The Last of Lady Lansdown (21 page)

She felt her way past the third post until finally finding the last stall, Beauty’s stall. Taking another choking breath, she rose to her feet. She felt for the latch and opened the door to the stall. Inside, Beauty, wild with pain and fright, emitted wild, frantic neighs while rising on her hind legs, her front legs like lethal weapons as they cut through the heated air.
Avoid those h
ooves
. No time to lose
.

Jane caught the horse between lunges and grabbed her harness. Clutching it tight, she hung on with all her strength. “Beauty, be calm.” She knew full well the frightened animal was beyond obeying her commands. Just hearing her voice might help, though. She threw the blanket over Beauty’s eyes, just as Timothy had done. No time to attach the lead. Hanging on to the harness, she gave Beauty a smart rap on the rump and tugged her toward the door. “Come on, girl, let’s go!” The horse began to follow, then balked. The blanket had slipped from Beauty’s terror-filled eyes. She backed into the stall and reared up again, wildly flailing her hooves.

Jane dodged just in time. She thought of how she could use three hands right now—one to hold the blanket, one for the harness, one to hold the wet towel over her nose and mouth.

She only had two hands so something had to go. She took another deep, searing hot breath and dropped the wet towel. Choking, almost completely blinded by tears now, she held the blanket firmly in place over Beauty’s eyes and managed to lead her from the stall. Thank God, Beauty came willingly this time. Could she make it? By now the heat was nearly unendurable. Halfway down the passageway, she thought she could not go on. Her lungs burned. Her eyes stung and watered so much she could not see a thing. Worse, she was beginning to feel dizzy and lightheaded, on the verge of collapse. She
must
save Beauty. Gathering the last of her strength, she pushed on.
Come on, old girl, just a few more steps for the both of us.

At last! She burst out the door and let go of the harness. After an excited whinny, Beauty raced away. Behind her, she heard a loud crash. The roof must be falling. She must move farther away. No use. Her legs wouldn’t carry her. Amidst a whirlwind of burning embers, she sagged to the ground. The last she saw before blackness enveloped her was little tendrils of flames licking at the hem of her skirt. The last she felt was two strong arms catching her as she fell.

“Wake up, Jane, wake up!” Douglas’ voice. Where was she? What happened? Jane slowly returned to consciousness, gradually aware that she lay on the ground. Both Douglas and Rennie were bending over her.

“She’s lucky she’s not burned.” Rennie’s voice. Jane opened her eyes and tried to speak but instead started to cough. Not a polite little cough but a wrenching, wheezing hack from deep in her lungs that brought up a black substance that, again and again, she had to spit on the ground. She wanted to stop but could not.

“I had better hold her up.” Douglas’ voice. She felt her upper body lifted and strong arms wrapping around her. Vaguely she was aware of Douglas kneeling behind her, pressing her tight against his chest for support. She needed him. Each hacking cough wracked an agonizing path through her body, draining her down to her last bit of strength, but he continued to hold her fast and whisper encouragement as she convulsively hacked, coughed and spit the black substance from her lungs.

“Yes, cough it all out, my brave girl. You must expel it all from your lungs.” Occasionally, she felt the gentle touch of fine linen on her face. It had to be Douglas wiping her mouth with his handkerchief. What a fright she must look, but right now she didn’t care. “You’ll be fine, my darling,” she heard him whisper, his voice choked with emotion.

Her coughing had begun to subside by the time she became aware that her mother and sister were kneeling beside her, too, both pleading to know if she was all right.

“She’ll be fine.” Douglas’ voice was so reassuring.

She heard Rennie add, “She took in a lot of smoke, Lady Hart. It’s a miracle she’s not burned. Look at her skirt.”

She heard her sister exclaim, “Oh, no, look how it burned. Are you sure she’ll be all right?”

Still in Douglas’ arms, Jane forced her eyelids open. Both Mama and Millicent looked down on her with furrowed brows. “I’m fine,” she gasped in a broken, cracked voice. “Beauty ... is she all right?”

In a reassuring voice, Rennie replied, “Don’t worry about a thing, Countess. Timothy has taken her and the other horses up to my stables where they will remain as long as you like. Your horse has a burn on her back, nothing too serious. She’s going to be fine, thanks to you.”

Douglas said, “You have the bravest of daughters, Lady Hart. Not many women—or men, either—would risk their lives to rescue an animal, but Jane did, and you should be very proud. Jane, are you all right now?”

“I’m fine but I can’t stop coughing.”

Douglas addressed her mother. “We had better get her home and call the doctor.”

She passed the next few hours in an exhausted blur, only vaguely aware of Douglas and Rennie carrying her to Chatfield Court and up to her bed. She remembered the doctor, summoned from the village, who treated her hacking cough by applying camphor liniment to her chest. He assured her the cough would disappear “kindly and speedily” in only a few days. “It could have been far worse.”

He gave her a spoonful of laudanum “for her nerves.” She fell asleep soon after, her heart full of gratitude. Beauty had survived, and so had the other horses. What more could she ask for? She cast only one fleeting thought as to how the stables caught fire.

Chapter 13

The next morning Jane awoke so groggy from the laudanum that seconds passed before she could engage her senses and comprehend why her lungs hurt and her throat felt so incredibly raw.

Something else happened yesterday ...

She snuggled under the covers, her heart swelling with feeling at the thought of Douglas Cartland and the delicious, utterly heavenly way he made her feel on that narrow bed in the tiny maid’s room.

Her sister came bustling in, interrupting her reverie. “How do you feel this morning?”

“Better. I guess I’m going to live,” Jane answered in a croaking voice. “The devil! I sound horrible.”

“Just awful. You should not get up today.”

Jane swung from her bed. “Right now I’m anxious to visit Beauty. I want to see with my own eyes she’s all right.”

“Then you have a busy day ahead. I’ll call Bruta. By the way, she’s mad as blazes.”

“Please don’t tell me why. I’ll find out soon enough.”

Minutes after Jane arose, Bruta, wearing her fiercest scowl, fairly exploded into the bedchamber, the black bombazine draped over her arm. “Just look!” Clenching her jaw with disapproval, she spread the damaged gown on the bed.

Jane took one look and croaked an “Uh-oh.” Her gown reeked of smoke. Holes of various sizes, caused by hot embers, dotted the fabric. Flames had destroyed a large, jagged portion of the hem. She felt a shiver of dread just looking at the remains of her mourning gown. It reminded her that last night she could have burned to death. What a close call she’d had!

It seemed Bruta’s concerns lay elsewhere. The lady’s maid glared at her with reproachful eyes. “Your best gown is ruined, m’lady, utterly beyond repair.”

Jane turned up her nose. “I am desolate. Oh, what a pity. Now find me something to wear.”

“The doctor said you are not to get up today.”

“Well, I’m up, I want to dress and I need your help.”

“You really should not, madam.”

For the barest of moments Jane thought she detected a look of concern deep in Bruta’s eyes. No, it couldn’t be. Her lady’s maid took her orders from Beatrice and didn’t care if Jane lived or died. “Just get me something to wear.”

Muttering to herself, Bruta plodded to the wardrobe and pulled out the dull black muslin, which, if anything, was more ugly than the bombazine. “You’ll have to wear this.”

“Really?” Rebellion was mounting within her. How utterly stupid to wear mourning clothes for a man she didn’t mourn. Why should she? Because society’s rules told her to? Well, she was tired of society’s ridiculous rules, tired of obeying, tired of suppressing her own desires for the sake of ... what? Everyone’s approval? The trouble was, she’d had a giddy taste of freedom. Last night she had nearly died. What if she had? What would it have mattered then whether or not she chose to wear the dull black muslin?
Not one whit
. Life was too precious to waste doing things she did not want to do.

Perhaps, if she continued throwing caution to the wind, she could keep on seeing Douglas, too. That thought made her want to dance a little jig across the room, but the stony gaze of her lady’s maid brought an end to that idea. Even so, her new euphoria remained. “Put that ugly thing away. Bring out the green batiste.”

Bruta’s eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped—a satisfying sight if ever there was one. “Madam, you cannot. What will people say?”

“I don’t give a fig what people say. Bring me the batiste and don’t say another word.”

Except for Amelia, both families were at the table when Jane entered the dining room for breakfast. To her surprise, everyone, even James, gave her a heroine’s welcome. After the congratulations died down, a somber atmosphere ruled the table with everyone, from James on down, discussing the shocking events of last night. Speculation ran high on how the fire started. Various theories were proposed. Beatrice wondered if Timothy might have started the fire with his pipe, but no one had ever seen him smoke. Percy speculated that lightning might have sparked the fire, yet there was none in the sky last night. No one could supply a reasonable answer, yet all agreed, thank the Lord, that a horrible tragedy had been averted.

Beatrice assumed her façade of cheerful innocence. “How are you, my dear?” she chirped to Jane. “Weren’t you supposed to stay in bed today? My, my, what a dreadful ordeal! I’m happy to see you’re all right this morning.” She eyed Jane’s green gown. “My goodness, not in mourning? Well, of course, the gown you wore must have burnt in the fire. I’m sure Bruta will see to it you soon have another one.”

Jane resisted the urge to inform her sister-in-law that she did not plan to wear mourning ever again. Now was not the time, though—not when her throat hurt so much she could hardly speak.

“How is your horse?” Beatrice inquired.

“I don’t know yet,” Jane croaked in reply. “Beauty is at Lord Rennie’s. I want to go see her as soon as possible.”

“All the horses but mine are up at Lord Rennie’s stables,” Percy said, raising an eyebrow in his lecherous way. “My horses were not in the stables last night. They were in the field, so they’re still quite close. My carriage is at your disposal, Countess.”

She returned her prettiest smile. “Why, thank you, Percy.” She would rather die a million horrible deaths than ride in a carriage with Percy. “If I need a ride, I shall certainly keep you in mind.”

Fortunately, she did not. Directly after breakfast, Lord Rennie arrived, pulling up front in his curricle. Griggs showed him into the drawing room where Jane was chatting with Millicent. When he entered, Rennie forgot to make his bow but instead rushed to take Jane’s hands in his large ones. “Are you all right, Countess?” Concern was written on his plain, honest face.

“I am fine.” Her voice cracked. “Do sit down.”

“Confound it, Countess, you sound terrible.”

“I just want to know if Beauty is all right.”

“She’s doing fine. In fact, as we speak, both Timothy and Cartland are taking care of the horses. None of them suffered a serious burn. I came to see if I could take you back up to my stables. I knew you would like to see for yourself.”

Her heart lifted. “I would be ever so grateful.”

Rennie looked toward Millicent. Although at least thirty years old, he looked like a lovesick schoolboy. “You are welcome to come along, Miss Hart.”

To Jane’s surprise, her sister nodded. “I would love to come, Lord Rennie. I, too, am concerned about the horses.”

When they climbed into Rennie’s carriage, Jane had to laugh. Whereas Rennie helped her in with the standard amount of courtesy, he handed Millicent to her seat with the utmost care, as if she were a fragile flower whose petals might blow away in the slightest breeze.
No wonder he finds her attractive
. After spying Jane in her green batiste, Millicent exclaimed, “If you can do it, I can!” She had rushed to her bedchamber with lightning speed and changed out of her mourning gown. “I wouldn’t have to wear it much longer anyhow.” Sister-in-laws were only required to wear black for three months. Now, dressed in a yellow sprigged muslin that complemented her fair skin and delicate features, she really did resemble a beautiful, fragile flower.

“I hope you will be kind to Rennie,” Jane whispered while Rennie, perched on the curricle’s high seat behind, drove them up the hill. “He’s positively lovelorn.”

Millicent giggled. “I shall be kind,” she whispered, “but you know how I feel. Rennie is most definitely not my knight in shining armor.”

Poor Rennie
, Jane thought, and not for the first time.

Upon reaching Rennie’s stables, located above Lancaster Hall, Jane slid from the curricle and hastened to talk to Timothy, who stood in front of the stables attending the horses rescued from the fire. “Are they all right?”

“Right as rain.” Timothy patted a horse’s flank. “Not a one badly burned, m’lady.

“I shudder to think what would have happened to the horses had we not got them out.”

Timothy cast his gaze upward. “Through the grace of God we
did
get them out, and in the nick of time.”

“Have you any idea how the fire started? I suppose it was an accident.”

Anger flashed through Timothy’s eyes. “That fire was set deliberate. ’Twas no accident. I saw the man who set it, and so did Hugh.”

She was barely able to control a gasp of surprise. “It was not an accident? Then who was it? You must tell me.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, ma’am, and you can draw your own conclusions.”