Wicked and Wonderful (16 page)

Judith was so startled that for a moment she froze and thanked God that she had Shelly still in hand. The stag, however, was still alive and quickly struggled to gain his feet his antlers shaking about nervously. She saw that his shoulder had been grazed and was bleeding steadily, but that he could walk and worse still that his eye, wild and terrified, had become fixed on her.

“Oh, dear God,” she murmured. “Shelly, get behind me. Now!”

Shelly did not hesitate but did so, clinging to her skirts and crying.

“Walk backward, darling, very slowly. There, that’s a good girl. A little more. Yes, a little more.”

The stag began advancing on her and in that moment, Judith realized there was absolutely nothing she could do. The animal was wounded, in no small degree of pain and frightened out of his wits.

A mere fifteen feet separated them, now ten. “Shelly, you must run to your father now. Go!” She felt Shelly leave her skirts and she could hear her small feet splash once more through the stream.

Behind her, the men had emerged from the caves and were making an enormous commotion, hoping to divert the animal but with little effect. She closed her eyes, waiting, expecting to be gored when suddenly a second rifle shot echoed up the gorge, followed by a heavy thud. The ground trembled at her feet.

She opened her eyes and, lying there with a shot through his skull, was the deer, twitching still in death. She felt violently ill, weaved on her feet, and then nothing.

*** *** ***

Kelthorne dropped the rifle where he stood and began to run. He had understood precisely what had needed to be done and had not hesitated. He had run to Charles, taken the weapon from him, and loaded it with speed and care. He did not give pause to feel even the smallest particle of justified rage at the fool now swaggering beside him and claiming to be an excellent shot.

Once the rifle was loaded, he lifted it to the now advancing deer, took precise aim and without considering how close the animal was to Judith squeezed the trigger, steadily and purposefully.

To his great relief, the stag had fallen at her feet.

“Is she hurt? Is she hurt?” he shouted, beginning to run toward the group now clustered about Judith. At such a distance, he could not tell what had happened since she had fallen at nearly the same moment the stag had.

Laurence was bending over her while Mr. Ash cradled her in his arms. “No,” Laurence shouted back. “She has merely swooned. Good God, Aubrey, but that was a fine shot.”

“It was a lucky shot,” he returned.

A few seconds more and he could see for himself that Judith was uninjured. Her complexion, however, was a sickly white. Betty held a vial of smelling salts beneath her nose and with a weak hand, Judith kept pushing it away.

“Ye saved her life and Shelly’s as well,” Mrs. Ash said to him, tears running down her cheeks. She was holding her daughter tightly in her arms.

Kelthorne saw that though Judith’s eyes were open, they were dazed and unseeing. Mr. Ash began to weep and Kelthorne, without knowing precisely why, understood him. “Allow me,” he said, taking Judith from his arms. “Please, tend to your daughter. She will need her father’s arms about her.” Mr. Ash rose and took Shelly in his arms. His wife patted his arm and wiped her face on the sleeve of her gown.

By now, the entire party was gathered about Kelthorne and Judith.

Miss Currivard said, “Bring her to my carriage. We will be able to see to her there. I am certain she will be more comfortable within.”

Kelthorne glanced at her, not quite seeing her, but nodded in response. He carried Judith gently if briskly to the coach. Miss Currivard entered and after sitting down allowed Kelthorne to place her in her arms. Kelthorne stood at the doorway. “Is she all right?” he asked again. “Are you certain she is not bleeding or bruised perhaps?”

Miss Currivard shook her head. “Not a single wound, not even a bruise. Your shot was true. You performed beautifully, my lord.”

Kelthorne stepped away from the coach and realized that his arms and legs were trembling. Suddenly, he knew there was business yet to take care of. He caught sight of Mr. Hemyock boasting to one of his servants of having brought the stag down first. He made a path through the crowd that had followed him to the coach and approached the actor.

Kelthorne remembered Mr. Hemyock’s words earlier, words to the young lad, Horace, so he said, “Unlike you, Mr. Hemyock, I do not hesitate to use fisticuffs with my inferiors.” And with that, he planted Mr. Hemyock a facer that sent him flying backwards. He lay unmoving, his eyelashes fluttering.

There arose a great shout of joy and triumph at this action. Though Kelthorne regretted that he had let his temper get the better of him, there was not one present who remonstrated with him. Even his sister, Mary, who preferred everything to be proper, patted him on the shoulder.

“Well done, brother. A more selfish creature I have never before seen.”

“Aye,” Radsbury exclaimed beside her. “Well done, indeed.”

*** *** ***

Judith became aware of her surroundings in small stages. She was within a coach and three ladies were speaking quietly.

“Did you see him give Mr. Hemyock a leveler?” Judith recognized the voice of Miss Banwell.

“He was magnificent,” the timid Miss Upton whispered excitedly. “Oh, Abigail, you are so fortunate to be singled out by him.”

“Did he really strike Mr. Hemyock?” Miss Currivard asked.

“Indeed, he did. Do you know what else he said? He mocked Mr. Hemyock in the most beautiful manner. He repeated the very thing Mr. Hemyock had said to that young man who tends the horses only he said, ‘Unlike you, I have no hesitation in using my fisticuffs with an inferior,’ and then he struck him down with one blow. Oh, but he is a dashing man and to think he saved Miss Lovington’s life.”

Judith now realized what had happened. That Charles in his stupidity had tried to prove his mettle by firing at the stag and that Lord Kelthorne, with his already proven skill as a hunter, had saved her life as well as Shelly’s. This knowledge served to shake some of the stupor from her mind and she struggled to right herself. Only then did she realize she had been reclining on Miss Currivard’s lap.

“I do beg your pardon,” she said, embarrassed.

“Nonsense,” Miss Currivard said, smiling sympathetically. “You were exceedingly brave to protect Mrs. Ash’s daughter as you did. The least I could do was offer you a little kindness.”

“Have I been, that is, how long—?”

“Only a few minutes. Are you feeling better?”

“My head is swimming.”

“Do you care to use my vinaigrette?” Miss Banwell asked, searching in her beaded reticule.

“No. I thank you, no. I believe I would feel even worse.”

“Harriet,” Miss Currivard said. “Would you fetch Miss Lovington a little wine? Brandy, if it can be found.”

Miss Banwell scampered from the coach, her voice elevated as she called to Kelthorne’s servants.

“I detest being such a nuisance,” Judith said.

“You are no such thing,” Miss Upton said in her soft voice.

Judith glanced from Miss Upton to Miss Currivard and thought what an excellent friendship the young ladies enjoyed, Miss Banwell included. She was envious suddenly, remembering her own cousins and being with them just like this, innocent, kindhearted, excited about all the possibilities before them. How much she had once looked forward to such a time in her life, when she would be at a country party during the summer, perhaps searching for a proper husband, hoping to tumble in love, and desiring above all that heroism and chivalry would mark the days.

How different her life had been. How utterly different, indeed.

She felt uncomfortable suddenly in the presence of these ladies. “I think I should rejoin the troupe.”

“Will you not wait for your wine?”

She had forgotten Miss Banwell’s efforts. “Of course.”

She sat back but looked out the window. From her position, she could see the troupe taking down the portable stage and others loading the wagons with the props, costumes, and tents used in the course of the day.

In a few minutes, Miss Banwell arrived with a small glass of brandy. Judith took it gratefully and began to sip, pausing as the lively young lady clambered aboard the coach, rocking it grandly. Judith laughed. “I nearly spilt it.”

“How dreadful that would have been,” Miss Banwell said. “And on your lovely muslin. I do beg pardon.”

“It would not have been your fault,” Judith said. “I should have waited for you to take your seat.”

“I am settled now. I hope you still wish for the brandy.”

“I do, very much, indeed. Thank you for your kind attentions. My nerves, I must say, are in such a state.”

Miss Banwell frowned slightly. “I find I am constantly amazed when I hear you speak.” Her words were thoughtless and she blushed to the roots of her hair. “Oh, I am sorry.”

Judith was embarrassed anew and sipped her brandy. The ladies had been so kind but she knew quite well just how odd her proper diction must sound in comparison to the general speech of the troupe. She felt compelled, almost driven to confide in them. “I suppose you are desirous of knowing, of understanding,” she began, but she found it difficult to continue. Indeed, her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears and her throat grew painfully tight.

Miss Currivard quickly took possession of her hand. “My dear Miss Lovington, you owe us no explanation. Indeed, you do not.”

“Pray forgive me,” Miss Banwell said. “I spoke heedlessly as I always do. I am so sorry.”

Judith could bear no more of their kindness, for it only reminded her of how much she had lost when she had escaped a most vile stepmother and the man she in turn had all but invited to invade their home.

She finished her brandy quickly and said she must leave. She descended the coach only to find Lord Kelthorne suddenly before her, offering his hand to keep her from toppling over anew. She wanted to refuse but she was dreadfully dizzy.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He quickly wrapped his arm about hers and guided her in the direction of the troupe wagons. “Only tell me you are uninjured that I might be at ease, for I am still incapable of believing you escaped without harm.”

She looked up at him. She had meant to reassure him but instead, she fell into his gaze and found no words coming to her tongue by which to speak. This was the moment she had been avoiding all day, being near him, close to him, even touching him as she was with her arm linked tightly with his.

Finally, she uttered, “You saved my life. Lord Kelthorne, how shall I ever repay you? When I looked at the stag and saw the wildness in his eye, I knew.” Her breath caught raggedly on a sob.

“Pray say no more,” he said, crushing her hand against his. “You are well and that is all that matters.”

But she was not well. Her heart ached desperately. In these past few minutes, in the carriage with the castle ladies, she had experienced the very best of the society she had forsaken and longings both powerful and deep rose to consume her. Worse still, was that she felt as she always did in Kelthorne’s presence, as though she wished to stay beside him forever. She could not explain it, but certainly it was made more intense by the knowledge that he and he alone had saved her from certain death.

Once within a few feet of the last tent now being struck, she released his arm and turned to face him. “Thank you again, my lord.” She offered her hand and he took it.

*** *** ***

Lord Kelthorne looked into chestnut colored eyes and knew that his mouth had fallen most unattractively agape. “I am sorry I looked at the horses instead of you,” he whispered.

At that, she smiled and even laughed. “I thought you were displeased with my performance. It was very lowering.”

“How could I ever be displeased?” he said passionately. “How could anyone when you sing so enchantingly?”

He fell silent. There was nothing more to say. He knew he should release her hand but he could not. He just stared into her eyes savoring this moment as though it was absolutely the last time he would ever settle his gaze upon her.

She was so very beautiful. How his heart swelled as he looked upon her. She had been quite brave in protecting Shelly and he would always hold her in great admiration for that. How many other ladies would have had the bottom to stand her ground so that the child could escape?

“Aubrey,” Laurence called to him sharply. “‘Tis time to depart.”

The odd spell was broken and he released her hand. He offered a brief bow, turned on his heel and joined his party.

The time had come to leave Cheddar Gorge.

*** *** ***

From a stool situated near the wagon at which Mrs. Marnhull was working, Judith watched the castle party coaches rattle away. The jingling of the traces, the clip-clop of the horses hooves as each equipage was set in motion, the cries of the coachmen, soon disappeared from sight and hearing.

The troupe continued packing, of course, with little conversation. An air of fatigue had settled over the members as well as a sense of concern and ill usage. A heated argument broke out suddenly between John and Charles, not unexpectedly, of course. She was certain John had merely been waiting for the castle party to leave before he gave the much needed dressing down.

Shelly ran to Judith and crawled into her lap. “Why is papa so angry with Charles?”

“Because he should not have used a rifle to kill the stag.” Shelly buried her face in Judith’s shoulder. The quarrel lasted a very long time. No one paid the least heed.

In the end, Charles sulked. Judith ignored him, taking her place on the cushioned seat in the wagon in which the ladies rode together. Shelly remained with her. She found she had grown angry that through Charles’s stupidity she had nearly lost her life. She would have, too, had it not been for Lord Kelthorne.

Her thoughts became fixed for that reason on the earl and it seemed her heart began to throb almost painfully in her chest. She wished suddenly that anyone other than Kelthorne had raised his rifle and slain the buck for now, she feared, her desire for him had tripled at the very least.