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Chapter 1
There was nothing in the world Amelia Fawn hated more than the unexpected. Life was wholly more pleasant when things went according to plan, obediently falling into their natural way and performing as they should, much like a well-oiled clock. But getting stuck on a muddy road in the center of a small creek, the wheels of her gig spinning sloppily in the dirty water, was not according to plan. No, it was entirely unexpected.
Amelia clicked her tongue, slapping the reins against her horse’s rump to try and propel the creature again. A whinny met her ears, and the horse gave another valiant effort, the gig rocking forward as the wheels spun, splashing muddy water up and splattering Amelia’s back with gooey, dirty droplets.
Ugh. Dropping her wrists onto her lap, she let the reins fall slack. Her options were quite plain. She could sit on the bench seat until rain came, raising the creek water enough to lift her carriage away and thus dislodging it from the sludge, or she could climb down and do her best to lead her stallion, Howard, out of the mud herself. Her boots were bound to be ruined, but surely the one benefit to wearing nothing but black was that she could muddy her hem as much as she wished, and no one would be the wiser.
Or so she assumed. Amelia was not in the habit of dirtying her person in any way.
Clutching the thin, leather reins firmly in one hand, Amelia shifted on the seat, gathering her skirts in preparation to jump down. She paused, cocking her ear toward the steady clopping of a horse’s hooves. Someone was coming.
Oh, no. Not just someone. The absolute last man she wished to see in all of England rode her way with a pleasant smile on his obnoxiously amiable face.
“Good day, Mrs. Fawn,” Charles Fremont called, lifting his hat from a mop of chestnut hair in greeting. “Might I be of any assistance?”
She trained her face into a placid smile. Perhaps if she prayed fervently for a downpour of rain, the heavens would grant her wish and sweep her away from this awful man.
Well, awful might be something of an exaggeration. But it truly was horrid how Charles had hung on so when she’d made it plain time and again that her interests could not, would not ever, lean his way. Would that he could simply understand that he did not stand a chance in gaining her favor. She’d known Charles her entire life, and his eagerness to please her had never once made her the slightest bit inclined to love him. It had done the opposite, in fact, making her desire as much space between them as possible.
“I think this will require the work of more than one man,” she said, hoping to stave further offers of assistance, to inhibit his eagerness before it could show. “I was only just considering the merits of walking home to find help.”
“Perhaps I might save you a trip. I am heading to Falbrooke now to speak to your brother.”
Amelia dipped her chin. This was better than she could have anticipated. She had fully expected Charles to swing from his horse and valiantly attempt to save her. But she wanted to avoid that. More than finding his restless need to serve her quite stifling, she could not allow herself to owe him anything.
He turned his attention to the wheels of her gig, his light brown eyebrows drawing together in concentration. “You are certain your horse will not move from that position? It does not look very deep.”
She stifled an irritated sigh. This is what she had been afraid of—Charles playing the hero. She considered demonstrating Howard’s inability to pull her from the sludge, but the resulting spray of muddy water would not be worth it. Instead, she nodded.
The grooves deepened on his brow, and he slid from his horse, tossing the reins over a nearby branch and crossing to Howard’s head. “Come, boy. Will you move for me?” he asked, his voice surprisingly soft.
Howard threw his head back and whinnied, and Amelia tightened her hold on the reins. “I’m not sure he likes—”
“If you will urge him forward, I will push from the back,” Charles said, focused. “We might be able to get you from the rut ourselves.”
Amelia turned on the seat, following Charles with her eyes as he shrugged out of his navy coat and draped it over his saddle, setting his hat on top. “But the water is bound to splash you. And as I said before, I really think this is the work of more than one man.”
To say nothing of the fact that Charles, while a grown man, was not in the habit of performing manual labor. Throughout their childhood, Charles had preferred to follow her around than play with the boys. Surely his indolent disposition had not since changed. He could not possibly possess the strength required to remove her wheels from the mud. She only thought to save him from humiliation and a muddied person.
“Dirty water does not frighten me, Amel—” He cleared his throat, rolling up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. “Mrs. Fawn.” His cheeks turned rosy, his gaze lowering as he stepped around to the back of the carriage, his boots splashing in the shallow creek bed. “On my count, urge the horse forward.”
She nodded, settling forward in her seat again.
Well, she’d tried to stop him. If he wanted a mud spray over his clothing, that was his choice.
“One, two, three!”
Amelia slapped the reins against Howard’s rump as she rocked back, feeling the pressure of Charles’s shoulder against the back of the gig as his grunt rent the air.
“Almost,” he called, his voice strained, and she leaned forward to help.
The gig jostled as the wheels broke free from their mucky prison and lurched forth. Amelia pulled on the reins, bringing it to a stop once she was out of the muddy creek, her heart hammering in her chest. Turning to thank Charles, she found him walking back to his horse, wiping his hands together to remove the dirt. He was splattered with mud and his boots were filthy, but he shrugged back into his coat and remounted his horse.
And now he was certain to offer his escort, to ensure that she made it to her destination safely. His attentiveness could be stifling. “Thank you, Mr. Fremont.”
Charles glanced up, his blue eyes bright and cheeks flushed. He smiled briefly, securing his hat back on his head where mud flecks littered his hair, and nodded to her. “Of course, Mrs. Fawn.”
Turning his horse in the direction of the home where she resided with her brother, Falbrooke Court, he took off, bouncing slightly in his saddle as his horse trotted away. That was all? He did not ask if she was well, or if she required anything further?
