Free Carola Dunn by Christmas in the Country Page B

behind her and they set off into the night.
     The frost had broken and a mild, blustery wind, such as breathes a balmy promise of spring even in January, tossed diaphanous rags of cloud across the haloed moon. The canter across the moonlit park would have been almost unbearably romantic if only the hard chest Cecily leant against was Iain’s, not Lord Avon’s.
     With a chuckle he said, “You will have to claim you were abducted by a masked highwayman.”
    * * * *
     Iain tore himself away from Cecily and went to find a punch bowl to drown his sorrows, to dim the vision of her eyes full of love and hope.
     What did she expect of him, that he would toss her over his saddle-bow and carry her off into the night, like the knight in one of her beloved ballads? Did she not understand that would be a betrayal which must damn him forever in his own as well as the world’s eyes?
     Why the deuce was not Jasper with her? He must intend to announce their betrothal at midnight, the witching hour—unless he had shied off at the eleventh hour. Was Cecily to suffer the public humiliation of his failing to come up to scratch?
     Iain gulped a glass of punch. As he turned to pour another, a Goddess of the Hunt, all in green with bow and quiver, accosted him.
     Of the several Dianas present at the hunt-mad Duke’s entertainment, this one turned out to be Elspeth. Drawing him aside, she said urgently, “Iain, the little boy has hurt himself, the gamekeeper’s son. He has broke his splints and injured his arm again, I collect. You must go to the rescue.”
     “Oh Lord! Where is he?”
     “I am told he was left at home with his elder sister for fear of just such an accident in the crowds.” She scurried along beside him as he thrust through the crush towards the stairs. “He climbed a ladder, I believe, and fell forward when he caught his foot in the top rung. I am not perfectly sure. It sounds odd, but his sister brought the message and doubtless she was out of breath and in a fright.”
     “There is a ladder to their attic room. Tell his parents I’m on my way, Elspeth.”
     “If I can find them in this squeeze!”
     The stables were deserted, but he was used to saddling Hippocrates for himself. A few minutes later he trotted under the archway.
     Despite flying clouds, the moonlight was bright enough to risk a canter once he had ripped off his mask for better vision. As he rode, uncomfortable on horseback in evening dress, Iain tried to fix his mind on the medical problem ahead of him. His thoughts kept drifting back to the revelry he had left behind.
     Even now Jasper and Lady Cecily must be receiving the congratulations of well-wishers, for the Marquis of Avon was an honourable gentleman and would never cry off at this late stage. Iain did not see how he could bear to go back to add his felicitations. Perhaps he would ride on from the gamekeeper’s cottage to his home in Bath and write to Jasper from there.
     Cecily, secure in the knowledge that she had done her duty, would understand. She would be grateful to be spared facing him until she had forgotten—
     “No,” he cried aloud, “she cannot forget!” She would mourn their love, though she let it die and—as duty and honour demanded—turned her affections to her husband.
     Between the bare trees, he saw lights in the cottage windows, upstairs and down. At last his thoughts turned towards the child lying frightened and in pain, awaiting his coming. God send Ben had done his arm no permanent damage!
     Hippocrates tied, Iain hurried into the cottage and scrambled up the ladder in the corner of the kitchen. Stepping over the top rung, he straightened as far as he could.
     The long loft, with its low, sloping ceiling, was lit by a single lantern. Near it, on a straw-filled mattress covered by a colourful counterpane, sat Lady Cecily.
     “What the deuce are you doing here?”
     He looked appalled. Wondering what his cousin’s plot would bring next, Cecily