Free The Seventh Suitor by Laura Matthews Page B

that anyone else was on the scene, and had thought the hoofbeats he heard were those of the departing lad.
    “What now?” the Earl of Winterton asked wearily, surveying the disorder with a jaundiced eye.
    “Ralph has smashed his curricle, and I could use some help to get him to mine, Lord Winterton,” Benjamin explained.
    “Broken anything, Montgomery?” Winterton asked as he leisurely dismounted.
    “How should I know?” Ralph flared. “I can’t stand, and my left arm is useless.”
    “It’s better than being dead,” Winterton remarked roughly. “I gather you two fools were racing.” He unfastened the driving coat and probed Ralph’s arms and legs to the accompaniment of the younger man’s stifled grunts of pain. “Legs are probably only sprained, but the arm is broken. Give me a hand, Karst, and we’ll put him in your curricle.” When this had been accomplished, Ralph gritting his teeth the while, Winterton continued, “Take him to the Manor.”
    “That will not be necessary, Lord Winterton,” Benjamin retorted stiffly. “I shall take him home with me. Thank you for your assistance.”
    “The Manor is half a mile and your home not much less than three,” the Earl mused. “If you are lucky, he will faint shortly from the pain and the additional distance will then not matter to him, of course. The arm should be set immediately.” Winterton mounted his horse, nodded to the two young men, and rode off.
    “Haughty bastard!” Benjamin exclaimed as he gave his horses the office to start. Ralph’s gasp at the movement caused his friend to survey him critically, noting the pallor of his forehead and cheeks. “Shall it be the Manor?” he asked gruffly.
    “Yes,” Ralph sighed.
    They turned down the lane after Winterton, who had of course, assumed they would follow and proceeded to the Manor stables. When they arrived he had completed arrangements for removing Ralph’s curricle and horses from the road to his own stables. He had already issued orders to two sleepy grooms; one to fetch the doctor and another to inform the housekeeper that a bedroom on the ground floor should be prepared immediately. Ralph was carried into the great hall, across the black and white marble floor and through a maze of corridors which ran past the breakfast room, the china room, and the map room until the West Room was finally reached, much to his relief. He was deposited on the bed, while the housekeeper watched from the doorway.
    “Has Thomas been awakened by the bustle, Mrs. Pettit?” Winterton asked her.
    “Yes, my lord. He’s in the library.”
    “Good. Send him to me, and have Crocker bring a nightshirt and some brandy for Mr. Montgomery, please.”
    Thomas Single, Lord Winterton’s secretary, arrived almost immediately and stood slightly smiling in the doorway. “Just a quiet evening in Bristol,” he murmured.
    Winterton grinned at him and said, “Mind your manners, Thomas. I think you know Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Karst. It seems they had an accident while racing. It was just our good fortune that it should occur so close,” he remarked mournfully. “Would you send a note to the Montgomerys assuring them that there is no dire threat to Ralph and that a doctor has been sent for?”
    As the young man turned to leave he added, “And, Thomas, make it plain that I do not wish to have a gaggle of females descend on me in the middle of the night. Suggest ten in the morning as an appropriate time for anyone to call.”
    “Certainly, Lord Winterton,” Thomas replied, repressing a smile.
    Ralph attempted to raise himself, gave up the effort with a wince, and said, “You need not inform them until the morning, Lord Winterton. They do not expect me back tonight.”
    “All the better. Arrange for the note to be sent off in the morning then, Thomas.”
    “Certainly, sir.”
    The valet, Crocker, arrived next with brandy and a nightshirt. After Ralph had been supported for a few sips, Winterton directed his valet to