Sarah Mallory - A Regency Baron's Bride

‘For if I am not mistaken,’ said Mr Midgley, twinkling at her, ‘you were up before dawn, miss, and too excited to take a bite to eat.’

‘Very true,’ laughed Kitty, removing her bonnet and shaking out her dark curls. ‘If you are sure we have time?’

‘All the time in the world, my dear,’ replied Mr Midgley. ‘We travel to London in easy stages. I don’t mean to press the horses, for we shan’t be changing them again for some while, unlike the mailcoach.’

‘Nor will we be careering along at such a breakneck speed,’ added Mrs Midgley, chuckling. ‘So come along, my dear, sit by me and you can tell me how your dear mother does.’

Kitty readily complied. She was not well acquainted with her hosts but their warmth and kindness soon broke down any reserve and she found herself chattering away quite naturally while they breakfasted upon freshly baked bread rolls and scalding coffee.

‘So you arrived in style, Miss Wythenshawe,’ remarked Mrs Midgley, when they had finished their meal and Mr Midgley went off to check if their carriage was ready. ‘You say the farmer’s boy drove you in his gig? I have no doubt your mama was very pleased you were not obliged to travel here with the poultry for market!’

‘If I had done so then my driver might have known the way,’ replied Kitty with a sigh.

She decided not to recount the incident at the crossroads. The man had been odiously rude and not a little frightening, but Kitty was aware that her own conduct was not what it ought to have been. If she had not spoken in such a proud, disdainful way perhaps the whole unpleasant incident might not have occurred. She deeply regretted her own conduct but it was too late to apologise. She would learn from it and do her best to make sure she did not act in such an ill-mannered fashion again.

She gave Mrs Midgley a bright smile. ‘But I am here now, and very much looking forward to our journey.’

‘Bless you, my dear, then we shall be off directly,’ declared Mr Midgley, coming in at that moment. ‘If you would care to don your bonnets and cloaks, ladies, the berline is ready and we can be on our way! Oh, and we have a passenger for the first part of the journey: I’ll just go and hurry him along.’

With that he was gone, leaving his wife to tut and direct a rueful glance at Kitty as they gathered up their belongings and headed out to the yard.

While they had been breaking their fast the clouds had gathered and now it was raining steadily, a fine, soaking drizzle. The ladies hurried across to the waiting carriage and made themselves comfortable on the forward-facing seat while they waited for Mr Midgley. He soon appeared at the door, standing back and addressing someone beyond her view.

‘Get in, my boy, get in. You will find Mrs Midgley inside, and our young guest Miss Wythenshawe. This is Mr Blackwood, my love,’ he called in through the open door. ‘His mare is lame, so I said we would take him up as far as Hestonroyd.’

A large figure in a greatcoat and wide-brimmed hat filled the doorway, his shadow momentarily darkening the interior of the carriage, but as he sat down opposite her, Kitty bit back a gasp of dismay. It was the boorish stranger from the crossroads! He had washed his face and hands and tied back his hair, but there was no mistaking that strong jaw shadowed with its dark stubble or the coal-black eyes that now rested upon her with a look of cool disdain. Embarrassed, Kitty looked down and nervously twitched her skirts out of the way. He had such long legs that she was obliged to keep her feet tucked in to avoid dirtying her hem on his muddy boots. She knew her walking dress would not remain clean for very long, but it was new and she was determined to take care of it. She fully appreciated all the hard work Mama and Aunt Jane had put in, making all the gowns and clothes for her stay in London. She had helped, of course, but Mama had worked long into each evening, sewing by lamplight until her eyes were red and sore with strain.

‘There, now, we are off at last!’ declared Mr Midgley as he climbed into the carriage and they began to move. ‘What a merry party we shall be.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Blackwood here lives at the Holme and—’

Daniel was quick to interrupt him, saying in a very broad accent, ‘Nay, sir, I don’t think the ladies is fetched to know about me.’ He glanced at the young woman sitting opposite and added, ‘They’d be more interested in frills and furbelows.’

Mrs Midgley chuckled.

‘You are far too modest, Mr Blackwood. I take it you are Samuel Blackwood’s son?’

‘Aye, ma’am.’ Daniel kept his response brief: if they knew his father they might well wonder why his son spoke in such an uneducated manner!

‘We are well acquainted with your parents,’ Mrs Midgley went on. ‘If we had time I would suggest we call upon them when we drop you off, but Mr Midgley is determined to reach Market Harborough tonight, so we must not tarry. Do, pray, remember me to your mama.’

Dan nodded silently in response and earned a disapproving frown from Miss Wythenshawe. He returned her look with a cool one of his own and had the satisfaction of seeing her blush. As well she might, given her own behaviour towards him that morning.

He wondered if he should have hired a horse after all, but by the time he had walked Marnie to the inn the rain had set in and Mr Midgley had been most insistent. Daniel had seen the cheerful-looking gentleman with his full wig and bushy side-whiskers sheltering under the arch leading to the stableyard and he had nodded as he passed him. The man touched his hat.

‘By Gad, sir, you look as if you have been through the wars!’

Daniel stopped. He looked down at his muddy clothes and gave a wry grin.

‘My horse took a tumble yesterday evening and I landed in the dirt. I was unhurt but my mount was lamed, so I was obliged to spend the night on the moors.’

‘And in the rain, too.’ The gentleman shook his head.

Daniel shrugged.

‘A little damp won’t hurt me. I am even now going to find our host and hire a horse to take me back to Hestonroyd.’

The man looked up, his little bright eyes gleaming.

‘Oh? Not the Holme, by any chance? Samuel Blackwood’s place?’

‘Why, yes, sir. I am his son.’

The gentleman gave a hearty laugh.

‘Well met then, Mr Blackwood! My name is Midgley. I have known your father for many a year—a good man, and an honest businessman, too!’

‘Indeed.’ Daniel nodded. ‘I will give him your regards, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see if Fletcher can find me a horse …’

‘No need, sir, no need,’ cried Mr Midgley. ‘I am going your way—that is my berline over there. We shall be setting off shortly—we have many miles to cover today!—but I should be delighted to take you up.’

‘Indeed, sir, I would not wish to put you out.’

‘Not at all, my boy, not at all. You do not want to be riding in this weather. And besides, we shall be driving through Hestonroyd and can drop you at the very gates of the Holme. Now, there is plenty of room in my carriage for another body, so let me hear no more arguments!’

Daniel hesitated, but only for a moment. His greatcoat was still wet and the idea of getting another soaking was not a tempting prospect, so he accepted Mr Midgley’s offer. Now, looking across at Miss Wythenshawe’s haughty profile, he thought that if he had known she was one of the party, he would have preferred to walk back to Hestonroyd in the rain rather than sit in a closed carriage with such a disagreeable wench.

Kitty stared resolutely out of the window. Heavens, she had thought Joshua taciturn, but this man had no conversation at all, except to be uncivil. Her conscience suggested that this might be her own fault. The thought made her uncomfortable, but she could not bring herself to utter an apology before Mr and Mrs Midgley: if she did that she would also be obliged to give them an explanation. She decided to put the matter from her mind and concentrate on the passing countryside.