Page 8 of Dared By a Lyon
“You mean he was drunk…foxed…bosky!” Alice said, her hands on her hips.
“Yes,” Billy replied, ducking his head in shame.
“You should have told us,” Ashlyn said, feeling sorry for the youth, “instead of risking your life. We would have hired another driver.”
“But m’da needs the money,” Billy insisted.
“If your da wasn’t a drunk, he would have been driving and our carriage wouldn’t have tumbled down a hill,” Alice said, tapping her foot in frustration.
“I was doing so well, and then the storm started,” Billy mumbled.
Alice opened her mouth again, but rather than hear her scold the boy one more time, Ashlyn held up a hand. “It’s all right. There’s no sense in arguing about it now. Are you all right, Billy?”
“I am, Miss Elizabeth, it’s just… I think I hurt my leg and m’ back.” He groaned again.
“We are all getting soaked in this storm. And we need to get you help,” Ashlyn said. “Nor do I want any of us to catch pneumonia.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Alice said, her voice strained.
“That may be true, but I think we passed a manor house not too far back,” Ashlyn said. “I saw a gate as I looked out the window during the storm. Billy, do you think you can walk?”
“Yes, ma’am. If I can get a large stick to lean on.”
Ashlyn looked around and noticed a sturdy branch nearby at the base of a tree. Retrieving it, she lifted her dress and tore a wide strip from her petticoat. Then, picking up his soggy hat that had fallen next to him, she secured it to the top of the stick with her strip of petticoat and handed it to Billy. “This might not be the most comfortable crutch, but it will have to do.”
“We’ll help you as well,” Alice said, her tone less angry now.
Ashlyn turned to gaze up the hill where the carriage had slid down. “I hate to say this, but we need to go up that hill. I don’t think we have too far to walk once we reach the road.”
Turning to the horses that were calmly standing at the embankment, not too far from them, she had an idea.
“Help me, Alice.” The two of them untied the two horses, and she checked their flanks and hoofs. Thankfully, they didn’t appear hurt. “Can you ride?”
“I never learned, Miss Ash—Miss Elizabeth,” Alice said, correcting herself. “We only had one horse back home, and Papa rode him. But I reckon I can do it.”
“Good.” Ashlyn nodded in approval. “Surely you ride, Billy?” she asked.
“I do, ma’am.”
“Excellent.” She and Alice positioned the horses near a tree stump, and they helped Billy climb onto one of the horses, while she and Alice hefted themselves onto the other one.
Once the three of them were safely on the horses, she nudged her mount around, and they began a careful ascent up the hill.
Elizabeth had told her they’d be in for an adventure. And she had been right. Although it wasn’t exactly the kind of adventure Ashlyn had been thinking of when she agreed to accompany her cousin to England.
She prayed that the worst of their troubles were over and that they would find help and shelter at the manor house a few miles back.
Chapter Three
Lightning flashed, thunderroared, and the rain poured as Gabriel leaned back in his desk chair and sipped his brandy, watching the storm from the window of his study. The flashes lit up the room, completely outshining the braces of candles and sconces on the wall as he attempted to finish his evening paper in his study. Storms like this reminded him of that night three years ago…
“God’s teeth! When is this storm going to end?” he muttered, frustration mounting. He reached for the decanter of brandy and refilled his glass. For three years now, every anniversary of their deaths had brought the same emotions roiling in his gut. He indulged in brandy to try to forget—heneededto forget. Forgetting was much easier than remembering.
But tonight’s storm made it even harder. The continuous lightning and thunder frayed his nerves. Even consuming almost an entire decanter of brandy this night couldn’t numb his guilt. He lived with it every day, but every year on the anniversary, everything was more pronounced, and it felt as if the accident had just happened.
Three years ago, a similar storm had claimed his sister Olivia, her husband, Max, and his fiancée, Juliet. Sweet Juliet. Thegolden-haired, doe-eyed beauty had always been afraid of the water, never wanting to sit in a boat for fear of falling into the water and perishing.
“It’s water, Juliet. When we are married, I will teach you how to swim. It’ll be good for you to learn.”
