The Nobody: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (9 page)

When they arrived at the actual scene of the accident Emily instantly burst into tears of mingled distress and relief. Lord Kilverton and Miss Campbell certainly appeared battered, but both were on their feet, and although the curricle was smashed the horses had survived. Mullins was in a great deal of pain, but clearly not in mortal danger. Both horses were lame, but although they would have to be led there seemed to be no permanent damage done. Everyone was quick to agree that their escape from a worse fate was miraculous.

Lady Selcroft’s coachman saw to Kilverton’s horses while Emily spread the coachman’s driving coat on the grassy bank to receive Mullins. Mr. Montague and Sir Egbert carried Mullins to the side of the road to dispose him as comfortably as they could on the driving coat. At this point, Captain Talgarth and Serena arrived on the scene, having ridden back to discover what had become of the party. Captain Talgarth immediately rode off to the nearest inn to summon help and a surgeon for Mullins. Serena offered to ride back and retrieve whatever property she could find that had been lost in the horses’ flight, and triumphantly returned with everything except for Caitlin’s missing sandal.

During all the commotion, Lady Elizabeth maintained a rigid silence and did not budge from her seat in the barouche.

It was decided that Lady Selcroft’s coachman would stay with Mullins and Lord Kilverton’s horses until Captain Talgarth returned with help, while Lord Kilverton and Miss. Campbell should be conveyed back to town as quickly as possible in the barouche. Kilverton thought he also ought to stay with Mullins, but after a short argument he finally consented to take a place in the barouche next to Miss Campbell. They were seated together so they might both face forward, which Emily insisted would be more comfortable for them. This finally displaced Lady Elizabeth, who now had to sit beside Emily in the backward-facing seats. The barouche was to be driven to London by Mr. Montague, with Sir Egbert riding next to him on the box and Serena keeping Nellie close beside them. And as soon as they were under way Mr. Montague demanded to know what had happened.

Now that the shock of the accident was over, Caitlin was beginning to feel very stiff, sore, and ill, and Kilverton also looked as though he would be glad to rest instead of talk. She did not wonder at it that he answered his friend in as few words as possible, using much the same language he had used to Mullins.

“Someone hunting in the woods too close to the road. He let off a round just as we drove past, my bays bolted, and a wheel came off.”

Mr. Montague slewed round on the box to regard his friend for a moment. Kilverton returned his gaze blandly enough, but Caitlin, her nerves on the stretch, thought there was some message being passed between the two men. Mr. Montague turned to the front again, replying in a gruff tone that sounded to Caitlin as if he was hiding some strong emotion.

“Oh, aye! Could have happened to anyone!” was all he said. She could make nothing of this, but something was clearly troubling Mr. Montague and she suddenly realized something was troubling her as well.

“There were two shots,” she said faintly. “And they were fired across the road, my lord. How are we, to account for that?”

The barouche lurched as Mr. Montague unaccountably dropped his hands. “Mind your team, Neddie,” recommended Kilverton affably. “I’ve no wish to repeat today’s experience.”

Mr. Montague recovered the reins, muttering something under his breath, but Emily reached out comforting hands to Caitlin. “Oh, Caitie, how dreadful!” she cried. “How frightened you must have been! I would have fainted dead away.”

Caitlin smiled affectionately at her sister. “I should have fainted, of course, but I did not wish to put Lord Kilverton to additional trouble,” she explained. “He seemed to have quite enough his hands.”

“Thank you,” said Kilverton with an appreciative grin, and Caitlin bowed politely.

It was Sir Egbert’s turn to slew round on the box, which he did with difficulty. “Did you say two shots, Miss Campbell?” he inquired, a note of indignation in his voice. Upon her assenting, he faced forward again, continuing in tones of strong disapproval. “Demmed careless! I never heard of such a thing. D’you mean to tell me this fellow made off afterwards with nary a word to you? Never came forward to offer assistance? Bless my soul! These poachers! Something ought to be done about ’em.”

Caitlin seized gratefully on Sir Egbert’s interpretation of the events. “Yes, it must have been a poacher! That would account for his not coming forward,” she said, relieved. Her brows puckered again. “But surely any game would be in the wood. Why do you suppose he fired across the road?”

“Trying to bag my horses, perhaps,” murmured Kilverton. “After all, several disinterested persons have complimented me on those bays. I would have thought they were worth more alive than dead—so that trapping them would be preferable to shooting them—but I daresay he was hungry.”

Caitlin choked, then winced as the laughter hurt her bruised ribs. She regarded Lord Kilverton with a fulminating eye. “Lord Kilverton!” she chided him. “Are you able to find humor in
every
situation?”

He appeared to think deeply for a moment. “Only the humorous ones,” he explained. This silly remark caused Caitlin Campbell and Richard Kilverton to smile at each other, and a strange phenomenon immediately occurred. The rest of the party, the events of the day, and the entire world seemed to swiftly recede, leaving them completely alone together in some far-off place. They floated there for a timeless and dangerous moment.

“Disgraceful!” ejaculated Lady Elizabeth, suddenly recalling them to the planet by breaking her long silence. He voice shook with suppressed passion. She was sitting rigidly upright, averting her eyes to stare determinedly past Kilverton at the road unwinding behind them. Kilverton, Caitlin, and even Emily blinked at her in surprise. She seemed to be laboring under a great deal of emotion.

Lady Elizabeth had had a trying day. She had spent most of it in fruitless argument with her fiancé, and had been deeply dismayed to discover how completely incompatible their views were on almost every subject. On the return to London, Richard had humiliated her by rejecting her company in favor of Miss Campbell’s. Next she had very nearly witnessed a shocking curricle accident, and had been forced to behold a repulsive scene involving a quantity of blood, which was naturally upsetting to a delicately nurtured female. But the crowning moment of horror had come when the barouche pulled up to the scene of the accident and Lady Elizabeth had had to avert her eyes from the sight of Richard’s bare neck and partially exposed shoulder. Not only was the exhibition of so much male skin extremely embarrassing, it was all too obvious whose shameless hands had bared her fiancé’s shoulder, whose hands had bandaged that wound! Mullins was prostrate on the ground; it positively
leaped
to the understanding that Miss Campbell had taken it upon herself to minister to Richard’s hurts. Also, that brazen young woman was unblushingly wearing a gown that was practically cut to ribbons in the back—and the sunlight shining through the muslin had made it all too clear that her petticoat was torn off below the knees. One had only to notice the edging of lace fluttering incongruously on Richard’s bandage to instantly perceive what had become of Miss Campbell’s missing petticoat. Every feeling was offended! And even though it was Lady Elizabeth’s very own fiancé who had been injured, no one had stopped to consider her feelings or expressed any sympathy for her at all. The headache she had developed earlier was not improved by riding backward in the barouche, and having to give up her place to Miss Campbell—of all people!—had exacerbated her temper. Fury, chagrin, and outraged modesty had kept Lady Elizabeth silent, though stiff and white-faced, but now it seemed she was going to be treated to the spectacle of her fiancé flirting—yes,
flirting!
—with Miss Campbell, and she could remain silent no longer.

“Only a lunatic could find anything to laugh at in this intolerable situation!” Lady Elizabeth announced wrathfully. “What does it matter whether there were two shots or a dozen? The only thing that signifies now is that we are obliged to drive through town in an open carriage, to be gawked at by every fool in London. And the state your clothing is in—! Your appearance is not only bizarre, it is positively
indecent.
We will be an object of interest to everyone we pass! Under the circumstances, I consider
jocularity
to be completely uncalled-for. Really, in the worst of bad taste!”

This aspect of the situation had not occurred to Caitlin. For the first time, she looked down at herself and was appalled. One shoe and both gloves were missing, her frock was ruined, her hair had fallen down, she was hatless, scratched, and bleeding, and she could tell by Lord Kilverton’s disheveled appearance that her own must be as bad or worse. “Merciful heavens!” she said faintly. “Lady Elizabeth is quite right; it is no joking matter. We must stop somewhere and tidy ourselves.”

Mr. Montague was moved to expostulate. “You cannot be serious!” he exclaimed. “This is no time to consider appearances!”

“Hear, hear!” cried Serena, perched above them on her mare. “If people stare, what of it? We must get Richard home! Emily, lend Caitlin your parasol so she can hide her face if she wishes.”

“Oh, of course!” agreed Emily, immediately handing it to her sister while Caitlin attempted to push her hair into some semblance of order. “What a pity your hat is torn. You may wear mine if you like, Caitie. No one will notice anything out of the ordinary.”

“Perhaps my mother has a loo-mask hidden somewhere in the barouche,” suggested Kilverton helpfully.

Caitlin gave a little spurt of laughter. “If so, you must wear it, not I!” she retorted. “Your bandaged shoulder is a far more spectacular sight than all my dirt and disarray. And how we are to hide that, I’m sure I don’t know!”

“If my spectacular appearance begins to draw a crowd, lend me the parasol and I will engage to duck beneath it.”

“Oh, do be serious, Richard!” snapped Lady Elizabeth. “If you are all determined to proceed directly to town, we must contrive to cover that shoulder somehow.” She inadvertently glanced at his half-bared shoulder as she spoke and instantly averted her eyes again, turning a little pink with embarrassment.

Sir Egbert entered unexpectedly into the discussion. “Lady Elizabeth, your concern is justified!” he declared earnestly. “Whatever adventures have befallen us this day, we must contrive, for your sake, to achieve a respectable and unremarkable appearance. We cannot expose you to the comments of the vulgar! We cannot expect you to face with equanimity the rude stares of a plebeian horde! And Miss Campbell, of course. I am sure any female would shrink from such an ordeal.”

Serena interrupted him impatiently. “Pooh! Caitlin, at least, is not such a paltry creature. And, Richard, you have only to pull the lap robe up over you and pretend you are asleep. No one will see your shoulder.”

This proposal generally met with favor, as Lord Kilverton was already half-reclined against the squabs and, if the truth be known, feeling unwell enough to be glad of a reason to remain there. Sir Egbert was a trifle dissatisfied, but finally pronounced it to be the best possible solution. “It may seem a bit unusual—ill-bred, you know, with ladies present—but I fancy no one will wonder excessively at it.”

Kilverton drew the robe up and Caitlin reached over to tuck it round his injured shoulder. Her fingers brushed his neck, and their eyes met. She hastily returned to her seat, blushing vividly, and was careful not to look in his direction again for the remainder of the journey. She was stunned and appalled at the turn her thoughts were taking, and seized upon the hope that her state of mind was merely a reaction to the curricle accident. She had heard it said that people’s thoughts and feelings often were disordered by shocks of this kind. She devoutly hoped her unruly emotions would return to her control when she recovered.

Upon returning to Lynwood House, she was very glad to go directly to bed and allow Aunt Harriet and Emily to cosset her for a day or two. Her bruises stiffened painfully overnight, and all efforts to banish thoughts of Richard Kilverton were exhausting—and unavailing. She thought of him frequently. In fact, she thought of him almost continually. And the more she thought, the lower her spirits sank.

Chapter XI

T
he day after the ill-fated Richmond excursion, Mr. Montague arrived on the Earl of Selcroft’s doorstep at what was, for him, an unusually early hour. When ushered into Lord Kilverton’s presence he found his friend lounging more-or-less comfortably in a wing chair in his father’s library, engaged in looking over his morning’s correspondence. At the sight of him, Kilverton glanced at the clock on the library mantelpiece and gave an exaggerated start. Mr. Montague grinned.

“Yes, you may well stare. A quarter past ten, and here I am! Nothing but the greatest concern for you, old man, could have roused me at this hour.”

“I assumed, when Bradshaw announced you, that you had not yet been to bed,” said Kilverton. “But as you are not in evening dress, it must be that our clock has stopped.”

“Wrong on both counts!” Mr. Montague assured him, dropping onto a sofa and giving a prodigious yawn. “Had to see you,” he explained.

“I perceive you have spent a sleepless night tossing on your pallet, a prey to doubts and fears, and have rushed to Mount Street at the crack of dawn to reassure yourself of my safety. Touching, Neddie! I am deeply moved.”

“Stow it!” recommended Mr. Montague. He crossed one leg gracefully over the other. “By the by, I am glad to see you up and about. You must be feeling better this morning than I thought you would be.”

Kilverton grinned wryly. “I am on the mend again, thank you. But my shoulder aches damnably, and the truth is I was too uncomfortable to stay in bed.”

“Well, what the devil were you about, driving your curricle all over the kingdom yesterday?” Ned pointed out reasonably. “It hasn’t been more than three weeks since you fought off those footpads. Might have known you’d be knocked into horsenails.”

Kilverton made as if to struggle upright “Look here, Ned!” he warned. “If you mean to read me a lecture, Bradshaw can show you the door! How the deuce was I to know there would be an accident? I was in a capital way until the horses bolted—and if you can tell me how I might have prevented that—”

“What kind of chaw-bacon do you take me for?” demanded Mr. Montague, aggrieved. “Is it likely I’d ring a peal over you? Now, Kilverton, take a damper! Here I am on an errand of mercy, visiting the invalid, and you get on your high ropes the instant I express my concern for your welfare! You must be in pretty queer stirrups after all.”

“I am, a bit,” admitted Kilverton, sinking back into the chair.

Ned regarded him shrewdly. “Hm! It’s all very well for you to talk of me tossing on my pallet, but if you ask me, it’s you who looks as if he hadn’t slept. Are you going to tell me some hoaxing tale about being kept awake on a bed of pain, or shall we talk about what’s really bothering you? Aye, and bothering me as well!”

For a startled moment, Kilverton wondered how his friend knew about his sudden and overwhelming desire to terminate his betrothal to Lady Elizabeth. Then he realized Ned had something quite different on his mind. “Ah,” he said quietly. He set down the packet of letters and invitations in his hand, and looked quizzically at his companion. “I believe I can guess what you are about to say.”

“I imagine you can,” said Mr. Montague grimly. “I would be interested to know what your family makes of this shocking run of ill-luck that has been dogging you lately.”

“What do you make of it?” countered Kilverton.

Mr. Montague shrugged impatiently. “I told you three weeks ago what I made of it! Good God, man, only a mutton-head could fail to see what is in the wind.”

Kilverton was amused. “Yes, you were full of hints and dark warnings, as I recall. On the strength of two completely separate attacks by obvious criminals—and despite no discernible connection between the incidents—you have leapt to the conclusion that a plot exists against my life. Now I see you have come here this morning to convince me my curricle accident was somehow engineered—doubtless by the same mastermind who failed in his other two attempts! Much obliged to you, Neddie, but we do not dwell between the covers of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s romances.”

Mr. Montague did not smile. “And you, on the other hand, will try to convince me such a suspicion has never crossed your mind. You won’t succeed.”

He watched with narrowed eyes as Lord Kilverton opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “Just so!” said Mr. Montague grimly. “You, too, have wondered.”

Kilverton spread his hands deprecatingly. “But, Ned, I am the best of good fellows! Who would want to see me dead? I protest, I haven’t an enemy in the world.”

Ned snorted derisively. “Yes, I know you expect me to contradict you! But it’s because you are, in fact, the best of good fellows that we needn’t look far for a suspect. Had you pursued a more ramshackle way of life, dear boy, we might have had to sift through a dozen possibilities. As it is, only one name occurs to me. I am a little acquainted with your uncle, Kilverton—a curst rum touch! And there’s nothing he’d like better than to see you underground.”

Lord Kilverton sighed. “Let us have this in plain English, if you please,” he said. “You are of the opinion that my Uncle Oswald would like to have me—er—removed from his path.”

“Naturally. You are very much in his way.”

“I have been in his way for eight-and-twenty years, but let us, by all means, agree to overlook that! You are here to tell me my uncle has been rendered desperate by the news of my impending nuptials, and is attempting to arrange a fatal accident for me before I am able to marry and produce—ah—additional impediments.”

“Not to wrap it up in clean linen—yes!”

Mr. Montague appeared perfectly serious. Kilverton could not repress a chuckle. “It won’t fadge, Ned! My death does nothing for my uncle while my father is alive. Or do you suppose he means to play the same trick on both of us? Even my enterprising Uncle Oswald might find it difficult to leapfrog into the title through
two
accidental deaths. Too smoky by half!”

Mr. Montague hesitated, glancing doubtfully at his friend. He seemed to be searching for the most delicate way to voice his opinion. “I don’t suppose he would go so far as to plot Lord Selcroft’s death,” he said finally. “But, Richard,” he added gently, “do you think he would need to?”

Kilverton pondered this for a moment “I see. You believe the shock of my death is meant to drive my father into his grave as well.”

“I know you don’t like to think so, but I’m afraid your sudden death might have that effect, Richard. And even if it did not—” Mr. Montague broke off, looking uncomfortable.

Kilverton quietly finished the sentence for him. “Even if the shock did not immediately carry my father off, Uncle Oswald would not have long to wait. It is common knowledge that my father’s health is failing, and he cannot be expected to live many years more.”

Mr. Montague nodded. “And in the meantime, with you out of the way, your uncle would be established unshakably as Selcroft’s heir. His creditors would once again smile upon him, I daresay. If one were reasonably certain of inheriting the Selcroft fortune within a few years, it would be possible to live quite handsomely upon the expectation. Quite a tidy little scheme, in fact.”

Kilverton frowned. “It is preposterous!”

Ned leaned forward earnestly. “Let us say, rather, it is monstrous! He may have been contemplating something of this kind for years, you know, hoping that fate would intervene on his behalf and it would not be necessary for him to act. Your betrothal has forced his hand.”

Kilverton settled back in his chair as if preparing to listen to an agreeable tale. “Well, you are clearly agog to share your insights with me, and I would be loath to deprive you of any pleasure, Ned. I am willing to be entertained.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Pray illuminate for me the dark forces your powerful intellect detected at work during yesterday’s curricle accident—but of course I must not refer to it as an ‘accident’—yesterday’s sinister attempt on my life, rather! I depend on you to unmask the evil machinations of my wicked uncle.”

Mr. Montague grinned, but refused to be dissuaded by his friend’s theatrics. “I own it doesn’t sound as likely at ten o’clock in the morning as it did at dead of night!” he admitted. “But I mean to tell you what I think, and if you choose to laugh, you may. If I cannot convince you to have a care, I hope you will convince me there is no need. Either way, I’ll rest easier.”

Kilverton waved a languid hand. “Tell me, then. You plainly doubted my account of yesterday’s events. Did my cousin’s theory fail to quiet your alarms?”

“Poachers!” Mr. Montague snorted derisively. “A likely story! A dashed chuckleheaded poacher, I must say! He fires not once, but twice—in the clear light of day, within a stone’s throw of the King’s Road, and barely outside the grounds of a royal park. And we’re to believe this fatwit is a curst bad shot, too, for instead of aiming at his game he fires across the road—again, not once, but twice! Oh, and he’s also the kind of ugly customer who funks it when he’s caused an accident, and leaves his victims to bleed in the road.”

“Yes a clumsy individual,” agreed Kilverton meditatively. “I fancy such a man’s efforts to poach are not generally crowned with success. One wonders why he did not come forth, while we were distracted with our hurts, and steal the horses. It seems absurd for him to take such pains and then leave with nothing in his sack.”

Mr. Montague could not repress a grin at the picture of a rustic in gaiters stuffing Kilverton’s bays into a leather sack, but again refused to be drawn from his point. “I do consider it fortunate, you know, that he did not come out to finish what he had begun. I suppose his orders did not include actually putting a bullet through your head.”

“Either that, or he is a delicate, well-bred fellow; perhaps he did not care to shoot me in the presence of Miss Campbell.”

“Now, that reminds me of another point I wish to make!” Mr. Montague exclaimed, again leaning forward eagerly. “It Strikes me, Richard, that if the rogue had been hired in London and told to lie in ambush for a party of persons he did not know, he must have been furnished with a description of you, and Mullins, and the curricle, and the horses—but
not
Miss Campbell!”

For the first time, an arrested expression crossed Kilverton’s face, and he swore softly. Mr. Montague nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, I rather thought that hadn’t occurred to you!” he said, pleased. “The fellow may have had any number of instructions, but he was not absolutely certain he had the right party! Imagine his consternation when he peeked out from his hiding place and got a good look at the scene. He was told there would be a brunette beside you on the box.”

Lord Kilverton stared unseeingly out the window, his mind moving swiftly. “Then once again I find myself indebted to Miss Campbell for preserving my life,” he said softly. “Really, it becomes almost embarrassing.”

Mr. Montague was not attending. “Richard! I say!” he exclaimed, as a sudden thought occurred to him. “If Lady Elizabeth had been riding with you, she might also have been targeted.”

“Almost certainly, if we are supposing your theory about my uncle to be correct,” replied Kilverton calmly. “If Uncle Oswald failed to remove me, but succeeded in removing my fiancée, his purpose would be equally well-served. Either way, my marriage is postponed indefinitely.” He thought for a moment, and smiled to himself. “As far as my uncle knows, at any rate.”

“Good God!” cried Mr. Montague, too much shocked by the idea of Oswald Kilverton plotting the death of Lady Elizabeth Delacourt to puzzle out the meaning of this last cryptic remark.

“But you know, Ned—again, just indulging your theory—I don’t think the accomplice necessarily bungled the job. After all, had a bullet killed me there would certainly have been an inquest, and all sorts of dust kicked up. It’s possible he was instructed only to frighten my horses, and was not aiming at either myself or my companion.”

“He fired two shots.”

“Yes, but now I recall the second shot was fired just as I was beginning to get my horses in hand. So if his purpose was to make them bolt, the first shot did not succeed. Once the second shot was fired, of course, I had no hope of controlling them.”

Mr. Montague frowned over this for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t see it, Richard,” he argued. “That might serve if the purpose were to frighten you, or injure you, but how could it be expected to kill you? Your uncle must know you are no mere whipster. To a man of your skill and strength, a runaway team would not guarantee an accident. And it surely would not guarantee an accident severe enough to jeopardize your life.”

“You are overlooking two important points,” said Kilverton thoughtfully. “If you are right that the attack on me a few weeks ago was also arranged by my uncle, he would be aware that I suffered a fairly severe shoulder injury at that time.”

“By Jove, yes!” cried Mr. Montague, leaping up in his excitement. “He had good reason to believe you couldn’t hold a bolting team! That also explains why he arranged the accident for the end of the day. He made sure you were already tired from a day of driving!”

While his friend took a hasty turn around the room, Kilverton placed his fingertips together and addressed his next remark to his hands. “That brings me to my second point. It was safe to assume he could frighten my horses, but he could not be sure how long it would take me to get them back under control—supposing I could control them at all. If I happened to be stronger than he bargained for, his scheme would come to nothing.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “Perhaps, under the circumstances, he took steps to ensure that my curricle could not withstand more than a few seconds of high speed.”

Mr. Montague halted in his perambulations. “The wheel!” he gasped.

Lord Kilverton nodded pensively. “The wheel,” he agreed softly. “I own, I feel rather uncomfortable about that wheel. I am not a fanciful fellow, Ned, but I am almost tempted to suspect foul play.”

“I should jolly well think you might!” exclaimed Mr. Montague, appalled. He sank back onto the sofa and stared, unseeing, into the fire. “I can’t imagine why it didn’t strike me before! A dashed unlikely thing to happen of itself, by love! He must have hired this fellow to loosen the nuts while we were at Richmond Park, then lie in wait for your curricle, and—why, this is beyond everything!” Ned struck a fist fiercely into the palm of his hand. “If you are not convinced, Kilverton, I am. Your uncle must be brought to book.”