A Gentlewoman's Pleasure by Portia Da Costa Page A

for the wheel. Lucy had looked forward to bowling along merrily on her new safety bicycle, eating up the miles, the ride so much smoother now that she had her splendid new pneumatic tires.
    But when she’d alit from the train, and retrieved her cycle from the luggage car, it soon became apparent that it was far from a tranquil rural outing that faced her.
    She’d gone no more than five minutes when it started to rain. In fact it began bucketing down. And what with that, and her portmanteau in her cycle basket unbalancing her, for once, she really didn’t relish the rest of the ride ahead of her. Lanes that might still have been pleasant enough to travel riding in a dogcart, were now primitive, slippery tracks awash with mud and pitted with enough potholes to test the most accomplished bicyclist.
    Of course she could have sent a note to Matilda, asking her to come and fetch her in a carriage. But to Lucy it was a point of honor to maintain her independence and cycle wherever she could, and surely, the weather must brighten soon.
    Ah, the mistaken optimism…for in truth, the rain seemed to teem down faster and faster, and Lucy’s cycle felt more and more out of kilter with every spin of the wheel. To make things worse, it was quickly apparent that she’d taken a wrong turn.
    Dogged, but rapidly turning into a bedraggled and waterlogged rat, Lucy persevered, fighting for every yard and hoping for a glance of a familiar landmark. Rain ran into her eyes and her wet hair escaped from its plait and the confines of her sodden tweed cap. More hazardous still, her heavy breathing misted the lenses of her spectacles.
    She could barely see where she was going at all, and when a blurred animal shape darted out from the undergrowth at the side of the path, she had to swerve violently to avoid it. As she struggled for control, her front wheel hit a grassy knot, then jammed and, with a squeak of alarm, Lucy went flying through the air and landed at the side of the path, bumping her head in the process.
    Winded, dazed, and drenched—and minus her spectacles—she just lay there in a tilting, whirling rain-lashed blur, blearily wondering what on earth was to become of her.
    But just as she thought about trying to haul herself upright and pull herself together, a heroic figure appeared through the miasma. Tall, solid and strong, and as far as she could make out, clad in just breeches and boots, a shirt and a waistcoat, he thudded toward her at a run, and then knelt at her side like an angel of rustic mercy.
    “Are you all right, miss? You took a nasty tumble. I was sheltering from the rain under the trees over there, on my way home, and I saw you go straight over the handlebars.”
    Oh, what a wonderful voice. Was she unconscious and dreaming? Giddy and myopic, she couldn’t discern the features of her Good Samaritan, but his presence was both a comfort and strangely unsettling in an almost pleasant way. Lucy smiled as best she could, despite her discomforts.
    “I…yes…I believe I’m quite all right…” she said, her voice shaky, and the statement proved a lie as she tried to sit up and her surroundings seemed to spin again.
    What a fright I must look, she thought, despite her parlous state. Why, oh why on meeting this tall, chivalrous rescuer must she look even less attractive than usual?
    “You’re all shaken up, miss. Let me help you.” Again came the dark, honeyed voice that had the most peculiar effect on her. She’d fallen off her bicycle in a rainstorm and probably cracked her head, yet still she felt unaccountably stirred by him—despite being unable to see his face.
    I must have shaken loose my wits, and that’s a fact.
    As dizziness claimed her, she slumped down again, still desiring him. And even more so as strong fingers examined first her head, then her limbs and her torso.
    He was checking for broken bones, yet it felt like an intimate caress.
    When her savior was satisfied she’d sustained no fractures, he