victoria hinshaw

The Tables Turned

      Lord Daniel Dashworth's brain was afire in his pounding skull. Every jostling step of his horse rattled his aching bones and roiled his sour stomach as they plodded along the deserted road. The day lacked only a howling hailstorm to be the most disagreeable of his entire twenty-nine years.

      Dash owed his extreme discomfort to his stubborn refusal to postpone the boast he made last night. Whatever had possessed him to declare to his friends he would set out the following day on a wilderness adventure, with only his horse as company? Actually he knew precisely why he made that skitter-witted pledge. The culprit was a commendable vintage, an exceptional barrel, but multiple bottles. Many multiples.

      So while his friends snored away this morning he had staggered to the stable and somehow mounted Ajax. His valet Mullins, ever obedient, had awakened, shaved and dressed him, and even helped to saddle the horse. Now Dash was finally out of the environs of his hunting box, far enough away to stop before his head split wide open or he cast up his accounts. Or both.

      At the village just ahead there was a small inn, good enough for a brief respite from his agony. The four of them must have emptied more than a dozen bottles last night. And all he could remember after his glib pledge was the wager the other three made on his success in evading society for six weeks.

      He sat his horse miserably. If any of the blades that made up his group saw him slumped in the saddle, they would make his anguish the butt of their laughter for years to come, tell the story over and over to any who would listen. So does the noble Lord Daniel ride off on his crusade to find a purpose for his dreary life.

      What the devil had he been thinking of to ask such pointless questions of himself last night? No one ever cared what happened to the second son of a duke as long as the fellow stood by until the heir had a son of his own. That always sufficed as the purpose for his life. Friendly drinking, a comely mistress, a bit of sport here and there made a fine existence. Why now, at the cusp of his third decade, did he get the mad notion he needed some other raison d'etre?

      A wilderness experience to refresh his spirit? Humbug!

      He took a few swallows from the wineskin hanging from his saddle. Ah, the noble Mullins. He always knew what was best for his master. Too bad the master was the veriest nodcock.

      To entertain himself and divert his mind from his own stupidity, he began to sing out loud, though both the melody and the words were foggy in his head.

      "Sometime in the month of June

      When I did something with a spoon . . ."

      Miss Anne Talcott pulled her dark cloak close about her and strode through the wood beyond the inn's stableyard. She needed a reviving walk and a few breaths of fresh air after sitting at Mary's side the entire clock around, sponging the maid's forehead and arms, and listening to her moans in the overheated room.

      The Lamb and Lark was not much of a hostelry, but as its only current patron, she found it reasonably satisfactory. Only because one of her grooms had grown up nearby had they been able to turn off the main road and find accommodations quickly enough to put Mary, Anne's maid, to bed before she suffered the worst effects of her putrid throat and wretched chills.

      Poor Mary. She was quite distraught at putting her mistress to such bother. Now that the maid felt a little better and had taken a few spoonfuls of gruel, Anne decided she could leave her in the care of the innkeeper's daughter for an hour. She had peeked into the stable to see her grooms playing dice, and without them noticing her, she hurried away and whistled softly to Ursa, now off following his own paths through the woods.

      The day was crisp, the spring air clear, the sun bright in the sky. The birds' calls, the rustle of the leaves beneath her feet, the music of the countryside surrounded her. It felt good to be out of doors, and not sitting in a hot room or a bumpy coach, even if she was sorry her arrival in London would be postponed a few days.

      ". . . In 'is hand a jug o' punch . . ."

      Anne stopped and listened. An off-key voice came closer. She saw the road ahead between the trees and walked toward it.

      ". . . And on 'is knee a pretty wench . . ."

      Who would be singing drunken ditties two hours before noontide?

      "Deedle, deedle, dum, dum . . ."

       The horseman who came into view was draped over his horse, hardly a proper seat. The beast, head hanging low, walked slowly as one entirely committed to enduring patiently the most egregious behavior of its rider.

      ". . .And on his knee a pretty wench . . ."

      "Sir! Sir!" Anne called out in her most commanding voice.

      "Whoa, Ajax." The rider raised his head and squinted in her direction. "Who's there?"

      Anne marched toward the horse, leaving the trees behind her. "Sir, you are disturbing the peace of this woods and may soon offend the ears of the good women and children of Stoneby, the village you are about to enter."

      As she spoke Anne assessed the man's condition. His coat was well-tailored and his cravat clean however disheveled. He looked to be well into his cups so early in the day.

      He leaned toward her, almost lost his balance and swung himself back just in time. "Who are you?"

      "One who has had her peaceful contemplation of the local verdure interrupted in a most jarring way."

      "Well, Mother, I 'pectfully beg your pardon but all that stops the anvil clanging in my brainbox is my song --"

      "Mother? Whatever do you . . ." Anne swallowed the rest of her words. Of course with her hair sleeked back in a bun and her shoulders wrapped in this heavy cloak, he thought her an old woman of the village. "Nevertheless, I ask that you please desist making that racket before every person in the village disrupts his labor to see what creature is being skinned alive."

      He tilted towards her again, then lurched backward, barely keeping his seat.

      "Now I see you're not so old. What are you doing here alone on this road?"

      "A mere handful of steps from the inn, sir. And I am not alone." She gave a little whistle and Ursa trotted up beside her almost immediately.

      "The devil!" The rider rubbed his eyes.

      "No, just my companion Ursa." No one would dare come near her when the huge black Newfoundland was present.

      The rider began to laugh and, reins slack, dropped his head onto his mount's neck again. The horse took up his careless amble once more. Within a few paces, the rider sang out again to no particular tune,

      "A jug o' punch, a tidy wench, diddle diddle dum . . ."

      Anne nearly sputtered with rage at his cavalier behavior. Though he was dressed as a gentleman, his manners were deplorable, his singing execrable, the song inappropriate for the ears of children. Or respectable persons of any age!

      What a thoroughly wicked individual. She was quite sorry she had even attempted to address the wretch.

      She spun around and tramped back to the woodland path. The innkeeper said this trail led to a pretty stream with a little waterfall. Heavens above, now she needed a few moments of tranquility even more!

      Dash awoke to the tantalizing aroma of roasting mutton, a smell that reminded each fiber of his being how many hours had passed since its last nourishment. He rolled out of bed and tried to still the throbbing in his head. Without a servant at hand, he had no choice but to descend the stairs himself if he wanted a tankard of ale and a slice of that roast. Someone had brought his small valise upstairs and must have helped him off with his jacket. He had little memory of his arrival, except that a sturdy coach stood in the yard and a team of horses chomped away in the stable when he took Ajax into a stall.

      The rest was a blur.

      Except that crazy woman who had hollered at him just before he arrived.

      He splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and peered into the mirror in order to comb his hair. His neckcloth was limp and drooping, but otherwise he thought he looked remarkably well for a man whose head felt like its circumference had grown to ten or twelve feet.

      Slowly he tiptoed down the staircase and followed the richly mouth-watering scents of a grand English mutton dinner. Dash knew not which was worse, the grumbling in his stomach or the thudding in his head. He paused in the entrance to the taproom. One figure occupied one table in the small chamber, a lady with her back to him. Two hulking fellows he thought might be the grooms he had seen earlier sat near the fire, each with a mug in his hand.

      The dog lay by the fire, a large bone near its head. When Dash walked into the room, it snapped to attention and growled.

      The men looked up and the lady turned around to look at him. With a sinking heart Dash realized she was his tormentor from the morning. "Excuse me, is the proprietor on hand?"

      "Shush, Ursa! Stay." She watched the dog settle back to the floor, then spoke again. "Mr. Hitchcock is in the pantry."

      He walked into room and faced the lady. "I am Daniel Dashworth, at your service."

      She frowned and nodded, looking stern. "Yes, Mr. Hitchcock told us of your arrival." She looked away and took another bite of her meal.

      "I see." He stood awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other for what seemed an eternity before Mr. Hitchcock came back.

      "Ah, m'lord, be ye wantin' some dinner?"

      "If you please. And an ale. And may I inquire if you might have a headache powder on hand?"

      Before the innkeeper answered, the lady spoke again. "I anticipated you might be in need of such a remedy. Here is a large dose for you." She took a folded paper out of her reticule and held it out.

      He stepped closer and took it. "Thank you, madam. I am surely in your debt. Also for spoiling your morning walk."

      "I am Miss Talcott, Miss Anne Talcott of Dalby."

      "Beggin' yer pardon, Miss. There's no fire lit in the other parlor. Do ye mind if I seat Lord Daniel in here?"

      "I would be most uncharitable if I forced Lord Daniel to a chilly parlor, Mr. Hitchcock."

      Dash bowed, once again painfully jostling the contents of his skull. "Thank you, Miss Talcott. I appreciate your generosity."

      She gave a half snicker, half sniff, quickly smothered in her napkin. "Please be seated, Lord Daniel."

      Hitchcock scurried to the barrel and began to draw a tankard of ale.

      Dash took a chair at the table next to hers. "I wish to apologize for my disgraceful behavior earlier. I admit to having had more to drink than usual, a very embarrassing situation."

      "So I would imagine." Her gaze concentrated on her plate as she speared a piece of mutton.

      The innkeeper set the tankard and a small glass in front of Dash. "I'll get yer dinner, milord."

      Dash emptied the paper of headache powder into his glass, added a splash of ale and swirled it for a moment before he downed the concoction.

      "I feel better already. You see, Miss Talcott, I was the unwitting victim of my friends' exuberance. They were attempting to celebrate my natal day and their efforts got a bit out of hand." Why he felt he had to explain, Dash could not fathom. It simply seemed necessary, though he discreetly omitted the parts about the presence of the muslin set and how he had sent Camilla on her way back to London with a handsome bauble.

      Miss Talcott chewed, looking unimpressed. With the brighter light falling on her face, Dash noticed she was considerably younger than he had thought. Despite her severely drawn-back hair and drab high-necked gown, she looked barely out of the schoolroom, with smooth cheeks, delicately-formed pink lips and large gray eyes fringed with thick lashes.

      She swallowed and gazed at him, raising her brows. "May I offer my felicitations on your birthday, my lord?"

      He detected a touch of teasing in her words. "I accept your offer with gratitude. May I ask what brings you to this, ah, rather remote village, Miss Talcott?" He tried his most appealing smile, headache be damned.

      "My maid took ill on our journey to London and we turned off the main road to find a quiet place for her to recuperate for a day or two."

      Abruptly he heard the dog loudly crunch its bone, noisily grinding it to shreds. The animal's dark brown eye seemed glued to Dash's ankles.

      Mr. Hitchcock set down a large plate of mutton, potatoes and carrots, crowned with a huge hunk of bread. The aroma was intoxicating and Dash forced himself not to scoop the food into his mouth as fast as he could. He picked up a forkful and gave a sigh of satisfaction as the flavor of the meat met his tongue.

      She spoke in a near whisper. "This inn is small and hardly luxurious, but I have found Mrs. Hitchcock's cooking a delightful surprise."

      "Mmmmm." He hoped his response was adequate.

      She pushed her plate away from the edge of the table. "And the portions are huge."

      The dog slurped its tongue across its lips. Dash refused to look in its direction.

      He put down his fork for a moment. "Why are you going to London, Miss Talcott?"

      "I will join my father, Baron Talcott of Dalby, who has been in town since January."

      "If, perhaps, you attend some of the activities of the ton I might encounter you in London." What was he saying? He was supposed to be heading off to the wilderness.

      "I doubt I shall be going to many routs. And I plan to spend some time with my cousin Sarah, Lady Easterly, who lost her husband a year ago. I am looking forward to visiting the sights, listening to the lectures of the Royal Society and perhaps seeing the plays of Shakespeare."

      Ah, Dash thought, a bluestocking. "London has attractions to delight the senses of all sorts of people. What activities do you consider fun, Miss Talcott?"

      "My pleasures are quite rural in nature, Lord Daniel. I enjoy a walk along the fields at sunrise, a ride through hills on my mare." She had a thoughtful look, staring into the distance. "Visiting the needy and the sick gives me more satisfaction than it should. I reproach myself for gaining more contentment from my charitable efforts than the small comforts I give to those I try to benefit."

      Not only a bluestocking, Dash thought, but one of those self-righteous do-gooders as well. "How very virtuous of you."

      "What do you do for enjoyment, Lord Daniel?"

      "Oh, I try to enjoy everything I do." And those activities are hardly suited for your ears, my dear. "I have, ah . . . you see . . ."

      What did he do for pure fun? At the moment nothing in particular occurred to him. How odd. "Yes, as I say, I try to do everything for pleasure, for what other reason could there be but one's own gratification for rising from the bed every morning?

      She stood and walked around the table. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but I must return to my maid. I promised Mr. Hitchcock's daughter I would be gone only a short while. Come, Ursa." She dipped a small curtsy and left the room, throwing a wave to her grooms who had stood the moment she did.

      Casting one more look in Dash's direction, the dog followed. Its eyes were definitely hostile.

      The men settled back in their chairs.

      Dash turned to them. "Miss Talcott must be a good employer."

      "The best."

      "None better."

      "As I thought. Tell me about that dog. It looks like a bear."

      The taller of the grooms scratched his shoulder. "That be Ursa, some Newfriend or somethin.' Big, but friendly."

      The other groom shook his head. "Newfoundland. Don't wanna tangle with 'im, though. No, indeed."

      Ursa, indeed. Exquisitely apropos. Dash returned to his plate and worked through almost all of it, washing down the last bite with the remainder of his ale.

      He had no desire for any wilderness adventure. Not in the slightest. If he wanted to do something useful, he ought to teach Miss Talcott to loosen her stays and learn to enjoy herself. Her looks were rather plain, but she had large, luminous, arresting eyes. With a maid, two grooms, what he remembered as a sturdy equippage and team out in the yard, she obviously had means. And she needed a little excitement in her life, excitement he could show her, as long as Ursa kept its distance.

      Hitchcock set another foaming tankard before him and Dash took a deep swallow. London was a wilderness, was it not? Not the kind of wilderness he originally had in mind, but if his cronies gave him a hard time, he could develop an ideal definition. So perhaps he would conduct his wilderness adventure in the wilds of the great city.

      Anne felt Lord Daniel's eyes follow her out of the room. She really should not have spoken with him, but how could she ignore his presence when he introduced himself? She had already known who he was, the second son of the Duke of Granum. His arrival at the inn had sent Mr. Hitchcock and his family into paroxysms of excitement. Her grooms had greatly praised his horse as the finest prime blood. She had not noticed. With that disgraceful man on his back, the animal had looked equally disreputable.

      However, Lord Daniel's appearance in the taproom was altogether different. With the benefit of a few hours' rest, he looked quite, ah, handsome, did he not? And his apologies seemed sincere. He was all that was polite.

      But he was the very worst kind of wastrel, precisely the kind she vowed to ignore in London.

      Ursa followed her into Mary's room. Anne motioned Emmy to go, whispering her thanks while the maid seemed deep in slumber. Anne touched the back of her hand to Mary's forehead, pleased to find it much cooler.

      Anne sat in the chair where she had already spent so many hours. Ursa propped his muzzle on her knee and closed his eyes in rapture as she scratched his ears. She let her thoughts turn back to the man downstairs. Yes, very good-looking but probably spoiled and profligate, grown up where he had too much of everything, too much money and too many people waiting on him. And she doubted he ever had any responsibilities either.

      Lord Daniel was exactly the opposite of the kind of man she sought as a husband. She had high hopes of meeting her Ideal in London. In character he would be much like Mr. Lambert, the vicar at home, who made his hopes of wedding her more than obvious. Mr. Lambert was a moral upstanding man, sober and learned. She certainly admired him, but found no spark there, no possibility of the love she wished she might feel. Even his kindness to children did not earn him a spot in her heart.

      The man she sought might combine the physical characteristics of Lord Daniel with the intellect of Mr. Lambert. Lord Daniel's fine eyes and sheepish smile, his wide shoulders and long legs . . . the vision brought a warm flush to Anne's face. She certainly hoped he would be on his way before she came down tomorrow.

      Dash woke to the sounds of activity in the coachyard, the shouts of an ostler, jangle of harness, snorting and stamping of horses. He rolled over and turned his face into the pillow against the light. The ache in his head was tamer, but he felt groggy and sluggish. It had taken a half dozen tankards of ale to get those grooms to reveal Miss Talcott's London direction. He pulled the covers over his head to block out the noise and tried to fall back into sleep.

      Give her about two weeks in London, two weeks of dreary lectures and dull salons, lackluster balls and tedious squeezes. She would welcome his attention and a little excitement in her life. Dash remembered Easterly and his silly young wife, a henwit if there ever was one. As companion to Sarah, Miss Talcott would be more than ready for some real entertainment.

      Meanwhile, he would rusticate for a while, let Julie, Fan and Harry double the size of their bets. His old pals would argue endlessly about the wager or he missed his guess.

      Even through the blankets he could hear the high-pitched voices of women in the yard below. Very slowly, careful not to jar his head, he went to the window and peered out. Indeed Miss Talcott's party, including a figure swathed in blankets, was on the point of leaving. Dash gave a little laugh. After she had enough time to learn how very tiresome society could be, he would find her and show her what fun was all about. An interesting challenge, one that ought to occupy him for a few amusing weeks.