Lady Controversial: Regency Ladies Vol 4 Page 3

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Ellery asked with the minimum of civility. ‘I am pressed for time.’

  ‘Then we shall just have to muddle through,’ his mother replied with another of her disdainful sniffs, ‘but do not blame me if I get things wrong.’

  ‘I assure you that I shall not.’

  Ellery opened the door for them, ushered them through it and then strode off in the direction of the stables. He was well aware that his mother needed no help with the domestic arrangements and knew her visit had been a thinly veiled excuse to remind him that they were expecting guests that evening. Ellery chuckled. It would not be the first time he’d accidentally forgotten one of her engagements and failed to appear for dinner. He could not, however, ignore a specific reminder and would just have to make the best of things.

  He waited while one of the grooms saddled Legacy. The horse was fresh and eager to stretch his legs again, despite having made the long trip from London only the previous day. Ellery’s backside had barely touched the saddle before he put in an almighty buck and took off at a gallop. It took Ellery several minutes to win the battle for control. Not that he fought for it too hard. He enjoyed the horse’s spirit, gripped hard with his knees to avoid being flung from the saddle and saw no reason to break his headlong flight.

  ‘Got that out of your system, have you?’ Ellery asked, laughing as he patted the horse’s sweaty neck beneath the thickness of his long mane. Legacy responded by prancing sideways and tossing his head. ‘Now you’re just showing off.’

  Ellery rode through woodland that looked glorious with sunshine dappling leaves that had turned a dozen different autumnal colours. Still on his own land but taking a route that he seldom rode, he simply enjoyed the view and told himself he was the most fortunate man alive. A domineering father and tiresome mother were compensated for by all of this. He stared at the distant horizon to emphasise his thoughts, whistling every so often in the futile hope of finding Woody unharmed.

  He raised a hand to greet a few of his tenants whom he passed toiling away in their well-ordered fields. Legacy had blown off steam and seemed a little better behaved, so Ellery gave him a longer rein, content to saunter along and enjoy his self-imposed freedom. He was in no particular rush. Besides, if he moved slowly there was an outside possibility that he would find some sign of Woody. It was ridiculous quite how much he missed the little dog. He really should have taken him to London but had wanted to ride Legacy and his mother, who hated dogs, had refused to have Woody in the carriage.

  Next time he would insist.

  But unless he could find Woody, there would be nothing to insist upon. That truism depressed him and took the edge off the pleasure he took from his surroundings. He reached a track above which tree branches met and intwined, making a leafy canopy that scattered a rainbow of coloured leaves in his path. He pushed Legacy into a trot and then a collected canter, secure in the knowledge that this was private land and that he would have it to himself, give or take the odd keeper or tenant.

  Legacy reared up without warning, almost sending Ellery tumbling over his quarters when a gig came hurtling directly towards them, obviously out of control.

  ‘What the…’

  He struggled to remain in the saddle as Legacy’s flailing hooves spooked the already terrified cob conveying the gig. Its eyes had rolled back in its head and the driver was incapable of stopping it. He managed to calm the stallion, who now pranced on the spot, but could only watch in helpless dismay as the light gig wobbled on obviously worn springs and toppled slowly, depositing its driver in a ditch.

  Ellery leapt from Legacy’s back and left the horse with reins dangling, trusting to luck that he wouldn’t bolt. He ran towards the overturned vehicle, his annoyance at the driver’s irresponsibility replaced by concern for his welfare. He had taken a hard tumble and lay where he had fallen, unmoving.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Stupid question, Ellery thought, as he touched the driver’s shoulder and received a groan by way of response. ‘Stay still and catch your breath. Where does it hurt?’

  ‘Everywhere,’ groaned a remarkably high-pitched voice.

  Its owner ignored his advice to remain still and pushed himself into a sitting position, which is when Ellery realised his mistake. The driver was a woman, that much was obvious from the waterfall of tangled hair that she pushed back from her forehead to reveal the largest and most engaging grey-green eyes that Ellery had ever encountered. They were sparkling with indignation.

  ‘How is Henry?’ the woman asked on a choked voice.

  ‘Henry?’

  ‘My horse, you idiot! This was all your fault.’

  Ellery couldn’t recall the last occasion upon which anyone had addressed him as an idiot and smiled in spite of himself. ‘Stay there, I’ll check.’

  Henry was a great deal more equable than Legacy. Despite the fact that the gig had overturned, the cob had remained on his feet and was placidly snuffling at the ground in search of something edible.

  ‘Henry is none the worse for wear.’ Ellery offered the woman his hand, which she accepted with an indignant huff, leaving an ugly straw bonnet that had obviously tumbled from her head on the ground behind her. He wondered where she had come from and deduced it could only have been Rose Cottage. It was for that reason that Ellery himself had chosen to ride this seldom travelled track. ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Crawley?’ he asked, trying to hide his amusement when he noticed her highly unorthodox clothing.

  ‘I am Isolda Crawley,’ she replied, clearly striving for dignity while simultaneously searching for her bonnet. ‘Whom must I thank for overturning my conveyance?’ she asked in a sweetly sarcastic tone.

  ‘Ellery Haigh at your service,’ he replied as a dog came hurtling out of the undergrowth, its tail spiralling.

  ‘Brutus!’ Miss Crawley cried. ‘I am so glad you are unharmed.’

  ‘Brutus?’ Ellery frowned. ‘That is not Brutus. That’s Woody.’

  ‘Woody?’ Miss Crawley seemed bewildered.

  ‘You have stolen my dog.’

  Chapter Three

  Overcome with giddiness, Isolda found it difficult to concentrate her thoughts. Thoughts that were definitely deceiving her since she was convinced that she’d had an accident and that a handsome stranger with dark eyes, darker hair and disarmingly rugged features had come to her rescue. Presumably she’d incurred a concussion, which would explain such a flight of fancy. Isolda most emphatically did not habitually waste her time or energy speculating upon the unattainable, nor did she have any interest in such ridiculous fantasies. She left that sort of thing to Jane.

  She adjured herself to concentrate upon her more immediate concerns and wiggled her arms and legs experimentally, wincing as pain shot through her body. Isolda bit her lip and blinked to clear her vision and concentrate her mind so that she could decide which part of her hurt the most. Then her fictional hero offered her his hand, presumably to help her up from the ditch into which she had been so unceremoniously deposited. She was most reluctant to accept that hand. It clearly wasn’t real and would bring her caprice to an abrupt end. But she reached out her own hand in spite of herself, as if she was no longer in control of her own reactions, and her fingers met with warm, solid flesh.

  ‘I am not imagining things,’ she muttered breathlessly.

  His strength took her breath away as he pulled her to her feet effortlessly yet carefully. Despite the cold weather he was riding without a coat and she could see the muscles at work in his broad shoulders and equally broad chest. He also looked rather angry.

  The fog cleared from Isolda’s brain and she recalled that he had introduced himself.

  And she had called him an idiot.

  A sound that could have been anything from a suppressed laugh to a groan slipped past her lips.

  Ellery Haigh, the man whom she had heard constant talk about, was everything that Jane had warned her to expect. For once her sister had not exaggerated a gentleman’s attributes. Tight-fitting buckskin displayed strong thighs. Aware that her gaze ought not to be drawn to that part of his anatomy she hastily averted it to his face, upon which a faintly amused half-smile had displaced his annoyance, highlighting those disgustingly rugged features. A lock of thick hair fell across his forehead and he pushed it aside impatiently, watching her with idle amusement as she attempted to gather her scattered wits.

  Then Brutus came gambolling up to them, breaking the spell. The earl claimed that the dog was his and Isolda was obliged to concede it was likely the truth. Even so, had her head not continued to spin she would likely have rung a peal over him, earl or no, for his neglect of the poor little chap.

  ‘If he is yours then you should take better care of him,’ she made do with saying in an indignant tone. She lowered herself gingerly onto the boulder that the earl conducted her to, but only because she was unsure if her legs were capable of supporting her. She didn’t ordinarily do as she was told. She was proud of her contrary nature and valued her independence. ‘When I found him he was half-starved and looked pathetic.’

  Brutus transferred his attention away from Isolda and bestowed it upon the earl, jumping up at his doubtless expensive boots and scratching at the leather with his claws. If the earl noticed, it didn’t seem to concern him, but then Isolda supposed that he wasn’t responsible for cleaning them.

  ‘He escaped from his keeper while I was away from home,’ the earl said, continuing to watch her with an expression of amused forbearance. The expression made his dark eyes twinkle and caused Isolda’s insides to curdle in a most peculiar yet not unpleasant manner. Another consequence of her tumble, she assumed. She would soon be her normal, level-headed self again, just as soon as she had persuaded the earl to right the gig for her. Then he co
uld legitimately leave her be, gallantry concluded, and she could be on her way. ‘I was concerned. Enquiries were made at the village, but no one had seen him and I feared the worst.’

  ‘I have kept him at Rose Cottage. I didn’t realise that he’d followed me when I left just now. I should have considered that possibility,’ she conceded, nibbling absently at the tip of her index finger.

  ‘You did not think to enquire after his owner in the village?’ he asked in a non-judgmental tone.

  ‘Certainly not! His owner,’ she added emphatically, fondling the dog’s ears, ‘should have made better provisions for his wellbeing. Since he did not, I concluded that he didn’t deserve him.’

  ‘Well, that’s me told,’ the earl remarked with a deep, throaty chuckle.

  ‘I presume that you want him back.’ Isolda was furious when a single tear trickled down her cheek. She made a point of never crying. It was not becoming and seldom achieved anything. Jane could turn on the tears at the drop of a hat, if only to get her own way, and Isolda found her behaviour intensely annoying.

  The earl watched her for a long time without speaking. Brutus, meanwhile, stayed beside her. That, Isolda knew, was partly because she continued to make a fuss of him, but even so she was ridiculously pleased that he had taken her side in a dispute that she would never win. If he insisted upon the return of his dog then she would have no choice but to comply.

  ‘He seems to have taken a liking to you. I was worried about his wellbeing, but I can see that I need not have been.’ He paused and continued to watch as Isolda fussed over the dog. ‘Keep him. He is a gift.’

  Isolda offered him her first smile, an uncontrived expression that appeared to take him aback. ‘Thank you!’ she said with heartfelt sincerity. ‘That is the nicest thing that anyone has done for me in many a long year.’

  The earl shook his head. ‘What a terribly sad admission to make.’

  ‘Why?’ She lifted one shoulder and winced.

  ‘You are in pain.’

  Was she? She felt nothing, and yet she felt everything; every nuance, every word that he did not speak. She felt attracted to him, which was vexing. Every female below the age of fifty would no doubt feel the same way, and she disliked being so predictable. She smiled as she considered Jane’s reaction, if she decided to tell her about the encounter. She would be green with envy and would plague Isolda with questions about the earl’s person, his manner, his style of dress…everything about him.

  Best to keep quiet, she decided.

  The earl knelt beside her and gently manipulated her shoulder with one large hand. She yelped but otherwise withstood the torture wordlessly.

  ‘It’s not dislocated,’ he told her. ‘You wouldn’t be able to move it at all if it was. You fell on it and you have doubtless bruised it. Can you stand?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stood up quickly, and almost toppled over. She would have toppled, had not a strong arm shot out to steady her.

  ‘Careful,’ he warned. ‘By the way, you do know that you were trespassing.’

  ‘Trespassing?’ She shook her head. ‘No, that isn’t possible. I always come this way when I need to go to the village, and no one has ever questioned my right.’

  ‘That’s because Rose Cottage stands alone at the end of this track, and the track forms part of my estate.’

  Isolda sent him a look of mild rebuke. ‘In that case you can be sure that I shall not trespass again and will take the long way round,’ she said stiffly.

  He chuckled. ‘There is no need. You are perfectly welcome to use this track, just so long as you keep Henry in line.’

  ‘Henry is normally the most obliging of creatures.’ She failed to trap a capricious smile, enjoying this exchange a little too much. ‘It’s just that a rabbit ran across his path and startled him. Then your horse came thundering towards us and…well, it’s all a bit of a blur after that.’

  ‘I see.’

  The earl regarded her with undisguised amusement—and unless her vision had been affected in the accident, a degree of interest too. No, that was impossible. She must look the most terrible sight. Then she realised what must have amused him and her cheeks flooded with mortification. Her divided skirt was quite shockingly unconventional, a bit like the rest of her, she supposed. Her blouse was ripped and her bonnet had disappeared, leaving her hair falling in tangled disarray to below her waist. Whatever must he think of her? His elegant sisters would have a fit of the vapours if they could see her.

  But obviously it didn’t signify what he thought.

  They were passing strangers who moved in different circles and would likely never meet again. She was not even sure if she approved of him, but he had given Brutus to her, which both surprised and delighted her since he was clearly fond of the little monster. She would never admit it but she had avoided taking him into the village with her just in case anyone claimed him.

  ‘I am not a careless driver, if that is what you suppose,’ she said indignantly. ‘It’s just that…well, events conspired against me.’

  ‘But not against me, Miss Crawley, since they gave me the pleasure of making your acquaintance.’

  Isolda blinked up at him, discomposed by his gallantry. ‘Hardly a pleasure, sir,’ she said stiffly, wishing that he didn’t feel the need to lie.

  Ellery chuckled. This young woman seemed perfectly capable of holding her own against him and felt no need to fall back on the flummery that others deemed essential when first making his acquaintance, which was a blessed relief. She had no particular desire to make a good impression upon him either, which perhaps helped to account for the fact that she had succeeded. It amused him to see her cheeks flood with colour when he complimented her. It seemed she was unaccustomed to being admired, which was a great pity since even in her dishevelled state—or perhaps because of her controversial appearance—he could see a great deal to appreciate.

  He briefly wondered how she would look clothed in the finest silk ballgown, but was forced to chase the image from his mind when his body reacted in time-honoured fashion. Now was not the time, and he had no desire to embarrass her.

  ‘Well, I had best see to getting myself home,’ she said, clambering to her feet with an elegance that she probably wasn’t aware she possessed. She winced when she attempted to walk, however, and Ellery leapt forward to take her arm.

  ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘Sit yourself down again. You wouldn’t have the strength to right that gig even if you were not injured. Leave it to me.’

  She looked set to argue, but closed her mouth again without speaking. Ellery suspected that was a rarity. Miss Isolda Crawley, unless he missed his guess, was not a biddable young woman, which was one of the things about her that fascinated him.

  He strode towards the fallen gig, thinking it a wonder that it hadn’t come apart in the accident and doubting that it would still function once it was righted. It was old and not well maintained, telling Ellery much about Miss Crawley’s financial status—brought about by her father’s reckless gambling, he assumed, scowling at this latest reminder of the man’s irresponsible behaviour.

  Behaviour that had brought the odious Brooke to Ellery’s notice when he had hoped never to have anything to do with the rogue ever again.

  Trusting to luck that Henry was as obliging as Miss Crawley implied, he spoke softly to the cob, who was now cropping contentedly at the grass, as he tried to decide how best to right the situation.

  ‘I can hold his head.’

  Ellery rolled his eyes when Miss Crawley limped towards them. She was clearly not the passive type. Even so, her help was needed and so he simply nodded. He waited for her to grasp the cob’s reins and then walked to the side of the flimsy gig, put his shoulder against the frame and pushed as hard as he could. On the second attempt, the gig fell back onto its wheels with an alarming creak and the discordant squeak of rusted springs.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, gathering the folds of her ridiculous skirt in one hand, as though preparing to climb onto the box seat.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Driving into the village, obviously. I have errands to take care of.’