Authors: Elizabeth Mansfield
George sneered. “Jamison, as usual. I’d love to see Warrenton take the shine out of him!”
Gwen lowered her eyes. “I don’t think I’d care to go, George. Please excuse me today.”
Pollard looked crestfallen. “Are you sure, Gwen? It will be quite exciting, I promise you. And I won’t enjoy it half as well without you.”
“Nonsense, George,” she said, but she was pleased at his words. “Once the race began you’d take no notice of me.”
“There would
never
come a time when I’d take no notice of you.”
She met his eye and blushed. “Well, I know Hazel would like to go,” she said, weakening.
“By all means, ask her to join us. And hurry, both of you. I don’t want to miss the first arrivals.”
They arrived in plenty of time, but the area around the finish line was already crowded with carriages. George found a place some distance away, at the side of the road on which the curricles would pass. George jumped out of the carriage, talked to some gentlemen and came back with the news that Warrenton had drawn number four, Sommerfield number five, and Jamison number seven. The others were considered by most of those in the know as also-rans.
As soon as Number One and Two appeared down the road, Number Two leading by a length and a half, a cheer went up from the waiting crowd. Though their time was unremarkable, the crowd was delighted to see some action. All necks were craned to the north, for—although Numbers Three and Four had started ten minutes later than the curricles which had just arrived—it was hoped that Warrenton had bettered their time by a considerable margin. The crowd’s vigilance was rewarded three minutes later when the curricle carrying a large Four appeared, bearing down on them at breakneck speed. Number Three was not yet in sight. As Warrenton’s greys thundered by Pollard’s carriage, Pollard stood up and shouted, “Ho, Dick! You’re seven minutes ahead!”
Number Three came in five minutes later, followed by Sommerton, Number Five, whose time was less than a minute slower than Warrenton’s. After a cheer for Sommerton’s arrival, the sound of hooves turned all heads north again, looking for the arrival of Number Six. But a voice, sounding to Gwen very much like Tom’s, shouted, “It’s Number
Seven!
” and Drew’s curricle appeared, having gained on Number Six which had set out ten minutes before him. He had made the course in twelve minutes less than the first arrival, and had bested Warrenton’s time by a full five minutes.
The crowd was cheering wildly, and Gwen found herself watching the approaching curricle breathlessly. The chestnuts, heads high and manes flying, obscured her view of the driver, but as the horses galloped by, she had one brief glimpse of Drew, and Wys just behind him. In what seemed to her a frozen moment, she saw their faces clearly in every detail. Wys was smiling broadly, his face radiating pride in his friend’s accomplishment. But it was Drew’s expression that arrested her. With eyes narrowed and glittering brightly, nostrils flaring, and lips slightly smiling, his look was strange—combining both profound concentration and cool confidence. The look filled her with a feeling of intense terror. Was this how he’d looked when he’d lifted his pistol and pointed it at Edward? She shuddered, imagining herself in Rowle’s place. How could anyone have faced those cool, glinting eyes, that almost contemptuous smile, without cringing in fear?
She found Hazel’s eyes on her, and she became aware that her hands were trembling and her breathing tumultuous. She clenched her hands and forced herself to breathe steadily. Drew’s curricle had crossed the finish line, and he and Wys had jumped down. Wys was pounding on Drew’s back, and a number of people were surrounding them. Gwen got a glimpse of Hetty and Selby in the crowd. A girl ran forward and threw her arms around Drew’s neck. Gwen saw that it was Trixie Calisher.
At that moment, Drew looked up and saw her. The shock of recognition in his eyes was unmistakable. But he neither smiled nor bowed. With cool deliberation, he turned his back on her and looked down at the girl whose arms still clung around his neck. Gwen’s cheeks burned. An anger, stronger and more unreasonable than any she had ever felt before, welled up in her. The man who had taught her to feel love now had shown her what it was to hate.
The drive home was rather silent. Lady Hazel attempted some pleasantries, but, getting little response, she soon subsided. Pollard’s disappointment in the outcome of the race kept him glum and taciturn, while Gwen’s thoughts dwelt agitatedly on the subject of Drew and his startling ability to discompose her emotions. If only she could find some way to be free of him!
When the carriage arrived at Rowle House, Pollard helped the ladies to alight and bid them good evening. But Gwen unexpectedly asked him to come inside for a moment. Lady Hazel excused herself and retired to her room. As soon as George and Gwen were alone, she turned to face him, an unsteady smile hovering on her lips. “I’ve been thinking about … what you asked me the other night.”
“Gwen!” George stared at her, an arrested look in his eyes.
“I’ve decided that … that I’ll marry you, George,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and holding out a hand she could not keep from trembling. “I’ll marry you just as soon as you care to arrange it.”
Chapter Thirteen
T
HREE DAYS AFTER THE RACE
, Lady Hazel and Tom sat down to breakfast wondering why Gwen had not come down. Lady Hazel was about to suggest that Tom run upstairs to rouse her, when Gwen’s abigail came timidly into the breakfast room. “Yes, Tilda, what is it?” Hazel asked.
“Excuse me, my lady,” the girl said with a quick curtsey, “but there’s somethin’ troublesome ’ere. Lady Rowle’s not anywheres, and this ’ere note was on ’er dressin’ table. For you, ma’am.”
“You mean she’s gone out so early?” Tom asked the girl.
“Yes, sir. And she’s took some of ’er clothes with ’er.”
“Her clothes!” Tom looked at Hazel with a troubled frown. Hazel was reading the note, her face growing pale. “What is it, Aunt Hazel? What’s wrong?”
Hazel glanced at him briefly, then turned to the abigail. “Thank you, Tilda, you may go.”
The girl dropped a curtsey and left the room. Hazel put a distressed hand to her forehead while she wordlessly handed the note to Tom.
Dearest Hazel
, Gwen had written,
it pains me to have to embark on my present course without your presence or even your blessing, but George and I are agreed that secrecy is necessary. Yes, love, we are going to be married. As you read this, we will be riding to Gretna Green. We will not be gone for many days, but I leave it to you to invent some excuse to anyone who notices my absence. Say that I’ve gone to visit my parents, or anything else that suits your fancy. You may tell Tom the truth, of course, but urge him to be discreet. I know this will shock and disturb you at first, but please believe that I have given the matter much thought before taking this step, and am convinced that a marriage to George is the best thing for me. I sincerely hope you will not despair but will wish me to be happy. Your most affectionate, Gwen
.
“She must be mad!” Tom said in alarm. “Everyone knows that Pollard is a loose screw!”
Hazel dropped her head in her hands. “Good God, what has the poor girl done?” She got up and paced the room in an agony of impotence. “How could I not have seen—? If only I had told her what I really thought of that man!”
“Is there nothing we can do? Perhaps if I ride after them…”
Hazel looked at him helplessly. “Even if you could catch them, do you think she would listen to you?”
Tom’s face fell. “No, I don’t suppose she would. She’d more likely give me a box on my ears for my pains.”
Hazel turned to the window and looked out despairingly at the grey winter day. “How could she do this to herself … twice?” she asked, in a voice so low that Tom didn’t hear. But Tom was not attending anyway. He was trying to think of a way to stop his sister. He should go to Drew, of course. Drew would know how to stop her from this ridiculous course. But Gwen would be furious. Had he, her brother, the right to interfere in her life this way? He looked at Hazel and asked hesitantly, “Do you think I would be stepping beyond the bounds if I went to Drew?”
Hazel pressed her hands together, rubbing them nervously. It was an unconscious gesture she often used in times of indecision. “I don’t know, love,” she said. “I’ve been wondering about the very same thing. But, Tom, I believe he is our only hope.”
Tom jumped up quickly. “I’ll go to him, then. We can’t let her do this without at least
trying
to prevent it.” He kissed Hazel’s cheek fondly. “Try not to worry so, my dear,” he said as reassuringly as he could. “Drew will know what to do.”
Hazel clutched at his lapels, her eyes showing a gleam of hope. “Hurry back to me as soon as you can. I shall be in such agitation, not knowing what is happening.”
“As soon as I can. I promise,” he said, and ran from the room.
Tom’s reception at Drew’s residence was not quite what he’d expected. Mallow had received clear instructions on the manner of handling just this contingency. Should Master Spaulding show himself at the door, Mallow was to tell him Lord Jamison was not at home. So when a tense and dishevelled Tom appeared at the door, Mallow followed his orders, albeit regretfully, for he had grown quite fond of the boy during the week he had spent under Mallow’s care.
“Not at home?” Tom groaned. “What am I to do now?”
“Is something amiss, sir?” Mallow asked, well aware that he was exceeding his authority.
“Yes,” Tom said, “I’m in a devil of a hobble. Can you tell me where I may find him? It’s most urgent that I track him down.”
Mallow, conscious of the fact that Lord Jamison was at that very moment only a few steps down the hall, found himself at a loss. Young Master Tom was obviously quite upset. Should he send the boy away as instructed, or should he inform his lordship of the boy’s distress? “Urgent, you say, sir?” he asked.
“Very urgent, Mallow. As urgent as could be!”
“Very well, sir, I’ll inquire. Come inside, if you please, and wait here.” Mallow admitted Tom, closed the door behind him, and permitted himself to smile at the lad. “If I may say so, Master Spaulding, I’m glad to see that you no longer need the sling.”
“What?” asked the abstracted Tom. “Oh, yes. The shoulder is much better, thank you, Mallow.”
Mallow bowed and went down the hall to the study. He emerged a moment later with Drew at his heels. “Tom, old man, how are you?” Drew said politely. “Come into the drawing room, won’t you?”
Mallow held the door open for them and closed it discreetly as soon as they had passed into the room. Then, with a relieved sigh that Lord Jamison had not combed his hair for his indiscretion, he went back to his duties.
In the drawing room, Drew faced Tom uneasily. Before he could speak, however, Tom broached the subject head on. “You told Mallow to tell me you were not at home to me, didn’t you?” he asked, facing Drew with a bold front that did not hide his wounded feelings.
Drew responded just as directly. “Sorry, Tom. I promised your sister that I would not—Dash it, Tom, you’re placing me in a deucedly awkward position.”
“Hang my sister, and hang your promise!” the boy burst out. “We’re as deep in the basket as can be, and I’ve no one to turn to but you.”
“In that case, I’m glad you’ve come. Sit down and tell me what’s upset you so.”
“No, thank you, I’m too churned up to sit. Gwen’s run off with George Pollard.”
Drew whitened. “What! I don’t believe—! Gwen?”
Tom nodded glumly. “I can scarcely credit it myself. But she left a note.”
Drew sat down abruptly. “But …
George Pollard?
Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. Would you like to read her note for yourself?” He held it out to Drew.
Drew reached for it, froze for a moment and stared at it, and then shook his head. “No,” he said, dropping his arm, “it … has nothing to do with me.”
“Drew!” cried Tom, “you can’t mean that! Surely you won’t let her throw herself away on that rackety flat-catcher!”
Drew got to his feet wearily. “I have no authority to concern myself in your sister’s affairs. If she prefers George Pollard to—! If she wishes to marry him, what have
I
to say to it?”
“But you … you I—”
“What I feel for her has nothing whatever to do with it,” Drew said implacably and coldly.
Tom felt as if the earth had been cut away beneath his feet. Drew was letting him down. Drew, who could outrace and outshoot anybody, who could master any situation, find a way out of any hobble, solve any riddle, whom he idolized over any man living—this man was not going to lift a finger to help him out of the worst fix of his life! He stared at Drew, blinking his eyes to keep back the tears that were stinging his lids.
Drew could read in Tom’s face every thought that went racing through his mind. He knew he had destroyed the boy’s adoration of him. The realization smote him painfully, but perhaps it was just as well, he told himself. No one should be idolized. He was a man, a mere man, not a hero to be set up on a pedestal. He grasped Tom by the shoulders and said in a choked voice, “Let it be, Tom. She’s chosen her road, and whether we like it or not we have no choice but to let her follow it.”
Tom shook himself free. “
I
have no choice, because she wouldn’t listen to me. But she might have listened to
you
! You just don’t c-care! N-Not enough to trouble yourself!” he said angrily, turning away so that Drew would not see how close he was to tears.
“Try to understand,” Drew said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I am not related—either by blood or my marriage—to your family. Even the bonds of friendship cannot be claimed, since she made me promise to cut them. There is nothing I can do in this matter. Nothing.”
“I don’t want to hear any more about that damned promise!” Tom burst out, wheeling around to face Drew once more. “What does a promise matter when it’s a question of keeping someone from throwing away her life? You just don’t care, that’s the long and short of it! You just don’t care! I’m sorry I ever came here to ask for your help! You can be sure I won’t do so again!” With that the boy ran from the room.