Bething's Folly (15 page)

She met Jeremy coming back inside from seeing what all the commotion was about, with his Lordship’s carriage tearing up and down the road. He knew he was in trouble the minute he saw Elizabeth, all wrapped up, heading for Juno’s stall.

“Jeremy, we’ve got to go after him. You know where he went, don’t you?” When there was no answer, she went on: “The blacks can catch the coach, I know they can, if we hurry.” Jeremy only shook his head, until she pulled the gun from under her cloak and levelled it at him. “You can tell Lord Carleton I threatened you. As a matter of fact, Jeremy, I am going, with you or without you; if you try to stop me I shall put a hole right through you.”

He was already lifting the saddles down and tossing her harness parts.

Carleton was peering out of the carriage’s window for any signs of activity in the misty half-light. What if he had come to the wrong place? No, there were horses beyond those trees ... He leaped from the carriage before it came to a stop, dashed across the open space. Ferddie was just lifting a pistol from the box Rutley held when Carleton reached them. The Marquis squared his broad shoulders, drew back his right arm and brought it up with every ounce of his considerable strength, hitting his best friend squarely on the chin. Ferddie went straight down and did not move. Northwell and another man, the doctor, most likely, bent over him. Rutley’s mouth just hung open. Carleton bowed low to the Count.

“At your service,
monsieur
.”

A babble of voices broke out: “Highly irregular.” “You can’t do that, Carleton.”

“But I have done it. I trust it meets with your approval,
monsieur?
After all, what satisfaction could you get from old Milbrooke, while just think of the implications if you put me away,
n’est-ce pas?
Of course, I am a better shot than Ferddie, so your chances are not so good; but it all balances out, does it not?”

The Count nodded, tersely accepting Carleton’s challenge over his seconds’ protests. The doctor was looking offended at the whole business. Ferddie still had not moved.

Carleton removed his topcoat and inspected the pistol Rutley now held out to him. He stepped out to the open space, his back to de Rochefonte’s. It was curious, he thought while the seconds moved out of range. He really did not want to kill this man. He would gladly
delope
, fire into the air, if he had any thoughts the Count would follow suit. He could not chance it.

“Fourteen paces, turn and fire,” someone said. “One ... two...”

The Marquis was surprised at his mind’s clarity. Everything had happened so fast. Had he told Elizabeth he loved her?

“Five ... six...”

He could hear some noises intrude on the eerie stillness of the empty park, then two black horses loomed up from the shadows. It couldn’t be, he told himself. Not even Elizabeth would—“Ten...” She was off her horse, bending over Ferddie, then out of his line of sight. “Twelve...
”
She shouldn’t see—“Fourteen.”

There were shouts. Carleton turned and brought his pistol up, aimed. Elizabeth was coming into the line of fire, her pistol gripped in both hands, facing the Count.

“No, Elizabeth, it’s empty!”

The Count had turned, aimed, was startled by the commotion, fired. Elizabeth went down. Carleton steadied his own piece and fired. He dropped the gun without even looking at his opponent and ran to his wife. She was kneeling now, holding her arm. He tore her cloak off to look at the wound.

“Good God, Elizabeth!” The wound was merely a graze at the top of her shoulder, but she was practically naked! He pulled the cape around her again and lifted her in his arms, heading for the carriage. He nodded the doctor and Northwell over to the Count. Rutley ran ahead of the Marquis to open the carriage door, tossing Carleton’s jacket in. Ferddie was standing up now, shaking his head, when Northwell called out, “He’ll live, Carleton!”

“Ask him who paid for the damn greys,” the Marquis called back. “Then tell him to get out of the country.” As he reached the carriage with his burden, he noticed Jeremy mounted on Jupiter, struggling to hold the frightened mare. “Leave Juno for someone else to bring. You ride ahead for the doctor. And this time you are really dismissed,” he shouted angrily at the groom’s receding figure.

“That’s all right, sir,” came back through the mists, “I already works for ’er Ladyship.”

The carriage started up the minute the door was shut on Carleton, Elizabeth still in his arms. Now he turned her cloak back and pressed his folded neckcloth to the wound, which was just barely trickling blood. He never said a word.

“Alex? Are you very angry?”

“If I don’t warm your bottom over this, it’s only because I am a saint. Whatever made you do such an insane thing—or should I not ask?”

“I had to, Alex, to tell you about the horse! I never told you what I did spend my prize money on at Tattersalls, only what I didn’t. It’s the mare Robbie wrote about; we’ve been waiting and waiting for a horse from that line, and the money to buy her. She’s perfect for the Pride, and for the Folly, to start a new line.”

“You almost got yourself killed to tell me about your damned horse?”

“Oh, no, Alex. She’s not my horse; she’s yours, your wedding present. I—”

Whatever else she was going to say was forgotten in a very long, tender kiss.

The doctor was there waiting in Elizabeth’s bedroom—at least they had waited for dawn for this nonsense—and Bessie with hot water, when Carleton carried her upstairs Henrys had a brandy poured for the Marquis as soon as he came back down. He was writing hurried messages when the doctor joined him, declining a glass.

“At this time of the morning? Bah. Next you’ll be asking me to cure you of that! Well, you had better go on up to that wife of yours. She’s already raising a fuss, wanting to get dressed and come down, or some such nonsense. More spirit than sense, I’d say, but she’s in perfect health.” Carleton took the steps two at a time and opened Elizabeth’s door without knocking. She was trying to put a dressing gown on while Bessie was angrily protesting. Carleton just stood by the door.

“She won’t listen, Lord Carleton, and I know you’re going to blame me...
”

“Out, Bessie, out.” He shut the door behind her, then slowly walked toward his wife. He untied the sash of her robe.

“But, Alex, I’ve got to see about Ferddie and—”

“Ferddie’s coming to dinner.” He gently lifted the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall to her feet.

“But the doctor said I was perfect...”

Laughing blue eyes moved over her body, naked except for a small bandage, and one corner of his mouth twitched up. “I know.”

A long time later Elizabeth stirred and sighed. “How sad that we wasted so much time, Alex.”

He pulled her closer and began kissing her again, while his hand caressed her.

“You know what I wish?” she asked a minute or two later. “I wish you’d married me for love.”

“You precious idiot, why else would I have?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Barbara Metzger is an artist and former editor who knows the colorful Regency period thoroughly and has the skill to bring it to life for her readers.
Bething’s Folly
is her first published novel. The author lives in Montauk, New York, at the easternmost tip of Long Island.