It was Freddy calling from the woods behind him.  "Did you nab a bird?"

             
When the Viscount didn't answer, Freddy hollered to him again before coming out of a small woods.

             
“Won't ever get a bead on a bird sitting behind that bush, Gab."  When Gabriel still didn't reply, Freddy ambled closer to him.  Stooping down with a grunt, he asked with concern, "You all right?"

             
Peering closely at his friend, Freddy's eyes zeroed in on the trickle of blood running down the side of Gabriel's neck and dropped his gun.  It dislodged a shot which, fortunately for both men, went into the dirt. 

             
“Sorry about that," Freddy apologized.

             
“Think nothing of it," Gabriel mumbled.

             
“Ah, Gab?"  The baron stood, then teetered from one foot to the other.  “Do you know you're bleeding like a stuck pig?"  He reached a shaking hand to help Gabriel up but soon had to resort to leaning on Gabriel’s shoulder instead to steady himself.

             
“Easy, Freddy,” Gabriel said with a smile, despite the gravity of the situation.  Freddy’s ruddy complexion turned first to a bilious green before blanching white and making his freckles stand out in stark relief.  “You’d better join me and have a seat before you topple over.”

             
“It’s the claret,” complained the baron weakly just before keeling over flat on his face.

###

              Emily tried to be sociable.  She sat with the other ladies, demurely listening to their chatter.  But after a half hour of Deborah Caldwell's haughty stares and Sylvia Raines' snide remarks, she got up and walked over to a grouping of arm chairs covered in embroidered Chinese silk where Jane sat with Prudence Burke-White.

             
Esmeralda's goddaughter appeared no different than most debutantes.  Talk centered on how this hat perked up that dress, the number of new gowns that had to be ordered before next spring and who might be expected to send her invitations.  There was also the usual discussion of her heightened marriage prospects now that Lady Spivey was going to sponsor her next Season.

             
Jane, of course, dared not speak directly to Emily since Sylvia kept an eagle eye on the poor girl.  It wasn’t long before Sylvia sent Jane on some trumped up errand to fetch a sewing basket. 

             
A few minutes later, Aunt Esmeralda, afraid to leave her goddaughter alone with Emily for even five minutes, called for Prudence to settle a discussion she was having with Lady Raines over lace trimmings for a hanky she was hemming.

             
Left sitting alone, Emily rose and headed for the library to hide out until dinner.  When no one made comment on her leaving the drawing room, she batted irritably at a tear, the only outward sign of her bruised feelings. 

             
The library, while masculine in decor with burgundy drapes and carpet, offered Emily suitable isolation.  Three walls were lined with oak shelves filled with leather bound books and journals.  After much deliberation over an improving tomb of sermons by John Wesley, Emily at last capitulated to impulse, grabbing one of her favorites,
The Mysteries of Udolpho
. 

             
But the story could not hold her attention.  She kept reliving the previous night in the woods, remembering how Gabriel had effortlessly picked her up in his strong arms and held her close to his broad chest.  His actions had sparked emotions within her breast completely foreign to her.  Gone was her wish to be independent.  She craved his nearness again.  It had made her feel so safe and warm and . . . .

             
“Better hold up, Gab.  You're bleeding all over the carpet."

             
Ellison's words brought Emily immediately back to the present.  Throwing Mrs. Radcliffe's novel aside, she jumped up and flew to the door where her eyes fell upon the sight in the foyer.

             
Freddy's pudgy form came staggering down the hall.  Leaning heavily on Cecil's arm, the baron was splattered with mud from his tousled red hair to the tips of his Hessians.  Behind those two came Chesterfield, then Gabriel with a blood soaked cravat tied around his head.  Ellison, the only one looking as dapper as when he'd started out, called for Pickering.

             
“What happened?" Emily demanded, going up to Gabriel and carefully lifting the bandage to inspect the wound.  She winced at the raw inch-long gash above his ear.

             
Gabriel gave her a wry smile before pulling her hand down and keeping it in his own.  His head was beginning to hurt like the very devil, but he was reluctant to let her go.  “An accident.  Someone's shot went wild and grazed me, nothing more."

             
“Don't know whose, though," added Freddy, turning to Gabriel.  “The shot came from your area, Gab.  Ellison was behind me.  Chesterfield and Cecil weren't anywhere near us, come to that."  He began to teeter on his feet again, his color turning bilious.

             
“Stand up," Cecil growled.  He tightened his hold to steady the baron but was obviously having difficulty keeping Freddy from weaving back and forth.  “Damn, you're worst than a simpering woman, Fordyce."

             
Finally shaking the baron, Cecil removed a glove to fastidiously brush mud from his coat sleeve.  His cold stare, on the other hand, traveled down Gabriel's arm to where his hand held Emily's in the folds of her skirt. 

             
Reluctantly, Gabriel gave up his prize but only after he brought her palm up to his lips for a kiss.  “There is no cause for worry, Emily.  Freddy and I only appear much worse for the wear and tear of the hunt."

             
“Can't help it," replied Freddy, spasmodically groping for Cecil's lapels and creasing the fabric.

             
“Come to think on it," Ellison interjected. “’Tis a bit of a rum business, you getting nicked, Gabriel.  Ain't like you to shoot yourself, eh?"

             
Emily's eyes glittered with indignation as she turned on Ellison.  “Gabriel would never shoot himself, you nodcock."

             
The dandy took a step back with a wounded expression on his face.  “No need for name calling.  Meant no offense."

             
Gabriel, while delighted to see his wood sprite ready to defend his honor, also saw the situation was going from bad to worse.   It was time to take charge.  “Freddy, turn around so you don't have to look at me.  Cecil, take him up to his room."

             
“What is the matter with Freddy?" asked Emily, apparently just noticing the baron's unnatural pallor.  She reached for one chubby paw and patted it reassuringly.

             
“The silly fool can't handle the sight of blood," sneered Cecil before answering Gabriel.  "I can't carry this tub of lard by myself.  Where's that damned butler of yours."  He angrily jabbed Freddy with his elbow, but this only served to dislodge more dried mud that fell on Cecil's boots.  “You bloody fool!  Stand up!"

             
“Can't," wheezed the baron, whose face by now was an alarming shade of green.  Slowly, Freddy backed up to a padded bench and sank down heavily on it.

             
Moments later, Pickering came hustling down the hall with a footman in tow.  Once they relieved Cecil of his burden and hauled Freddy up the stairs between them, Cecil turned back to Gabriel and asked, "Shall I have Pickering send for a doctor?"

             
Gabriel shook his head.  “Not for a mere scratch."

             
“Oh, Gab, are you sure?"  Gabriel was touched by the concern reflected in Emily's violet eye and wondered why Cecil didn't make an acid comment on it.  “Would it not be wiser to let Doc Larson tend to your head?"

             
“Miss Pendleton's right, Lindemann," added Ellison. “Let the sawbones have a go at it--as a precaution against brain fever, you know."

             
“My valet can clean me up.  Then I'll decide," tempered Gabriel, refusing Chesterfield's proffered arm to help him up the stairs.

             
Ellison shook his head in disbelief.  "Brain fever is why the Earl of Wexson stuck his spoon in the wall last year."

             
Chesterfield, ignoring all else, had started down the hall.  "I'll tell the ladies we're postponing this afternoon's ride."

             
As the ladies' voices floated down from the second floor, Cecil turned to Emily with a sardonic smile.  “No need for that, Chesterfield.  It'll be my pleasure to escort the ladies as planned."

             
“I hardly think we should be gadding about the countryside while our host is laid low," Emily felt goaded to say.

             
Gabriel, keeping a warily eye on the bevy of brightly clad females making their way down the stairs, quickly bade the gentlemen adieux.  “You will excuse me, gentlemen, but I think you'll agree that in all my dirt I would only upset the other guests."  Raising one hand to tap his bandaged head, he added, “None of us wants another faintly fatality."  With that, he gave Emily an encouraging smile and bolted toward the back of the house for the servants' stairway.

###

              Gabriel did not put in an appearance at lunch, though Pickering brought word that his lordship was resting comfortably. 

             
“Likewise, my Lord Fordyce is also regrettably indisposed," the butler added. 

             
Lunch, a cold collation of meats and cheeses, was served on the terrace overlooking the gardens.  Cecil, true to his word, offered to lead the excursion to Cleeve Hill which had been planned for that afternoon’s entertainment.  The older ladies naturally voiced their concern over leaving their host behind.

             
“May I assure you, kind ladies," drawled Cecil condescendingly, “that my cousin will have more cause to feel injury if his indisposition in any way prevents you from enjoying the Park's hospitality."

             
“No doubt you are right," Lady Raines agreed.  “But to forgo an arduous carriage ride would not discommode me."