The Unlikely Lady (19 page)

“Of course,” Jane replied.

Garrett let out his pent-up breath. “Very well.”

Claringdon drew up his mount beside Garrett. “One has the distinct feeling they're racing over you, Upton.”

Garrett grimaced. “Two ladies racing sidesaddle across a field? It's bloody dangerous.”

Claringdon grinned at him. “Quite. Who do you think will win? The horseflesh appears to be evenly matched, but I've got five pounds on Jane.”

Garrett didn't answer. He turned back to the two ladies, who had brought their mounts to the head of the field.

“When I drop my arm, you may go,” Garrett called, raising his right arm high in the air.

Jane was bent low over her horse's neck, whispering to the beast, a determined gleam in her eye. Isabella, however, seemed completely relaxed, nearly disinterested. She, too, had a gleam in her eye, but it looked more wicked than determined.

Garrett lifted his chin. So be it. If they were set on doing this, they might as well get it over with and get on with the day. “On your mark … set … go.” His arm slashed downward. Jane kicked her mount with her booted heel and slapped the crop against the horse's flank. Isabella made a show of kicking and slapping, too, but she didn't go nearly as quickly. Jane was already three full lengths ahead of her across the field.

Garrett exchanged an exasperated look with Lucy and Cassandra. He shaded his eyes to watch Jane's progress. She was galloping as if the devil chased her. Her horse's hooves pounded the grass and kicked up tufts of dirt and leaves. She improved her lead by another length.

She'd made it three quarters of the length across the field when her saddle tilted crazily to the side and she flew off into the high grass.

“No!” Garrett kicked his mount into a gallop and made straight for Jane. His heart raced in a frantic rhythm along with his horse's thundering hooves. He slowed to a stop just before the spot where he'd last seen Jane and vaulted to the ground, frantically searching for her in the tall grass. Her horse had trotted off but remained grazing nearby.

“Jane. Jane!”

A low groan caught his attention and he whirled around. She was lying in the grass, her leg bent at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were closed.
God, please don't let her die.

He lunged toward her and fell to his knees beside her. Her face was turned to the side, a large dirt smudge was smeared across her cheek, and her spectacles were nowhere to be seen.

Mrs. Langford's mount galloped to a halt next to them. “Is she all right?” came Isabella's breathless voice.

Garrett put his fingers to the pulse in Jane's neck. It was there, thank Christ. “I don't know,” he replied through clenched teeth.

Lucy, Cassandra, Swifdon, and a few others arrived moments later. They dismounted and hovered in a circle around Jane while Garrett cradled her head in his lap. “Derek's gone to the village to fetch the doctor,” Cassandra said.

Garrett nodded. Nothing else seemed out of place, but Jane's leg was surely hurt. Her ankle was already bruised and swelling. He leaned down and pressed his ear to her lips.

“She's breathing,” he announced. A collective sigh went up among them.

He stroked her cheek. “Miss Lowndes.” He leaned closer. “Jane.” She looked so helpless and vulnerable. And so pretty without her glasses. Just like the night he'd kissed her. Her hair had come askew out of her topknot. He traced her cheekbone with his fingertips, heedless of what the others might think. Seeing her silent and helpless and hurt brought out a fierce protective streak in him. One he hadn't known he possessed.

“Jane,” he whispered again. Her eyes fluttered open and regarded him with their usual dark, sparkling intelligence.

“Garrett?”

Something stirred deep in Garrett's belly when she called him by his Christian name.

“Yes, it's me,” he replied softly, pulling a bit of grass from her hair and tossing it aside.

She made as if to sit up but winced and lay back down.

“Stay still. Claringdon's gone to fetch the doctor.”

Jane smiled and let her head rest in his lap again. “Upton?” she asked softly.

He bent to hear her. “Yes, Jane?”

Her voice was a croak. “Did I win?”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Later that afternoon, Jane sat propped up in bed with her foot on a pillow. She could boast a small lump on the back of her head, but it only hurt when she touched it. She also had a painful twist of her ankle, but the maids brought cold compresses to wrap it, and Lucy brought her hot buttered rum.

Jane stared at the bright white blur that was her stockinged foot. Without her spectacles, she couldn't read. Regardless, resting comfortably in bed was much preferable to house party outings. The doctor had informed her she'd most likely be able to walk after a day or two, assuring her she could attend the wedding.

A knock sounded on her bedchamber door, and Jane stretched and yawned. It was high time for her afternoon nap. “Who is it?”

The door opened and shut and the dark blur of a man strode toward her. She gasped and pulled the covers to her neck. “Sir, who are you?”

Garrett's laughter followed. “You don't recognize me?”

It was Upton? What was he doing here? “I don't have my spectacles,” she admitted sheepishly, “but you shouldn't be in here. It's shamelessly inappropriate.”

It was better this way, without her spectacles. If she couldn't see how handsome he was, she was much less likely to fantasize about kissing him again, and that was good for everyone. Ever since he'd adamantly and convincingly denied that Mrs. Langford was his mistress and then called Jane stunningly beautiful, well, that in itself had been a bit irresistible. But it had really been too much when he'd asked her when—not if—they would repeat their interlude in the drawing room. The fact was she'd been distracted by that thought far too much since he'd said it.

Upton's laughter was warm and genuine. “I like that, the perpetrator of the Mrs. Bunbury plot telling me what is shamelessly inappropriate. I had to come see how you're doing, didn't I?”

Jane continued to clutch at the covers. “But I'm in my night rail.”

“Yes. I saw a bit of it unfortunately. It's a night rail that looks like something my grandmama would wear and you have blankets up to your neck on top of that. I have absolutely no hope of catching so much as a glimpse of your skin.”

She had to laugh. He was right. The frothy lace of her long night rail was anything but revealing. She pushed the covers back down to her waist and nestled back against the pillows. “You are shameless, Upton. Don't allow anyone to ever tell you differently.”

“Duly noted,” he replied. “Where are your spectacles?” He sounded nearly … caring.

Jane sighed. “I'm afraid they were hopelessly bent. Cass has sent to London to fetch me another pair.”

“You look … pretty without your glasses.” He cleared his throat. “Quite pretty.”

Heavens. Had Upton just called her pretty?
Quite
pretty?

“How is your ankle?” he asked. She could see enough of his blurry form to know he'd pulled a chair close to the edge of her bed and taken a seat.

“Twisted. And sore. Lady Moreland offered me a bowl of cream as if I were a cat. I told her I'd be ever so much more interested in a teacake. I suppose I should consider it a victory as long as she doesn't send a servant with a bit of salmon. Mrs. Cat would love a bit of salmon.”

“Who is Mrs. Cat?”

“A cat. Not my cat. I don't own a cat. She's just a cat I feed sometimes.”

The flash of his white teeth was unmistakable. “I hate to tell you this but if you're feeding her, she's your cat.”

“No. She's not. I'm certain of it.”

“I know better than to argue with you,” he said with a laugh. “But tell me, why are you feeding her if you care so little about her?”

“I didn't say I didn't care about her. She's a perfectly good cat. But you see, there are kittens, and well, I couldn't allow
them
to go hungry.”

“Why, Jane Lowndes, you are tenderhearted.”

Her eyes widened. “No. I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. You're quite tenderhearted if you're feeding a mother cat in order to care for her kittens.”

Jane glanced away but she couldn't keep the smile from her face. “It's just a cat, Upton.”

“If you say so.” Upton leaned back in his chair, the grin still on his blurry face. “I'm sorry your ankle is hurt, but you don't fool me. The spill you took from that horse is merely your attempt at causing a scandal, isn't it?”

She laughed at that too. Since when did Upton make her laugh? In a good way?

“If I had planned it, Upton, rest assured I would have won before I fell. Not to mention I would have planned a more graceful descent. That saddle was faulty, I tell you.”

“I don't disagree. Lord Moreland has asked the stable master to look into the matter.”

Jane sighed. “As for a scandal, I'd say having a gentleman in my bedchamber is much more scandalous than falling from a horse.”

“Oh, no. Don't involve me in your schemes. I'm merely here to check on you.” He leaned forward and his voice took on a more serious edge. “We were quite worried about you.”

Jane traced her finger along the top of the coverlet. “I know. Cass nearly cried. I hope my foibles don't ruin her wedding. She's pledged to have a team of footmen carry me to the ceremony upon a litter if necessary.”

Upton chuckled. “Don't test her. She's a determined bride.”

Jane smiled. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

Upton appeared to be fumbling with his coat. “I brought you something.” Did his voice sound sheepish? Imagine that.

“Brought me something?” she echoed, blinking.

“Yes. I—I forgot you lost your spectacles and cannot read, but—” He placed something rectangular and hefty atop her lap. She touched it. Ran her fingers over its smooth surface. She'd know the feel of it anywhere. “A book?”

“Yes, a book.” There was humor in his voice.

“Which book is it?” She lifted it in front of her face and squinted at the golden title. She still couldn't make it out.

“A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.”

Jane gasped. She hugged the book to her chest. “Mary Wollstonecraft? You brought me Mary Wollstonecraft?”

She blinked and blinked again. She had no idea what to make of it. Of course she'd already read this book. Read it and owned it and loved each and every page of it, possibly memorized entire passages, but the fact that Upton had brought it to her. Well, it just showed he'd been … paying attention.

Upton cleared his throat again. “I know she is your favorite author and—”

“How did you know?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“No, they don't.” Just who was he referring to as “everyone”?

“At any rate, I assumed you already have this one, but this is a first edition and—”

Jane squeezed the book. She could hardly breathe. “You've brought me a first edition Mary Wollstonecraft? Printed in 1792? How did you get it?”

He shook his head. “It's not important how I got it, and why am I not surprised you know the exact year of its publication?”

“It's important to me, Upton. I've wanted a first edition Wollstonecraft for an age. They are not easy to find. How did you find one?”

She could see the outline of his form rubbing a hand through his hair. “Are you always this inquisitive when someone gives you a gift?”

She placed the book carefully in her lap again. “I'm truly curious, Upton, and I'm not about to allow you to leave this room without telling me how you were able to procure this book.”

“Fine. My mother purchased it when it was first published; when I was old enough, she gave it to me to read.”

“I knew I loved Aunt Mary, but honestly, you've read it?” Her hand fell to the mattress with a thump. “I may need smelling salts for the first time in my life.”

“I doubt that.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You've read Mary Wollstonecraft?”

“Twice.”

“That's it! Fetch me the salts! I can hardly fathom it.”

He groaned. “Yes, I've read it. After your accident, I rode over to my estate and got it … for you.”

Her hand was back at her throat. “You rode over to your estate and got it, for me?”

He pretended a long-suffering sigh. “I thought there was something wrong with your ankle, not your hearing.”

She pressed her palm to her cheek. “I am astonished, Upton. I had no idea you had any interest in the rights of females.”

“You are wrong. I do indeed. ‘Virtue can only flourish among equals,' after all.”

Jane nearly squealed. She was quite certain she was experiencing a heart palpitation. “Now you're
quoting
Mary Wollstonecraft!” She put her hand to her chest. “Stop it, Upton. I may never recover from learning that you own Wollstonecraft, but learning that you've memorized her is beyond the pale.”

This time he laughed. “I've hardly got every word memorized, I simply—”

“No. No. Don't deny it. There is no retreating from this. You know and now I know you know. We can never go back to our previous thoughts about each other.”

“Dare I hope by that you mean you no longer think me a simpleton whose only pleasure is in drinking and gambling?”

Jane sobered. She pressed her lips together, contemplating his words for a moment. It was true. Her opinion of him
had
changed.

She took a deep breath. “I suppose I must grudgingly admit it, Upton, yes.”

His voice was even. “I never thought I'd see the day you admitted that.”

“There's a first time for everything, I suppose.” To her chagrin, her tone was a bit breathy and confused. Why couldn't she stop plucking at the bedsheet? Upton was turning her into a plucker.