Daniel did not stop to think. He hurled himself to the right, toppling the curricle before it could strike Anne, who was somewhere on the ground, somewhere to the left.
The curricle smacked against the earth, skidding for several yards before coming to a halt in the mud. For a moment Daniel could not move. He’d been punched before, he’d fallen off horses; hell, he’d even been shot. But never had his breath been so completely ripped from his body as when the curricle hit the ground.
Anne. He had to get to her. But he had to breathe first, and his lungs felt as if they’d gone into a spasm. Finally, still gasping for air, he crawled out of the overturned carriage. “Anne!” he tried to bellow, but it was all he could do to wheeze her name. His hands squelched into the mud, and then his knees, and then, using the splintered side of the curricle for support, he managed to stagger to his feet.
“Anne!” he called again, this time with more volume. “Miss Wynter!”
There was no response. No sound at all, save for the rain, slapping against the sodden ground.
Still barely able to stand, Daniel searched frantically from his spot next to the curricle, turning in circles as he held on for support, looking for any sign of Anne. What had she been wearing? Brown. She’d been in brown, a medium shade of it, perfect for blending in with the mud.
She must be behind him. The curricle had rolled and skidded for some distance after she’d been thrown out. Daniel tried to make his way to the back of the carriage, his boots finding little traction in the deepening mud. He slid, losing his balance, and he pitched forward, his hands flailing for anything that might keep him upright. At the last moment, they closed around a thin strip of leather.
The harness.
Daniel looked down at the leather in his hands. It was the trace, meant to connect the horse to the carriage shaft. But it had been cut. Only the very end looked frayed, as if it had been left dangling by a thread, ready to snap at the slightest pressure.
Ramsgate.
His body filled with rage, and Daniel finally found the energy to move beyond the broken curricle and search for Anne. By God, if anything had happened to her . . . If she was seriously injured . . .
He would kill Lord Ramsgate. He would eviscerate him with his bare hands.
“Anne!” he yelled, spinning madly in the mud as he searched for her. And then—was that a boot? He rushed forward, stumbling through the rain until he saw her clearly, crumpled on the ground, half on the road, half in the wood.
“Dear God,” Daniel whispered, and he ran forward, terror grabbing at his heart. “Anne,” he said frantically, reaching her side and feeling for a pulse. “Answer me. God help me, answer me now.”
She did not respond, but the steady pulse at her wrist was enough to give him hope. They were only about half a mile from Whipple Hill. He could carry her that far. He was shaking, and bruised, and probably bleeding, but he could do this.
Carefully, he lifted her into his arms and began the treacherous walk home. The mud made each step a balancing act, and he could barely see through his hair, plastered over his eyes by the rain. But he kept going, his exhausted body finding strength through terror.
And fury.
Ramsgate would pay for this. Ramsgate would pay, and maybe Hugh would pay, too, and by God, the whole world would pay if Anne’s eyes never opened again.
One foot in front of the other. That’s what he did, until Whipple Hill came into view. And then he was on the drive, and in the circle, and finally, just when his muscles were screaming and quivering, and his knees threatened to buckle, he made it up the three steps to the grand front entrance and kicked the door, hard.
And again.
And again.
And again and again and again until he heard footsteps hurrying toward him.
The door opened, and there was the butler, who let out a loud “My lord!” And then, as three footmen rushed forward to relieve Daniel of his burden, he sank to the floor, spent and terrified.
“Take care of her,” he gasped. “Get her warm.”
“Right away, my lord,” the butler assured him, “but you—”
“No!” Daniel ordered. “Take care of her first.”
“Of course, my lord.” The butler rushed over to the terrified footman who was holding Anne, oblivious to the rivers of water rushing down his sleeves. “Go!” he ordered. “Go! Take her upstairs, and you” —he jerked his head toward a maid who had come into the hall to gawk—“begin heating water for a bath. Now!”
Daniel closed his eyes, reassured by the flurry of activity unfolding around him. He had done what he needed to do. He had done all he could do.
For now.
Chapter Fourteen
When Anne finally came to, her mind slowly shifting from unrelenting black to swirling clouds of gray, the first thing she felt were hands, poking and prodding, trying to remove her clothing.
She wanted to scream. She tried to, but her voice would not obey. She was shivering uncontrollably, her muscles were aching and exhausted, and she wasn’t sure she could open her mouth, much less make a sound.
She’d been cornered before, by overconfident young men who viewed the governess as fair game, by a master of a house who figured he was paying her salary, anyway. Even by George Chervil, who had set her life down this road in the first place.
But she had always been able to defend herself. She’d had her strength, and her wits, and with George even a weapon. Now she had none of those things. She could not even open her eyes.
“No,” she moaned, squirming and shifting on what seemed to be a cold, wooden floor.
“Shhh,” came an unfamiliar voice. It was a woman, though, which Anne found reassuring. “Let us help you, Miss Wynter.”
They knew her name. Anne could not decide if that was a good thing or not.
“Poor dear,” the woman said. “Your skin is like ice. We’re going to put you in a hot bath.”
A bath. A bath sounded like heaven. She was so cold—she couldn’t remember ever being so cold before. Everything felt heavy . . . her arms, legs, even her heart.
“Here we are, love,” came the woman’s voice again. “Just let me get at these buttons.”
Anne struggled once more to open her eyes. It felt as if someone had placed weights on her lids, or submerged her in some sort of sticky goo she couldn’t quite escape.
“You’re safe now,” the woman said. Her voice was kind, and she seemed to want to help.
“Where am I?” Anne whispered, still trying to force her eyes open.
“You’re back at Whipple Hill. Lord Winstead carried you back through the rain.”
“Lord Winstead . . . He—” She gasped, and her eyes finally opened to reveal a bathroom, far more elegant and ornate than the one to which she was currently assigned up in the nursery. There were two maids with her, one adding water to a steaming bath, the other attempting to remove her sodden clothing.
“Is he all right?” Anne asked frantically. “Lord Winstead?” Flashes of memory rushed at her. The rain. The horses breaking free. The horrifying sound of splintering wood. And then the curricle, hurtling forward on just one wheel. And then . . . nothing. Anne could not recall a thing. They must have crashed—why couldn’t she remember it?
Dear God, what had happened to them?
“His lordship is well,” the maid assured her. “Exhausted as a body can be, but it’s nothing a bit of rest won’t cure.” Her eyes shone with pride as she adjusted Anne’s position so that she could peel her sleeves from her arms. “He’s a hero, he is. A true hero.”
Anne rubbed her face with her hand. “I can’t remember what happened. A few bits and pieces, but that’s all.”
“His lordship told us you were thrown from the carriage,” the maid said, getting to work on the other sleeve. “Lady Winstead said you likely hit your head.”
“Lady Winstead?” When had she seen Lady Winstead?
“His lordship’s mother,” the maid explained, misinterpr
eting Anne’s query. “She knows a bit about injuries and healing, she does. She examined you right there on the floor of the front hall.”
“Oh, dear God.” Anne didn’t know why this was so mortifying, but it was.
“Her ladyship said you’ve a lump, right about here.” The maid touched her own head, a couple of inches above her left ear.
Anne’s hand, still rubbing her temple, moved upward through her hair. She found the bump instantly, bulging and tender. “Ow,” she said, pulling her fingers away. She looked at her hand. There was no blood. Or maybe there had been, and the rain had washed it away.
“Lady Winstead said she thought you’d want some privacy,” the maid continued, sliding Anne’s dress from her body. “We’re to get you warmed and washed and then put into bed. She sent for a doctor.”
“Oh, I’m sure I don’t need a doctor,” Anne said quickly. She still felt awful—sore, and cold, and with a lumpy explanation for her raging headache. But they were temporary sorts of ailments, the kind one instinctively knew needed nothing but a soft bed and hot soup.
But the maid just shrugged. “She already sent for one, so I don’t think you’ve got much choice.”
Anne nodded.
“Everyone is right worried about you. Little Lady Frances was crying, and—”
“Frances?” Anne interrupted. “But she never cries.”
“She was this time.”
“Oh, please,” Anne begged, heartbroken with worry. “Please have someone let her know that I’m all right.”
“A footman will be up with more hot water soon. We’ll have him tell Lady—”
“A footman?” Anne gasped, her hands instinctively covering her nudity. She was still in her chemise, but wet, it was practically transparent.
“Don’t worry,” the maid said with a chuckle. “He leaves it at the door. It’s just so Peggy doesn’t have to carry it up the stairs.”
Peggy, who was pouring yet another bucket of water into the tub, turned and smiled.
“Thank you,” Anne said quietly. “Thank you both.”
“I’m Bess,” the first maid told her. “Do you think you can stand up? Just for a minute? This slip has got to come off over your head.”
Anne nodded, and with help from Bess she rose to her feet, holding onto the side of the large porcelain tub for support. Once the chemise had been removed, Bess helped Anne into the tub, and she sank down gratefully into the water. It was too hot, but she didn’t mind. It felt so good to be something other than numb.
She soaked in the bath until the water faded to lukewarm, then Bess helped her into her wool nightgown, which Bess had brought down from Anne’s room in the nursery.
“Here you are,” Bess said, leading Anne across the plush carpet to a beautiful canopied bed.
“What room is this?” Anne asked, taking in the elegant surroundings. Scrollwork swirled along the ceilings, and the walls were covered in damask of the most delicate silvery blue. It was by far the grandest room she’d ever slept in.
“The blue guest bedroom,” Bess said, fluffing her pillows. “It’s one of the finest at Whipple Hill. Right on the same hallway as the family.”
As the family? Anne looked up in surprise.
Bess shrugged. “His lordship insisted upon it.”
“Oh,” Anne said with a gulp, wondering what the rest of his family thought about that.
Bess watched as Anne settled in under the heavy quilts, then asked, “Shall I tell everyone that you’re able to receive visitors? I know they’ll want to see you.”
“Not Lord Winstead?” Anne asked in horror. Surely they would not allow him to enter her bedroom. Well, not her bedroom, but still, a bedroom. With her in it.
“Oh, no,” Bess reassured her. “He’s off in his own bed, asleep, I hope. I don’t think we’ll see him for at least a day. The poor man is exhausted. I reckon you weigh quite a bit more wet than you do dry.” Bess chuckled at her own joke, then left the room.
Less than a minute later, Lady Pleinsworth entered. “Oh, my poor, poor girl,” she exclaimed. “You gave us such a fright. But my heavens, you look vastly better than you did an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” Anne said, not quite comfortable with such effusiveness on the part of her employer. Lady Pleinsworth had always been kind, but she had never attempted to make Anne feel like a member of the family. Nor had Anne expected her to. It was the odd lot of the governess—not quite a servant but most definitely not of the family. Her first employer—the old woman on the Isle of Man—had warned her about it. Forever stuck between upstairs and down, a governess was, and she’d best get used to it quickly.
“You should have seen yourself when his lordship brought you in,” Lady Pleinsworth said as she settled into a chair by the bed. “Poor Frances thought you were dead.”
“Oh, no, is she still upset? Has someone—”
“She’s fine,” Lady Pleinsworth said with a brisk wave of her hand. “She insists, however, upon seeing you for herself.”
“That would be most agreeable,” Anne said, trying to stifle a yawn. “I would enjoy her company.”
“You’ll need to rest first,” Lady Pleinsworth said firmly.
Anne nodded, sinking a little further into her pillows.
“I’m sure you’ll want to know how Lord Winstead is,” Lady Pleinsworth continued.
Anne nodded again. She did want to know, desperately, but she’d been forcing herself not to ask.
Lady Pleinsworth leaned forward, and there was something in her expression Anne could not quite read. “You should know that he very nearly collapsed after carrying you home.”
“I’m sorry,” Anne whispered.
But if Lady Pleinsworth heard her, she gave no indication. “Actually, I suppose one would have to say he did collapse. Two footmen had to help him up and practically carry him to his room. I vow I have never seen the like.”
Anne felt tears stinging her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Lady Pleinsworth looked at her with a queer expression, almost as if she’d forgotten who she’d been talking to. “There’s no need for that. It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but . . .” Anne shook her head. She didn’t know what she knew. She didn’t know anything any longer.
“Still,” Lady Pleinsworth said with a wave of her hand, “you should be grateful. He carried you for over half a mile, you know. And he was injured himself.”
“I am grateful,” Anne said quietly. “Very much so.”
“The reins snapped,” Lady Pleinsworth told her. “I must say I am appalled. It is unconscionable that equipage in such poor repair would be allowed out of the stables. Someone will lose their position over this, I am sure.”
The reins, Anne thought. That made sense. It had all happened so suddenly.
“At any rate, given the severity of the accident, we must be thankful that neither of you was more seriously injured,” Lady Pleinsworth continued. “Although I’m told that we do want to watch you closely with that lump on your head.”
Anne touched it again, wincing.
“Does it hurt?”
“A bit,” Anne admitted.
Lady Pleinsworth seemed not to know what to do with that information. She shifted slightly in her seat, then squared her shoulders, then finally said, “Well.”
Anne tried to smile. It was ridiculous, but she almost felt as if she was supposed to try to make Lady Pleinsworth feel better. It was probably from all those years in service, always wanting to please her employers.
“The doctor will be here soon,” Lady Pleinsworth finally continued, “but in the meantime, I will make sure that someone tells Lord Winstead that you have awakened. He was most worried about you.”
“Thank—” Anne started to say, but apparently Lady Pleinsworth was not done.
“It is curious, though,” she said, pressing her lips together. “How did you come to be in his carriage in the first place? The last I saw him, he was here at Whi
pple Hill.”
Anne swallowed. This was not the sort of conversation that one wanted to treat with anything but the utmost of care. “I saw him in the village,” she said. “It started to rain, and he offered to drive me back to Whipple Hill.” She waited for a moment, but Lady Pleinsworth did not speak, so she added, “I was most appreciative.”
Lady Pleinsworth took a moment to consider her answer, then said, “Yes, well, he is very generous that way. Although as it turns out, you’d have done better to walk.” She stood briskly and patted the bed. “You must rest now. But do not sleep. I’ve been told you’re not to sleep until the doctor arrives to examine you.” She frowned. “I believe I will send Frances in. At the very least, she’ll keep you awake.”
Anne smiled. “Perhaps she might read to me. She hasn’t practiced reading aloud in quite some time, and I should like to see her work on her diction.”
“Ever the teacher, I see,” Lady Pleinsworth said. “But that’s what we want in a governess, isn’t it?”
Anne nodded, not quite certain if she had been complimented or told to remember her place.
Lady Pleinsworth walked to the door, then turned. “Oh, and as to that, don’t worry about the girls. Lady Sarah and Lady Honoria will be sharing your duties while you are recuperating. I’m sure between the two of them they can work out a lesson plan.”
“Maths,” Anne said with a yawn. “They need to do maths.”
“Maths it is, then.” Lady Pleinsworth opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “Do try to get some rest. But don’t sleep.”
Anne nodded and closed her eyes, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She did not think she would sleep, though. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was racing. Everyone told her that Daniel was all right, but she was still worried, and she would be until she saw him for herself. There was nothing she could do about it now, though, not when she could barely walk.
And then Frances bounded in, hopped onto the bed beside Anne, and proceeded to chatter her ear off. It was, Anne realized later, exactly what she needed.