Page 19 of Yielding to Love

Chapter Eight

Dusk faded into night. The rain had ceased, but clouds dimmed the moon and erased the stars. Crispin was dog-tired and drenched to the bone. With all he had to worry about, it bothered him most that he’d made such a hash of his “persuasive argument.” Old Harry’s sister had seen right through him. He must be slipping.

Miss Harrington had given the coachman directions, but after they went past the village of Tonbridge, Crispin grew concerned that they might be lost. Until the carriage passed through a rotting wooden gate and down a muddy lane, and finally, toward what looked to be a rundown farm. The fields to either side of the lane were weedy and untended. Good God. The colonel was reduced to this? A cluster of trees loomed adjacent to a small dwelling, largely obscuring it. Was that the house?

The place was dark, and it appeared no one was about. This had to be the Harringtons’ home. There was nothing else, except a barn further down the drive and a shed of sorts.

“Dan,” he called to the coachman as he brought Mercury alongside the carriage, “drive up as close as you can to the door. Bring in the bags, and then I’ll come with you to settle the horses.” Pray God there were stalls and room in the barn. He could also pray that a few servants would emerge to welcome them, but that would likely require a miracle.

The last several yards of the drive were cobbled, and he imagined the rattling of the carriage must be tooth-jarring. Dan halted. Crispin swung himself off Mercury and approached the nearest carriage door, facing away from the house.

“Colonel? Miss Harrington? We’ve arrived.” He pulled open the door.

The colonel was slumped over and snoring. Miss Harrington was…mussed. She had removed her bonnet, and her chignon was coming undone, spilling thick, black tresses onto her shoulders. His eyes slid back to her face and the white locks at her forehead. She was arresting. Uncannily so. But he doubted she appreciated being stared at.

“Miss Harrington?” He offered his arms, steadying her when her knees softened as she reached the ground. Holding her by the elbows, he thought he smelled lilacs. He was almost loathe to let go.

“I’m sorry you had such an unpleasant ride,” she murmured. “Had we known it would rain…”

“Rain doesn’t bother me.” He gestured to the carriage. “Do you think he’ll wake soon? Or should I try to carry him sleeping?”

“He had some of his medicine not too long ago. If he wakes, he’s not really awake. If you wait a moment, I’ll fetch a lantern so we can see better.”

“Yes, all right.” As she walked around the carriage to her front door, Crispin motioned to Dan. “Can you start untying the bags? And the colonel’s chair?” Their baggage was on top of the carriage, covered with oiled cloth. He hoped most was still dry.

“Oh!” Miss Harrington cried out. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, what did they do?”

Crispin hurried around the carriage to see what had upset her. She was standing before a ramp that led up to the door. A useless thing. It looked as though workman had simply laid a board over three or four stairs, and then nailed rough-cut boards to the sides. The angle was absurdly steep.

“This isn’t what I asked for,” she said, key in hand, scowling fiercely. “How am I supposed to wheel Neville up that?”

He was too tired for this. “A problem for tomorrow,” he said, then swooped her up and deposited her at the top of the ramp. “The lantern?”

She ducked her head, embarrassed. But she got the key into the lock and opened the door. Dan came around the carriage, carrying all three valises. The colonel hadn’t much, and Crispin made a point of traveling light. It surprised him though, that Miss Harrington traveled with so little. Dan looked at the ramp, then shook his head, bemused.

Crispin clambered up. “Hand me the bags.” Dan did. Crispin tucked them just inside the open door. “Go get the chair.”

Miss Harrington came up behind him, lantern light spread before her. He hopped down, took the lantern, and held her hand while she descended the ramp with tiny steps.

“This is ludicrous,” she muttered.

Dan came back, rolling the chair.

“Leave it here,” Crispin directed. He set the lantern atop the chair, then motioned for them both to follow him. He returned to the carriage, climbed inside, maneuvered the sleeping colonel near to the door, then slid out. It had been easier putting him in than retrieving him. Twisting awkwardly, he reached in and hoisted the man. He shifted him until he could carry him safely, glad Harrington was so deeply drugged. At the foot of the ramp, he sighed. “Stairs would have been easier.”

“There are stairs at the back of the house,” Miss Harrington said.

“Ah. Good.” He shifted the colonel once more. Either the man was growing heavier, or he was getting weaker. “Is there room in your barn for the carriage and horses?”

Her head bowed and her shoulders drooped as if the question saddened her. “Yes. It’s empty.”

He cleared his throat. “Dan, take the carriage to the barn and see to the horses. I’ll come down to care for Mercury. Just—”

“Oh!” Miss Harrington said. “Oh, no. I—I’m so sorry.” Her face contorted. Crispin had the horrified impression she was about to cry. Before he could ask what was wrong, she said, “There is nothing in the barn. I mean, nothing for the horses. If there is any hay, it’s surely rotted.”

A flame of anger kindled in his chest. He would starve, if need be, but he would not misuse a horse. How could she have agreed to this if the house had not the most basic of accommodations? He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. God. Miss Harrington was not an errant infantryman to be dressed down. And none of this was her fault. He’d thrown her into a panic and then dragged her here. Taking swift control. Playing hero. It was frustration he felt, not anger. He closed his eyes to take a calming breath and think. Tonbridge was not a wilderness.

He opened his eyes. “There is an inn? In town?”