“Your servant, ma’am ... unless you do not wish for the acquaintance?”
“And if I did not, how could I say so,” Charlotte asked innocently, “when her ladyship has presented you?”
“With a caveat !” Lady Inverclyde reminded her, and poked the coachman with her cane, “Drive on, Thompson. My compliments to your mother, Charlotte. Imbrie, come to tea tomorrow.” With a final cackle, she was gone, leaving Charlotte struggling to keep a straight face.
His grace laughed infectiously. “Remarkable woman: says just what she thinks and damn the consequences. Very refreshing!” he smiled at Sharlie, “But do you ride alone? I had thought I saw your sister with you.”
“She went forward to speak with friends,” Sharlie looked about vaguely. John-groom was conversing with another groom. Emily was some way along the bridle path, leaning to talk shyly with two Tulips while Firefly fidgeted. Suddenly all heads turned to a fracas on the drive, where a perch phaeton had tangled with a curricle, resulting in loud voices, neighing animals, and splintering wood. Cutting across the sounds was a feminine scream: Firefly had bolted.
While the duke was staring about for the cause, Charlotte said “ Gehe, Mondschein, gehe !” and before his incredulous eyes, had set her horse for the one railing spot that was empty ... leapt it as one entity with the beast, and was tearing across the sward on a diagonal to intercept her sister’s terrified horse.
She’d been not a second too soon, as Imbrie realized when he sought to follow. The railing was now crowded with horrified spectators who were too addled to clear a way until he rose in the stirrups and roared, “MOVE aside—give me room!” Then he was over with the Stanwood groom behind him, but knowing that even with a head start, Charlotte would never reach her sister in time to prevent possible tragedy. The girl was no horsewoman, she’d dropped the reins and was clinging to the saddle ... she was bound to be thrown.
And from the farther side of the Park, another horse was racing to the rescue.
With her eyes on Emily’s swaying form, Charlotte was doubly petrified by the would-be saviour. All too likely his horse would cause Firefly to rear, or change course with a buck that would dislodge Emily.
He didn’t.
He circled his horse expertly, came up on the offside, and plucked Emily from her saddle as easily as a dandelion! Once free of weight, Firefly became uncertain—shortly stood sweating and shivering until John-groom fastened a leading rein. Meanwhile, Sharlie was facing Emily’s rescuer with heart-felt gratitude. “How can I thank you, sir!”
“My pleasure to serve you, ma’am,” he returned cheerfully. “Sure, ’twas touch and go who’d reach her first: you or myself. ’Tis magnificent ye are! Did we have a few men could handle a horse like you, Boney’d be rompu by now.”
Despite anxiety, Charlotte could not refrain from smiling at him, and he’d have been worth a smile without his gallantry. By his accent, he was Irish; by his words and uniform, he was a Peninsular. Mostly he was incredibly handsome. Red-gold curls a la Brutus , eyes as brightly blue as Emily’s, a jolly baritone voice and an infectious grin—Charlotte’s natural friendliness was incapable of dignity at this moment. “You’re a better horseman than I, sir. Masterly, the way you circled to save my sister before Firefly bucked.” She leaned over to pat Emily’s hand, “Darling, it’s all over. You’re quite safe, don’t cry, shhhh.”
Emily couldn’t shhhh. She lay limp and trembling in the young man’s arms, her breath catching in tiny sobs and tears streaming down her pallid cheeks. She was entirely lost to propriety, she’d have clung to anyone, but the major problem was how on earth to get her back to Park Street. It was swiftly settled by the duke, reining in abruptly on the other side with a keen glance for the rescuer. “Servant, sir,” he said
“And if I did not, how could I say so,” Charlotte asked innocently, “when her ladyship has presented you?”
“With a caveat !” Lady Inverclyde reminded her, and poked the coachman with her cane, “Drive on, Thompson. My compliments to your mother, Charlotte. Imbrie, come to tea tomorrow.” With a final cackle, she was gone, leaving Charlotte struggling to keep a straight face.
His grace laughed infectiously. “Remarkable woman: says just what she thinks and damn the consequences. Very refreshing!” he smiled at Sharlie, “But do you ride alone? I had thought I saw your sister with you.”
“She went forward to speak with friends,” Sharlie looked about vaguely. John-groom was conversing with another groom. Emily was some way along the bridle path, leaning to talk shyly with two Tulips while Firefly fidgeted. Suddenly all heads turned to a fracas on the drive, where a perch phaeton had tangled with a curricle, resulting in loud voices, neighing animals, and splintering wood. Cutting across the sounds was a feminine scream: Firefly had bolted.
While the duke was staring about for the cause, Charlotte said “ Gehe, Mondschein, gehe !” and before his incredulous eyes, had set her horse for the one railing spot that was empty ... leapt it as one entity with the beast, and was tearing across the sward on a diagonal to intercept her sister’s terrified horse.
She’d been not a second too soon, as Imbrie realized when he sought to follow. The railing was now crowded with horrified spectators who were too addled to clear a way until he rose in the stirrups and roared, “MOVE aside—give me room!” Then he was over with the Stanwood groom behind him, but knowing that even with a head start, Charlotte would never reach her sister in time to prevent possible tragedy. The girl was no horsewoman, she’d dropped the reins and was clinging to the saddle ... she was bound to be thrown.
And from the farther side of the Park, another horse was racing to the rescue.
With her eyes on Emily’s swaying form, Charlotte was doubly petrified by the would-be saviour. All too likely his horse would cause Firefly to rear, or change course with a buck that would dislodge Emily.
He didn’t.
He circled his horse expertly, came up on the offside, and plucked Emily from her saddle as easily as a dandelion! Once free of weight, Firefly became uncertain—shortly stood sweating and shivering until John-groom fastened a leading rein. Meanwhile, Sharlie was facing Emily’s rescuer with heart-felt gratitude. “How can I thank you, sir!”
“My pleasure to serve you, ma’am,” he returned cheerfully. “Sure, ’twas touch and go who’d reach her first: you or myself. ’Tis magnificent ye are! Did we have a few men could handle a horse like you, Boney’d be rompu by now.”
Despite anxiety, Charlotte could not refrain from smiling at him, and he’d have been worth a smile without his gallantry. By his accent, he was Irish; by his words and uniform, he was a Peninsular. Mostly he was incredibly handsome. Red-gold curls a la Brutus , eyes as brightly blue as Emily’s, a jolly baritone voice and an infectious grin—Charlotte’s natural friendliness was incapable of dignity at this moment. “You’re a better horseman than I, sir. Masterly, the way you circled to save my sister before Firefly bucked.” She leaned over to pat Emily’s hand, “Darling, it’s all over. You’re quite safe, don’t cry, shhhh.”
Emily couldn’t shhhh. She lay limp and trembling in the young man’s arms, her breath catching in tiny sobs and tears streaming down her pallid cheeks. She was entirely lost to propriety, she’d have clung to anyone, but the major problem was how on earth to get her back to Park Street. It was swiftly settled by the duke, reining in abruptly on the other side with a keen glance for the rescuer. “Servant, sir,” he said
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