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She laughed. “I suppose we had better stop them.”
“That seems rather mean.”
“We are the chaperones. It is our duty.”
“What a lowering reflection.”
The duchess sighed. “It is, a little. But Harriet will catch a cold if we don’t get her home and into dry clothing.” She raised a hand. “Hello?” she called.
***
Harriet stiffened at the sound and at once became aware of her scandalous position. What had she been thinking? Or rathernotthinking? What had come over her? She pulled away. The rogue earl resisted briefly, then let her go. She was glad, of course. Not the least bit sorry.
She turned and watched the duke and duchess ride closer. “My horse tossed me in the river,” she said when they stopped a few feet away.
The Terefords looked down from the height of their saddles. It was like being observed by slightly amused gods.
“F-Ferrington helped me to the bank,” Harriet added.
“The mud is knee-deep on that river bottom,” he said. He exhibited a boot caked with mud, which clearly had oozed over the tops onto his feet, as if he had to verify his statement. Did he imagine it excused the way they’d been discovered? Did he dare to look smug?
Harriet was wet and cold. Her riding habit clung to her like the gowns of wantons who dampened their petticoats. No, worse than that. She could tell by the way the duke was carefully not looking at her.
“We must get you home at once,” said Cecelia.
“Right.” The rogue earl squelched over to catch the reins of her wretched horse, still nose-deep in the rich grass of the riverbank.
“I willnotget back on that beast,” Harriet declared. She scowled at the creature. The mare looked back with bland innocence. A tuft of grass dangled from her jaws.
“I will lead her,” said Ferrington. “She won’t run away with you again.”
Harriet wondered if one could explode with rage. And why her sodden garments weren’t steaming from the heat of her anger. “She wouldn’t have done so this time if you hadn’t struck her!”
“I didn’t…” Ferrington looked up at the Terefords. “It was the merest tap. Just to get her moving.”
“You certainly managedthat,” replied the duke.
“You could ride behind one of us, I suppose,” said Cecelia. She looked dubious.
Harriet considered her dripping skirts. The cloth was streaked with odoriferous mud. She couldn’t plaster Cecelia with that. And she refused to ride behind either of the others. “Oh, very well,” she said. “But if she spits on me,Ishall strike her.”
“Spits?” Ferrington said. “Why would your horse…”
“Someone will have to help me up,” Harriet interrupted. She stomped over to the earl. It would have to be him, of course. She couldn’t ask the immaculate Tereford. Resolutely, she paid no attention when Ferrington put his hands on her waist and boosted her into the saddle.
They made their way back up to the meadow, Harriet’s mount being led by the earl. Finding a sparse place in the hedge, they pushed through, to Harriet’s vast relief. She could not have faced another jump.
There was little conversation on the short ride back to Winstead Hall. Harriet was in no mood for chatter, and the others seemed to realize this. Once home, she sent them on their way and rode straight to the stables. She hoped to evade her mother and grandfather in her bedraggled state, though some servant would probably report it.
She managed this, reaching her room without seeing them. She was stripping off her muddy riding habit when Slade entered. “I’ve ordered a bath,” the abigail said.
Harriet could only be grateful, though this meant word of her soaking had spread through the household. Well, she would face the questions when she was clean and dressed.
And the rogue earl could just keep his…delicious, delirious kisses to himself.
Nine
Sitting with her mother in her parlor the following morning, Harriet wondered a little at the servants’ silence about her mishap. Though most of them surely knew in what state she’d returned, none seemed to have told Grandfather or Mama. Her grandfather had questioned her closely about the outing, yes. But his inquiries had focused on the earl’s level of interest in her, the chance of an early proposal, and ways she could encourage him to make an offer. Mama had followed this dinner conversation like a gambler who’d wagered more than she could afford on a hand of cards, her head moving anxiously back and forth between them. Otherwise, she’d barely mentioned the ride. Harriet appreciated the staff’s restraint. It made her feel a bit more at home in Winstead Hall.
