Chapter 20

"Icould tell she was jealous. She did a great deal of smiling, but there was jealousy there, too. You noticed it, surely," Lydia pressed as they rode home in the carriage.

Philip nodded. "She's obsessed with the earldom. It seems to represent the pinnacle of achievement for her," he said.

"It does. It's all she cares about. It's extraordinary." Lydia shook her head.

Caroline was obsessed with rank and status. She coveted Lydia's position, and dining with the couple had only served to further confirm Caroline's ambition.

"Try not to think about it. We'll invite them over for dinner in a few weeks, and that'll be that. I doubt we'll hear from them—except at Christmas," Philip replied.

Lydia nodded. She knew it was best to put the matter out of her mind. They had their own lives to lead—a marriage to get used to, a companionship to grow into. Lydia enjoyed Philip's company, but try as she might, the shadow of possibility remained.

What was Caroline planning? Were she and Edward in cahoots? Or was it only Caroline that was responsible for the bolting horse, and whatever would come next?

"Perhaps Edward doesn't know anything about it," Lydia mused.

Philip groaned. "Oh, Lydia, please, that's enough. I don't want us to argue, but really… it's too much. Nothing happened. We ate the same food they did and drank from the same decanters. I watched everything being served, everything being poured. Next thing, you'll tell me?—"

His words were cut short by the sudden lurching of the carriage.

A loud, splintering sound filled the air, and the horses veered to one side as the driver let out a cry.

"Woah there!" he called out.

But the carriage swerved, throwing Lydia to one side and Philip to the other.

Lydia screamed, holding up her hands to her face as the whole compartment toppled over to one side. Philip had fallen awkwardly across the seats and now lay sprawled against the door, which was now in the position of the floor.

"Help!" she cried, struggling to get up.

A cloud of dust had enveloped them, and she coughed and spluttered, not knowing if she had fainted. She raised her hand to the aching side of her head and felt the warm stickiness of blood.

"My Lady? My Lord?" the carriage driver called out.

Above her, Lydia could see his face peering anxiously through the side window—now in the position of the roof.

"Alfred? Help us… oh, please, help us. Philip… Philip?" Lydia yelled, turning to find Philip lying down with his eyes closed, blood seeping from a wound in his head.

The two of them were thrown against the far side of the carriage, the whole vehicle uprighted by the force of whatever had occurred. The sight of Philip filled Lydia with horror, and she reached out to touch him, willing him to be alive.

"Help's coming, My Lady. We'll get the carriage upright in no time," Alfred called out, but Lydia could think only of Philip.

"Philip? Wake up… oh, please, wake up," she implored, shaking him by the shoulder in a desperate attempt to rouse him.

Outside, she could hear shouts—men calling to one another, the sounds of the horse, too. But inside the carriage, it was as though time had stood still. It was just her and Philip, and he was slipping away. The thought of losing him was now painfully real.

She had feared it, but now, seeing him unconscious brought with it both fear and realization. The fear of him dying, and the realization of what it would mean to lose him. The thought was unbearable, and at that moment, realization dawned on her…

"I warned him… this can't be an accident. They did something to the carriage—sabotage,"she muttered to herself as suddenly the compartment was jolted.

"Heave ho, and again," a shout came from outside, and Lydia braced herself, fearing she and Philip would be thrown across the carriage again.

It took several attempts to right the compartment, and as it fell into its correct position with a thud, Lydia was thrown across the seats, almost fainting again from the shock of what had occurred. Philip was still unconscious, and as the carriage door opened, she cried out for help.

"Fetch a doctor. He's hurt. Leave me, I'm all right. It's Philip you need to help, he won't wake up!" she exclaimed as tears welled up in her eyes.

"It's all right, My Lady. A doctor's coming. Let me help you out," Alfred soothed, offering her his hand.

She glanced back at Philip, shaking her head fearfully at the sight of him lying sprawled across the seat. The wound in his head was deep. She tried to stem the bleeding with the fabric of her skirt, but it wouldn't stop.

"I don't want to leave him," Lydia protested.

But Alfred was insistent.

"Please, My Lady, let the doctor do his work. You need to get out of the carriage."

Lydia nodded reluctantly, allowing him to help her down from the carriage, and finding that a crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle.

The carriage, though now upright, was in a sorry state. Several of the wheel spokes had broken, splintering into shards, and part of one of the wheels had entirely detached itself, causing the carriage to topple over. Lydia looked at it in astonishment, not knowing what had happened, but fearing it was no mere accident.

"How… how did this happen?" she asked.

Alfred shook his head. "I'm not sure, My Lady. Perhaps we hit a rut in the road and it loosened the spokes. As I was driving, I heard a sudden splintering, and we veered to the right. The horses lost control, and the whole carriage swung over. I fell off, but… are sure you're all right, My Lady? You've got a cut on your forehead," he said, but Lydia dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"I'll be quite all right. I just want to know… where's the doctor?" she almost shouted.

At that moment, a red-faced man with gray hair and whiskers pushed through the crowd. He was directed towards the carriage by one of the men who had helped right it, and Lydia hurried over to him, grasping his arm with a fearful look on her face.

"My Lady, are you all right?" the doctor asked.

Lydia nodded. "Please, go to my husband—he needs you," she croaked.

The doctor signaled to several of the men to assist him.

Lydia stood back, tears running down her cheeks as she watched the men lift Philip out of the carriage. He was still unconscious. His head lolled to one side, the blood on his wound now clotted in his hair. His face was pale, his eyes were closed, and his hands lay limply on either side.

Lydia ran to his side, even though the doctor raised his hand.

"Please, My Lady, let me tend to him. His heart's beating, but a blow to the head like this can lead to some hours of unconsciousness," he said.

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. She feared Philip was dead, but to hear the doctor say he was breathing was enough to allay her worst fears.

The crowd was beginning to disperse—the excitement of the accident now over—but Lydia did not know what to do now. The responsibility was hers, the burden weighing heavily on her.

"Alfred, will you go to my brother's house? Tell him—or my brother Derek or my brother Graham, or even my mother—to come at once," Lydia said.

"But what about you, My Lady?" Alfred asked.

But Lydia was adamant.

"I'll go with the doctor. They can bring him back to the house," she replied.

"Might not it be quicker to go back to your cousin's house?" Alfred asked.

Lydia shook her head. She did not want Caroline or Edward to know what had happened, even though they would find out soon enough. Now that the shock of what had happened had lessened, her thoughts had turned to the possibility of sabotage. Caroline had warned them to be careful, but surely this was more than mere coincidence…

"No… please, Alfred. Do as I say," Lydia insisted, glancing back to where Philip was now being placed on a makeshift stretcher.

He looked like a pitiable figure, very pale, and his eyes were still closed.

"We need to get him home, My Lady. These men have agreed to carry him. Will you walk with us?" the doctor asked.

Lydia nodded. She had no intention of leaving Philip's side, and she hurried to clasp his hand in hers, walking alongside the stretcher party as they made their way back to the house.

It was growing darker now, and the servants were horrified to see their master carried into the house on a stretcher. Candles were hastily lit, and hot water and towels were brought to Philip's bedside. Lydia remained by his side, holding his hand, willing him to recover.

Seeing him like this—so close to death—had made her realize what he had come to mean to her. It was the strangest of feelings—a tragedy bringing to the fore what might have lain undiscovered. If Philip died, Lydia did not know what she would do, and to see him lying there, motionless on the bed, his eyes closed, was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

It reminded her of their friendship—the growing affection, not recognized for what it was. A seed planted, but that had lain dormant for many years.

"Please… I can't lose you,"Lydia whispered, and at that moment, she realized the seed had sprouted, and her feelings for Philip went far beyond anything she had thought possible.