Love Alters Not by Patricia Veryan Page B

find it funny when that imp of Satan runs my team into the bridge. The rains have caused the river to overflow and the ground is like a swamp there. Only let one wheel leave the drivepath and there’ll be the devil to pay!”
    Dimity’s merriment died a sudden death. “Oh, heavens!” she exclaimed. “You—you mean that Carlton is driving?”
    â€œNot with expertise,” he snapped, starting away. “I assure you, madam, that if my horses are hurt, you and that little hellion will find yourselves clapped up for the next twenty years!”
    Without waiting for a response, he ran off in pursuit of the disappearing carriage. Dimity followed, seething with rage. The man was beyond belief! Little Carlton had no more notion of how to handle that spirited team than would a sparrow. ’Twould be a miracle was he not killed, and all Farrar could think about was his horses! She halted as she heard a distant crash followed by an outburst of shouts. Her heart seemed to freeze. Farrar was running with a long, graceful stride.
    She tried to run also, but her head, which had ached since the accident with the Portsmouth Machine, was pounding dreadfully, and she was stiff in every limb. She found herself thinking inconsequently that Piers would be glad of Farrar on the village cricket team and brought herself back to reality with a jerk. Piers would strangle him with his bare hands, is what he would do …
    She heard hoofbeats, and turned to find that another horseman was riding toward her. He reined in the black mare, lifted the tricorne from his powdered head and watched her with concern in his fine grey eyes. He had a pleasant rather serious face and a kindly mouth, and she liked him at once.
    â€œMa’am?” he said tentatively. “Are you all right? I—Jupiter, but you’re not!” The dark brows twitched into an anxious frown as he sprang from the saddle to take the hand she held out. “Whatever has happened? You are all mud!”
    â€œAn accident,” she mumbled. “Captain Farrar went on ahead. The horses—er, ran away.”
    A look of awe came into his eyes. “ Tony lost his team? Well, I’ll be—” He broke off abruptly. “An I lift you, ma’am, can you ride?”
    Dimity was feeling a little odd. “I think,” she sighed, “it might be better was I to ride with you, sir.”
    He at once lifted her to the saddle, mounted up behind, and slipped a strong arm around her. They started off at a walk.
    â€œYou are very kind,” said Dimity. “Thank you, Mr.…”
    â€œChandler. Gordon Chandler. And ’tis my very great pleasure, ma’am.”
    â€œMy name is Mrs. Deene. Could you please go a little faster? My nephew was driving, you see, and he is only six.”
    Chandler whispered a startled expletive and brought the mare to an easy lope. In very short order they reached the curve in the drivepath beyond which chariot, coachman, and Captain had disappeared. Dimity blinked at the distant scene and uttered a moan. A small knot of people stood on a picturesque old wooden bridge; nearby, the wreck of the chariot hung crazily against what was left of the railing. As they drew nearer, she could see no sign of the child. Farrar and the coachman were inspecting the knees of a trembling horse, and the footman and three more men were gathered around another.
    â€œCarlton…” whispered Dimity, appalled.
    â€œEasy, ma’am,” said Mr. Chandler. “Hey! Tony!”
    Farrar turned his dirty, bloodied face and Chandler muttered, “Good God!”
    â€œWhere is my nephew?” called Dimity.
    The response was so impolite that it was as well she had brothers.
    Shocked, Chandler said brusquely, “You forget yourself, Farrar! The lady has—”
    â€œHah!”
    â€œIs … is he—dead?” quavered Dimity.
    One of the grooms offered, “I see a little