Dangerous in Diamonds (29 page)

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Authors: Madeline Hunter

Tags: #Historical romance, #Fiction

BOOK: Dangerous in Diamonds
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He set his burden down. “She has a wound.” He gestured to the blood on her skirt. “Her leg, I think.”
“I will get water,” Daphne said. She walked toward the back of the cottage.
Castleford made sure the door was bolted, then followed her.
“Who are they? The other women?”
“Friends of Margaret’s. They were exhausted and frightened and took sanctuary as they passed.” She set about pouring water into a basin. Her hands shook while she reached for a basket of rags. “They killed a woman, they say. They killed one of the speakers named Mary Fildes. It was as if they deliberately went after her, they say. Others died too.”
His jaw had been tight for an hour now, and his anger flared. “The damned fools.”
She straightened and glared at him. “Who? These poor people who bore no arms but were cut down by sabers?”
“All of them, damn it, on both sides. These workers, for thinking they could mass by the thousands and their betters would not treat it like the first move in a rebellion. The government, for sending the army out to cut down its own citizens.”
Her lids lowered. “You know about the army? I pray that you did not have a hand in this.”
He laughed bitterly. “My counsel was not sought. Men convinced of the need for force only listen to other men who think the same way.” Of course, he did not require them to seek his counsel. Dukes could have their say no matter what. He had both spoken and written to Liverpool, for all the good it had done.
There would be hell to pay now. If the goal had been to force battle lines to be drawn, this could not have been more effective in achieving that.
He took the full basin from her. He carried it into the dining room and called for the women to move there, so they were not visible through the front windows. They filed in and moved the chairs into a circle in the middle of the chamber. Two women of middle years helped his refugee to a chair and knelt to lift her skirt to see what caused the blood.
He turned away to go keep an eye on the garden. As he did he saw the slash on the young woman’s thigh. A sword had caused it. A soldier’s sword.
“Mrs. Joyes, if you would join me,” he said over his shoulder.
Daphne came up beside him as he positioned himself at the window of the front chamber. Outside on the road, a river of bodies still moved.
“I believe that you brought a pistol with you,” he said. “Go and get it, along with any powder and balls you may have.” He removed his own from under his coat and placed it on the window ledge within easy reach.
She stared at that pistol, then out at the chaotic mob. Color marked her pale cheeks. Not passion or anger caused it. Not even embarrassment. Fear was her high emotion this time. She would not reveal it in any other way, he knew. Not while those other women needed reassurance.
He admired how composed she remained. It wrenched his heart that he could not promise that there was no danger at all.
She went away and returned with her pistol a short while later. She set down little bags of balls and powder on a nearby table. Then she set the gun on the window ledge right beside his pistol and took a position by his side.
Four men ventured into the garden, eyeing the cottage, then his horse. They might have noticed it was not the kind of horse and saddle their own kind would own, or perhaps they only looked for an excuse to release the day’s anger.
One picked up a rock.
If one rock flew, others probably would. It was the way with such things. Castleford opened the casement, and pointed the pistol right at the man holding that big stone.
“If you throw it, it will be the last thing your arm ever does,” he called.
Four pairs of eyes shifted to the voice and saw the pistol. Four men ran and jumped over the stone wall to get away.
“You do that very well, Your Grace. Your tone implies shooting them will bore you to death, but you will do it if they insist.”
“I will continue trying to hit the right notes, if you promise to continue praising me.”
She smiled, but her gaze did not leave the garden.
How beautiful she looked, standing there in the golden light of the late afternoon. Exquisite. Strong and determined despite her fear. He did not doubt that she would use that pistol if necessary. There were not many men in whose courage he had the same confidence.
“There are many things that we must talk about, Daphne.”
“I expect so.”
Two youths entered the garden, showing too much attention to the horse. He opened the casement again. “But not now.”
“No. Not now.”
Chapter Nineteen
 
“O
h, good heavens!” Daphne whispered.
Margaret smiled helplessly and shrugged. “It was not supposed to happen this way.”
“You must have known that it might, however. You all must have known.” Daphne peered severely at the other three women who had pounded on the door while Castleford was gone.
“We did,” the oldest of them said. Her name was Jane Woodman, and she appeared to be close to fifty. “That was why we were made leaders of the society. We none of us have families as such. Our husbands are gone, and any children are grown. If we get transported or hanged—” She faltered on that word. “Anyway, that is why.”
“You are not going to be hanged.” Daphne trusted she spoke the truth, but no one knew if she did. There had been some hangings in the past when workers’ actions went awry.
After two hours of vigil at the window, the stream of people on the road had thinned. Castleford had gone out to the road then and spoken with some of those still trudging by. He had learned just how bad the violence in Manchester had been.
“They are bound to blame us,” Jane Woodman said. “We had no weapons and were peaceable, but it will be our fault, you wait and see.” She shook her head. “They cut down Mrs. Fildes no more than twenty feet from me. Was a horrible thing to see.”
The attack on Mrs. Fildes had shaken these women to their souls’ depths. A horrible energy poured off them all now, and Daphne knew they would not feel safe for many days. Perhaps they never would again.
Margaret appeared shaken too. This cottage had been used for the meetings of this friendly society, it had been explained. Margaret might not be one of the workers, but she had thrown in with these women and knew she was vulnerable now too.
“There has been no indication of violence as people returned home,” Daphne said. “No word of damage in the village, for example. That is something. It is not turning into a conflagration that engulfs the whole county, the way it was predicted.”
“They’ve no reason to harm their own,” Margaret said. “I am sure that all the villages are free of both violence and destruction, Daphne. The only people who have been hurt were those poor souls who fell to the soldiers’ swords.”
Hopefully that was true. Daphne was not convinced of it, however. She had stood at that window beside Castleford for a reason, and he had been forced to point his pistol several times to ward off intruders with no good on their minds.
“I want to be sure,” she said to Margaret. “As soon as it is quiet, we must find out about the Foresters and other friends.”
Margaret grasped her hand. “Do not worry so, Daphne. This is not a fight to be made in these villages or in the countryside.”
“What is to become of us?” one of the women asked, dabbing her eyes of the tears leaking from them. “What if they hear we met here and come to the door and ask—”
“A duke protects you. The prince regent would be better, but Castleford will have to do,” Daphne said.
They all laughed at that, but the mirth quickly gave way to the somber mood of the evening again.
Daphne left them to go and negotiate with that duke. She found him sprawled on an upholstered chair that he had moved close to the window. The casement was open so that he could hear any sounds outside. He had moved his horse to the back of the house over an hour ago so as not to tempt the reckless.
He gazed at the garden, but she doubted he saw the long shadows now streaking the ground or much of anything from the hooded gaze he held. She made out a few heads still passing down on the road, but it appeared the worst was over.
She debated how to broach the subject she needed to raise. He might just indulge her without further ado, of course. Or he might quiz her relentlessly, if she piqued his curiosity too much.
That it was well piqued already went without question.
We have many things that we must talk about
. She could only hope that many things did not include all things. She did not think so. She doubted he would still be here if he knew everything.
She went over to him. His attention moved to her from wherever it had been. Then he looked at her in a way that suggested it had not been far from her at all.
He did not perform the courtesy of standing on her appearance. Instead he reached out and grasped her arm. She twirled and fell onto his lap.
He kissed her, first sweetly, then seductively. “Let us lock the dining room door,” he muttered. “They will be imprisoned there, while I have my way with you here.”
“This is hardly the place for it.”
“This chair is a superb place. I promise there are at least five ways to have you here without any discomfort. I will show you.” His hand teased at her skirt, making it inch up her leg. “If you smother your cries of ecstasy, no one will be the wiser.”
She slapped his hand. “We need to leave here.”
“I agree. An inn far away is in order. I will send for Summerhays’s coach, and we will be off.”
“I meant that we
all
need to leave here.”
He glanced toward the dining room. “You and I need to leave, and go to an inn, then travel back to London. Where do
they
need to go to after they leave here?”
“I am taking them back to The Rarest Blooms until the consequences of this day are known and the region is safe for them.”
He closed his eyes. “May I ask why all those women need such sanctuary?” His expression indicated he was already guessing.
“Since you are part of the government, it might be better if you did not ask. I am very sure it would be better if I did not answer such a question, should you pose it.”
“Hell.”
He shook his head and glanced up, asking heaven to bestow patience. “Daphne—”
“Here is my plan. There is not enough room in Summerhays’s coach for all of us. I suggest that you hire another carriage for the women and we send them off in it. Then you and I will travel in the coach that brought me.”
He brightened at that solution, as she guessed he would. Then he scrutinized her closely. “You do realize that I will have you alone in that carriage, and at the inns, and all the way back to London? That is suspiciously accommodating of you, after the way you have dodged me these last weeks.”
“As long as you are in fact accommodated, what do you care about the how or why of it?”
Another long gaze. “Well put. What do I care, indeed? Off you go.” He helped her to stand. “I will go for a ride and make sure it is quiet out there. If it is, I will find another carriage. There is usually one to be had in a village of this size, even if the cattle that pull it are not the best.”
 
 
T
he horses certainly were not the best, but they would do. Daphne helped all the women into the hired coach that Castleford had procured. The young woman he had rescued would ride along into the village and send word from there to her family to come and help her. The others would make the long journey to Middlesex.
Margaret was the last to enter.
“Do you have the maps and directions?” Daphne said.
“Of course. Do not worry about anything. I know what to do.” She embraced Daphne. “I will see you again soon. You will reach your destination before we reach ours, however. I do not expect this coach to travel very quickly. It is not a lord’s carriage or pair.”
“All will be waiting for you. Perhaps I will have news too. You may all stay with me as long as you like, however. Even after we are sure that the magistrates are not searching for your friends and you. There is room at The Rarest Blooms for more sisters.”
Margaret looked to where Castleford spoke with Summerhays’s coachman. “He was generous to give us the money to pay for inns on the way. Does he know all that you are up to with these plans?”
“He knows enough.”
“By your journey’s end, that may not be sufficient. Will he still be generous if he knows it all, do you think?”
“He will be good to his word about the property, no matter what happens.”
Margaret climbed in with the others. Daphne watched the carriage roll away, then walked toward the duke, whose curiosity about her had led him to ride a horse across England.
He watched her come, and it was all there in his eyes, the reasons he had followed her. Lights of desire and fascination sparked in them, and a warm familiarity born of what they had shared in that tent and today. She saw something else, however, something new, and it made her breath catch in her throat.

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