This was a blow, a serious blow, to his plans. Why would she have left so suddenly? “Can you tell me where they have gone?”
“Of course, Lord Withinghall.” The butler bowed respectfully. “They are gone to their country estate in Northamptonshire, and the rest of the servants are to follow as soon as we have closed up the town house in a few days.”
Edward felt a lurch in his chest at being so thwarted in his plan, but he was a little surprised that he also felt a tiny bit relieved. Was he afraid of being rejected? Or was he unwilling to be married? Later, when he could be alone with his thoughts, he would have to examine his feelings more thoroughly.
“Can you tell me why they left so suddenly?”
“They received word that Miss Norbury’s younger sister had an accident. They do not believe her life is in danger, but they wanted to go to her and make sure every attention is being paid.”
“Of course. Perfectly understandable.” Edward thought for a moment. “Thank you, I shall go.” Edward turned and left, walking slowly down the street to his own home nearby.
Perhaps when Parliament adjourned at the end of the summer, which would only be a few more weeks at most, he would be invited to Mrs. Culpepper’s Northamptonshire estate. Otherwise, he’d simply have to wait until next spring to ask Miss Augusta Norbury to be his wife.
This was only a small setback. He would still get his politically acceptable wife, and within six months, God willing.
Leorah reveled in the beautiful countryside of her Lincolnshire home. She galloped over the gently rolling hills, skirting the dense forest that ran the eastern length of their property as she pushed her mount farther south, the wind tugging her hair loose and whipping it about her face and shoulders.
It was so good to be riding free and alone on her favorite horse, Buccaneer, whose name now unfortunately reminded her—and how ironic it was—of Lord Withinghall. Whatever had made her think the stuffy viscount resembled a pirate? It seemed incredibly silly now. The man was as un-piratical as a person could possibly be. Buccaneer was truly fearless and bold, spirited and always ready for adventure. Lord Withinghall, on the other hand, was just the opposite.
But why was she thinking about him? She had left him in London, as Parliament was still in session, and was quite pleased to do so. And though she had never mingled with him in Lincolnshire, it was a bit disturbing to think of him in her own dear county, as he lived at the far northeastern part, at the coast. He’d no doubt be coming back to his home before the chill of autumn set in, as many people could not bear to be in London when the cold temperatures and coal fires brought on the stifling smoke that made the air nearly unfit to breathe. The higher echelons of society had already started their mass exodus back to the countryside.
As Buccaneer dashed toward the next hill, Leorah sensed that something was not quite right. There seemed to be an inconsistency in his gait, as if he were favoring one of his legs, the way he did when he had thrown a shoe. She would stop in a moment to examine his hooves.
They topped the next hill, and a covey of pheasants exploded into the air in front of them. Buccaneer reared, his front hooves lifting off the ground.
Leorah grasped at the reins, but they slipped from her hands. Her body sailed backward toward the earth. Instinctively, she put her hand behind her as she hit the ground with a sickening jolt.
She struggled to breathe. Don’t panic, she told herself. She’d just had the breath knocked out of her. She forced herself to roll onto her side and was able to take in a tiny breath of air, then a full breath, filling her lungs.
A searing pain in her wrist caught her full attention. The sinking feeling in her stomach—along with the searing pain—told her she had broken her wrist.
She sat up and cradled her hand against her midsection. Surely it wasn’t broken. Probably only sprained.
Buccaneer ambled over and nudged her shoulder with his nose, snorting and snuffling his concern. He nudged her again and nearly knocked her over. That was when she heard a shout from the road below them. A carriage came to a stop at the bottom of the slope, about a hundred feet away.
She had to get up. She didn’t want whoever had seen her fall to think she was really hurt.
Leorah stood and gasped at the pain in her wrist. She held it against her stomach while she brushed the dirt from her riding habit. Goodness. She must look like a serving wench in a windstorm with her hair everywhere.
The driver had gotten down from his box and was striding toward her. Leorah gave him a wave, wondering who had stopped. Then she noticed the coat of arms on the side of the big black carriage. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was . . . Oh no. Lord Withinghall. He sat inside, peering out the window at her.
“Miss? Do you need help?” The elderly coachman approached, but the look on his face was more of annoyance than concern.
“I am very well, I thank you. You may tell Lord Withinghall that I do not need assistance.” Leorah began to strategize how she would get back on her horse with her injured wrist when she remembered she was going to make sure he hadn’t thrown a shoe.
Ignoring the coachman, who stood uncertainly a few feet away, Leorah kept her left wrist tucked against her middle while she used her right hand to lift Bucky’s left front hoof. The shoe was intact. She moved to his right side and winced at the pain that jolted through her wrist with every movement. She lifted Bucky’s right front hoof. The right shoe was missing.
Leorah groaned. Now she wouldn’t be able to ride her horse back home, and it was a long walk. In fact, she would not be able to make it home before nightfall.
The old coachman turned toward the carriage and called, “My lord, I believe she is injured.”
Leorah was certain she heard a groan coming from inside the carriage. The insufferable man. How could she possibly accept his help?
The carriage door opened, and the long form of Lord Withinghall stepped out of the carriage. “We saw you fall off your horse, Miss Langdon,” he drawled in his ill-tempered viscount’s voice. “Did you injure yourself or your horse?”
“Neither,” Leorah answered him. “You may be on your way. I don’t need any help. Only, when you pass by Glyncove Abbey, please inform them of where I am and have them send a groom on horseback.”
“What is the matter with your horse?” Lord Withinghall took one or two steps toward her.
“He has thrown a shoe.”
“And what is the matter with your hand?”
“I sprained it a little when I fell off my horse. It is nothing.”
“Miss Langdon, I cannot leave you here. By the time I reach Glyncove Abbey it will be nearly dark, and your groomsman may have trouble finding you. No”—he sighed—“you must come with me in my carriage.”