Breathing hard, and wiping the blood from his face, Lord Pinkney staggered to his feet and took his coat from Mr Cass’s arm. It was the thought of an instant, but he was angry, his face hurt, and life was just so unfair. One pocket of his coat was weighted slightly by the presence of a small pistol, one which he generally carried when travelling, in case of highwaymen. He withdrew the pistol from the pocket, cocking it as he did so. Mr Cass fell back in alarm as he turned. Lord Rothley was rubbing his knuckles, and looked up at the sound.
Lord Rothley stood very still. There was nothing he could do.
‘You really should not have interfered, Rothley. After all, taking the girl back to London will not re-establish her good name, and you have no interest in her yourself,’ mumbled Lord Pinkney, his thickening lip and bleeding nose affecting his speech. ‘Heroism is so overrated, and I have had a miserable day.’ He sniffed and winced. ‘I think putting a bullet through you will make me feel so much better.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘You know, I rather think your day will becomemore miserable,’ drawled a voice from the doorway.
Pinkney remained with arm raised, but his eyes darted to the right.
‘Yes, terribly disappointing, isn’t it, to find two gentlemen prepared to fight for a lady’s honour, but so it is. There are those who would say that to shoot a man already carrying an injury is bad form, but then, since you are quite prepared to murder a man who is entirely unarmed, I feel in this instance …’ Sir Esmond Fawley took careful aim across the crook of his arm, and fired, clipping Pinkney very precisely above the right elbow. The sound was amplified by the enclosed space.
Pinkney staggered, but his finger jerked convulsively at the trigger and the little silver mounted pistol fired even as it began tumbling from his hand. Susan screamed.
‘Pinkney pinked. How appropriate.’ Sir Esmond smiled, but then saw Rothley reach his left hand up to the tip of his right shoulder. ‘Caught you, did he? I apologise for arriving somewhat tardily, Rothley, but better late than never, as they say. I think I may also have the solution to Miss Tyneham’s … problem.’
Susan had started forward to proffer his lordship her handkerchief, which was rather small to be effectual. Lady Sophy, who had appeared briefly in the doorway as the shots rang out, had withdrawn as soon as she saw that Lord Rothley had not fallen, and was demanding clean napery from an inquisitive chambermaid, bustling the girl indoors lest she hear what was likely to emerge.
‘Problem? But Lord Rothley has rescued me and so perhaps …’ She looked up at her wounded rescuer with genuine admiration adding to self-interest.
‘Be a good fellow and fetch some brandy, will you?’ Sir Esmond looked to the innkeeper. He wanted Mr Cass out of the way, before airing the truth. As the man bowed and withdrew he turned back to his friend and murmured, ‘This, Rothley, may be where you make a clean breast of matters, don’t you think?’ There was dry amusement in Sir Esmond’s voice.
‘You do not wish to offer for me?’ Susan looked affronted.
‘You are the last woman in the world for whom I would offer, even if it were possible for me to do so.’ Lord Rothley’s shoulder hurt, and he no longer found his sister’s assumption that every man she encountered wanted to marry her amusing.
‘Possible?’ She was now confused.
‘It is impossible because I am going to offer for your cousin Sophy.’
‘Sophy?’ Susan squeaked, as if he had suggested marrying her maid.
‘She is worth ten of you, miss.’
‘So you came to rescue me to make Sophy feel better,’ she complained, pouting.
‘In part. You see …’ Lord Rothley floundered, and looked to Sir Esmond.
‘You see it was also a fraternal duty, Miss Tyneham.’
‘Frater …’ She frowned at one gentleman and then the other, and very slowly the import of what he said hit her. She coloured. ‘Does everyone know?’ she whispered. ‘Have they been laughing behind my back all Season?’
‘I doubt very much if any of your contemporaries is cognisant of it, Miss Tyneham, only those of your aunt’s, let us say, “vintage”. Scandals are forgotten very easily until something drags up the memory,’ Sir Esmond saw the shock in her eyes.
‘Then I am doubly ruined, am I not?’ Susan murmured in a small voice.
‘Not necessarily, ma’am. You will note, I hope, that I am not here out of any familial tie.’ Sir Esmond smiled, a little wryly, for she was staring at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Pinkney, if he values what blood remains in his veins, will say nothing of this unfortunate interlude, and in the vehicle in which I sped here I was accompanied by your cousin.’
‘Lady Sophy is here?’ It was Rothley’s turn to look surprised.
‘Yes. I would have preferred to travel faster, and alone.’
‘So Sophy will take me straight back to London and there will be no scandal?’ Susan sounded relieved.
‘There does not have to be a scandal, Miss Tyneham, above the minor ones you have created all Season, but it is too late to return to London.’ There was a hint of firmness to Sir Esmond’s voice. Susan was ignoring the fact that Lord Rothley was wounded and that her cousin had spent a tiring few hours being driven at speed to catch her up.
‘Too late for London?’ She sighed, misunderstanding him. ‘You mean I will go back to Tyneham, I suppose. Of course, who would want to m—’
