Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Talbot Inn at Doncaster the previous night had been a nightmare. Robert had thought the coaching inns at Stilton and Grantham had been dreadful with lumpy beds, noisy all night, and mediocre evening dinner. They had left them both before breakfast as he'd refused to stay and see what mess of porridge they served in the mornings.

The Talbot was in a class of its own. Infested with fleas and unable to provide other than a plate of cheese and stale bread. Fleas, and not even a decent mutton pie.

Rain struck his face as he left the Talbot to climb into the waiting carriage. A relentless downpour had been their constant companion all the way up the Great North Road.

Grayson, his coachman, wrapped in a heavy great coat and muffler, held the team of horses steady. The two junior footmen, Nick Henderson and John Brearley, in place at front and rear, vigilant for highwaymen, a frequent occurrence on this notorious route north.

Near Stilton, the wheels had been stuck in the mud, causing a delay of several hours while he worked alongside Grayson and his two footmen, digging out the heavy barouche carriage.

He took a deep breath as the carriage lurched sideways. With the atrocious weather they'd been having since they left London, his clothes were wet, and he felt chilled to the bone.

The last stage towards home. With any luck, he would take supper at Castle Montbury, sitting by a roaring fire, eating a special welcome home meal prepared by Cook. Cook, who had shown him how to bake cookies and bread and allowed him to raid the pantry before he went to Cambridge University.

He closed his eyes, hoping against hope that he might fall asleep with the rocking of the barouche box.

Robert fell forward as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

"Grayson, what's the problem?"

"Henderson's having a look, Your Grace. Something's amiss with the wheel."

He saw the top of Nick Henderson's head as he bent down in the sodden, muddy path to inspect the damage. Robert opened the door and jumped down to join him.

"It's the axle, Your Grace. It's come loose. I don't think it's broken, but it's coming apart here. In a way, it's a near miss. If the axle had split, the carriage would have been out of action for at least a week.

"How soon can it be mended?" The thought of returning to the Talbot at Doncaster and more stale bread and fleas was appalling.

"I reckon Mr Grayson, John, and I can mend it once we reach the next coaching inn. We've made good time today and are not far from the Royal Oak at Sherburn."

He called up to Grayson, "It's a slipped axle, Grayson. If we can go slowly to Sherburn, we can put up at the Royal Oak and mend it ourselves. It isn't going to take more than a few hours."

"Right-oh," came the reply. "I'll take it slowly and get us to Sherburn."

An hour later, the damaged coach trundled into the yard of the Royal Oak in the small market town of Sherburn. Robert felt better when he'd eaten and asked Mrs Manby, the proprietress, to make sure his men had a substantial lunch as they worked to repair the carriage.

The sun now shone, a rare sight after days of torrential rain, and the ground looked good for riding. He went over to talk to Grayson and Henderson about the extent of the repair. The Royal Oak was a decent staging post, but he wanted to be home at Castle Montbury by nightfall.

"I reckon another two hours, three at most, Your Lordship," Grayson told him.

"Aye, not long," affirmed Henderson.

"Don't hurry," Robert told them. "I'd rather you did a thorough job and didn't rush."

"That makes sense," came the response from Grayson, head down under the carriage as he worked to coax the loose axle back in place.

Robert looked at the sky, now a beautiful clear blue, with only high strands of clouds. He made an instant decision.

"I'm going to hire a horse and ride on," he told his men. "It's a glorious afternoon, and I'll be home around the same time we would have been if we hadn't had the problem with the axle. I can always change horses in York."

"Very good, Your Grace," said Grayson. He then called to Brearley, "John, tell the innkeeper his lordship will ride ahead. He'll need a horse."

Grayson turned to Robert. "Would you like Brearley to ride alongside you?" he asked.

"No, Grayson, I'd rather he stayed here with you and Henderson and got the carriage on the road again."

Once he set off again for Montbury, he felt his spirits rise. It was good to be riding through Yorkshire again, every milestone showing he was closer to home.

He stopped in York, loving the sight of the high Minster Cathedral soaring above the city. After changing horses, he began the last part of the journey to Castle Montbury and the climb upwards to the high moors.

He gasped as he turned a corner and saw a host of yellow daffodils, heads nodding and dancing in the breeze. Old man Morley, the steward's father, had encouraged these to grow in his grandfather's time. Now, many great houses were paying for this sort of landscaping.

I'm almost home; only a few more miles to go.

The ancient turrets of Castle Montbury were visible on the distant horizon. He knew these paths across the moor and through the forest as he dipped down into the valley that sheltered Montbury Village.

He waved at the parson, who waved back with a smile of recognition.

I believe his name is Nathaniel something or other? I should know the name as he's some sort of distant relative who has taken up the living of St Mary's, Montbury. Papa would have known his name. I'm not doing well as Duke of Montbury.

The nameless parson stood on the village green, talking with an engaging young lady in a straw bonnet. A quiet spring afternoon on the village green.

Just another couple of miles, and I'll be home.

He urged the horse into a trot as he left the village behind. It was a good horse borrowed from an inn in York. He'd half a mind to buy it for his stable. Good, dependable horses, which could last the distance, were sought after.

"What the …?"

A small boy sat in the middle of the track. He pulled the reins to slow the horse to a walk. Thankfully he was far enough away that the horse had enough time to slow down before reaching the child.

He seems to be holding a dog. Perhaps the poor thing is injured. I'd better stop and see if he needs help, he thought, almost resenting the delay to his arrival at the castle for a hot bath and warm dinner.

Suddenly, a loud whining noise rent the air around him. The dog, which looked like a spaniel, howled as if howling at a full moon on a wild winter's night.

Without warning, the hired horse set off cantering towards the child. Robert pulled sharply on the reins, terrified the horse would hit the child, who seemed so intent on comforting the dog that he was oblivious to approaching danger.

As the horse veered past the boy, he looked up in stunned surprise.

A loud, piercing woman's scream followed, "Henry … No-o-o!"

The horse reared up onto its hind legs. He managed to hold on the first time, urging the scared animal to settle, but with the howling dog and the piercing scream, he knew he had lost control of the mare. All he could do now was hope to come out of this alive and without severe injury.

Losing his seat, Robert landed on the wet grass, hitting the ground lightly. He lay there for a second, wondering what he had injured. He gingerly tried to lift his head out of the puddle in which he'd landed and felt relief that he could move.

No broken bones. I'm lucky, he thought. The endless rain has made the ground softer than usual.

He remembered the boy. There had been a child in the middle of the road. Raising himself on one elbow, he turned his head and saw, with a sigh of relief, that the child appeared unharmed.

A woman crouched next to the child, speaking to the boy in insistent tones. The dog continued to howl, setting Robert's nerves on end.

He needed to stand up; he couldn't keep lying in this muddy puddle. He managed to get into a sitting position when a shadow loomed over him, and he looked up into emerald green eyes glinting in the sunshine. Was this a dream? Perhaps he had hit his head and was hallucinating this mesmerizing vision.

She knelt beside him in the mud, unconcerned about her gown and cloak.

"Are you hurt sir?" came a mellow, restful voice, which somehow matched the green eyes perfectly.

"I believe I have no broken bones. I need to stand to check if I've sprained anything," he continued. "And I need to find the horse."

He looked at her intently. "Is the boy hurt?"

"Not at all. He has a habit of escaping unscathed from any incident." She turned to check on the child before continuing, "I'm not sure about the dog, though. He seems distressed."

"If you help me up, then I'll take a look at the dog," Robert said. "I'm afraid I must ask you to allow me the use of your arm."

She helped him to a standing position, and although he was stiff and bruised, he felt no strain or pain in his muscles or ligaments.

"I must thank you, madam, for your assistance. The soft ground has saved me from several broken bones, I think."

"Now, I shall catch and tether the horse and then take a look at that spaniel. The poor dog sounds in great pain."

The horse had remained close by, chomping grass at the side of the road a few feet ahead, and was easily tethered to a tree. Now for the dog.

The boy held the dog in his arms, and Robert could see tears in his eyes.

"He's a fine dog," he said. "A spaniel?"

The boy nodded.

"He's hurt. Did he fall?"

"No sir, he was running alongside me and suddenly stopped and began to whimper, then he started to howl."

"Let me look. Can you hold each of his front paws? I need to get a good look without him biting me."

The whining had started again. Marginally better than the howling, Robert thought.

The little boy dutifully held out each of the dog's front paws in turn.

"Ah, here's the problem," he told the child. "If you coax him into keeping still, then I can remove this thorn. It's a wild rose thorn, and it is wedged between the nail and the pad of his paw. It must hurt him a lot, and he can't put his paw down to walk without pain."

Robert gently removed the thorn from the dog's paw. The whining stopped immediately, and the child's face looked up at him in awe.

"Thank you, sir," he said

"Mama, Dash is better. He won't die like Papa."

"Of course, he won't die. Everything will be alright," the lady replied.

The woman looked towards Robert and smiled. He felt as if he had seen her before, perhaps in a dream. Those compelling green eyes were disconcerting.

However, as the pain from his bruises reminded him of his fall, he felt a momentary flash of anger. This woman's incompetent oversight of her child had led to him being thrown from his horse. Now she had the audacity to smile at him as if they were in a drawing room taking tea.

"I suggest, madam, that you take better care of this child. I assume he is your son."

The woman looked as if she had been struck. She flinched backwards from his words, her pale complexion standing out starkly against her jet-black hair. She nodded, "Yes, sir, this is my son."

"Children need to know that sitting in the middle of a lane is dangerous. Even here in the countryside, there can be danger, as we saw today."

He noticed the tears welling in her eyes and had a sudden desire to hold her in his arms and tell her it would be all right.

Absolutely ridiculous, he told himself. I've only just met her, and have no desire to ever set eyes on her again. Except he knew at some level, deep down, that this was not the case. He felt a strange desire to stay close to this young woman.

Telling himself not to be so fanciful and get a grip on his reaction to this woman, Robert became haughty and condescending.

"I bid you good day and trust you will instruct your son not to put himself and others in danger in future." He turned his back on her, walking towards his horse and needing to distance himself from this incident. His body ached as he mounted the mare and clicked his heels to walk on up the track.

He felt a strange compulsion to look around and take a final glance at the willowy figure with the startling jade eyes, but he willed himself to keep looking forward.

As the turrets of Castle Montbury loomed closer, he put the dog incident from his mind. His bruised body ached, and he was not in the best of tempers. It seemed a long time since he had left the Talbot Inn early that same morning.

A groom ran out to take his horse as he rode into the stable yard. "Welcome home, Your Lordship," came the warm welcome. "We expected you to arrive by carriage."

He explained the mishap with the barouche carriage and informed the groom that the others would arrive either later that day or in the morning. Robert also told the groom about the horse bolting and to make sure to settle it and care for it before arranging to return it to the coaching inn in York.

As he strode towards the entrance to Castle Montbury, he marvelled, as he always had since being a boy, that he lived in a fairy tale medieval castle with turrets, battlements, and even a drawbridge over a moat, with a working portcullis from those ancient days.

He stepped into the great hall; its austere limestone walls must have been the same several centuries earlier when the castle had been under siege. In the Civil War, it had escaped demolition by Oliver Cromwell and somehow survived to be one of the finest castles in the country.

Mr Chalston, the butler, greeted him, noticing his dishevelled condition, soaked to the skin and covered in mud.

I must look a sight. If I were anyone else, I'm convinced Chalston would not allow me in.

Suddenly, there was a shout, and a small boy raced towards him. Robert reached down to hug the little boy and swing him high into the air. The child squealed in delight. "Uncle Robert, Uncle Robert, you've come home."

"Frederick Rathby, you're growing too quickly … but I can still swing you round and round."

"You're all wet and muddy," called Frederick.

Robert turned to see his sister, Elinor, standing smiling at him, delighted to see him. He realized then that he had missed his family after his self-imposed exile, coping with Rosalind jilting him.

He took Elinor's hands in his. "You're well, sister?"

She nodded warmly. "Someone is glad to see their uncle."

"And the colonel?" he asked. Although Napoleon was defeated, Elinor's husband, Colonel Rathby, remained in Belgium with the Duke of Wellington.

"Well, brother. Still in Belgium, but he hopes to be released from duty to return next year."

His heart sank as he heard his mother's voice. He'd hoped to be upstairs before she saw him and commented on the mud.

She stood quietly, waiting for him to acknowledge her formally. The Dowager Duchess Helena Montbury believed in formality and tradition.

He bowed his head. "Mother. I trust you are well?"

"Well, and glad to see you, my son." She peered at him, noticing the state of his clothes and hair. "What on earth happened to you? You're filthy. I hope you don't plan on appearing at dinner in that state?"

"Of course not, Mama. I'll explain later. I've a few stories to tell you and Elinor about my journey north."

"I'll get Ben Jackson to fill a bath for you. He can valet for you while you're here. And yes, I know you look after yourself in town, but under this roof, you need to behave as a duke and have a gentleman's gentleman to help you dress and care for your clothes."

Later, while soaking in a steaming hot mustard bath, he felt relief from the aches and pains in his bruised body. He closed his eyes, inhaling the steam, feeling the day's tension dissolve.

His thoughts drifted to the forest path and a small boy, a spaniel, and a woman with a fair complexion and the greenest of green eyes.

He felt a pang of guilt at the way he had spoken to her. She had flinched from his words as though they hurt her physically.

All I was trying to do was make her realize how dangerous it can be and to stop her child sitting in the middle of the cart track.

But she showed genuine concern when she had knelt beside him, her skirts in the mud. He remembered the fragrance of her perfume, an attar of damask roses.

I was wrong to speak to a lady, any lady, that way. It might have been a difficult day, but that doesn't excuse how I behaved towards her.

What possessed me to be so haughty and proud? She thought her son was injured, she had a shock, and I behaved as if she were to blame for the whole incident.

No matter, he probably would never see her again. He knew, though, that he would carry a vivid memory of a nameless lady and a strange meeting on a forest path.