‘This is promising,’ Tristan remarked. ‘There looks to be a park on the other side. Let us hope we find a gate lodge soon. Hold on.’
Natalya had been dozing but she clung tighter to Tristan as he put the horse to the trot. Although they did not come upon an elegant entrance, they discovered a wooden gate across a cart track winding through the trees. The gate was unlocked and a bare half-mile later they found themselves at the service quarters of a substantial country property.
Lights shone from a low building on one side of the yard. Natalya’s sigh was a mixture of exhaustion and relief.
‘The laundry, I suspect,’ murmured Tristan, urging the mare towards the open doorway. ‘They will be lighting the fires under the coppers to heat the water. Hello there!’
A startled maid appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.
‘Can you take us to the housekeeper?’ Tristan asked her. ‘I fear it is a little early to be disturbing the master or mistress.’
The maid dropped a curtsy before setting off towards the back of the main house. When she disappeared inside, Tristan dismounted and reached up for Natalya.
‘Come along.’
She slid down into his arms, but as her feet touched the ground, she realised that her limbs would not support her. Quickly she gripped his shoulders and Tristan’s arms came around her.
‘Steady now.’
She looked up to see him smiling at her. It was impossible not to smile back and when his arms tightened, her heart began to thud erratically. He was going to kiss her, she knew it, wanted it, most desperately, but she felt dizzy. There was a pain behind her eyes and darkness was pressing in. She could not see him clearly and, even as he lowered his head, everything went black.
Tristan had barely brushed her lips before he realised Natalya had fainted. He swept her up into his arms and was still looking down at her when the maid reappeared, followed by an elderly woman hastily securing the ties of a voluminous dressing gown around her ample person.
‘Good morning, sir. I am Mrs Sturry, the housekeeper—’ She broke off, her eyes widening at the sight of them.
Tristan realised how it must look, a lady in a tattered and besmirched white ballgown, lifeless in the arms of a hatless gentleman.
‘There has been an accident...’
He trailed off, cursing the inadequacy of the words, but they were sufficient. The housekeeper clucked around them like a mother hen and begged him to bring his lady indoors. She sent the maid running ahead of her to carry the lamp and light the way. Tristan followed them up the stairs to a guest room where the housekeeper directed him to put his burden down upon the bed.
‘Oh, dear, oh, my,’ she muttered as she went around the room, lighting the candles. ‘I did not expect this and Sir Toby and Lady Farnell gone to London, too! But they would not want me to shirk my duty as a Christian towards travellers in need, I am sure.’
Tristan sat on the edge of the bed, gently removing Natalya’s white-kid slippers while the housekeeper babbled on. He only stopped her when she said she would send for the doctor to attend the young lady.
‘Thank you, but that will not necessary. She has merely fainted from shock and fatigue.’
He took Natalya’s hand, felt the steady pulse in her wrist, confirming his suspicion. Not for the world would he risk her health, but neither did he want to announce their presence to the wider world in case her abductors should hear of it.
‘Ah, well then.’ The housekeeper came closer and stood, hands folded, looking down at Natalya. ‘Poor dear needs rest. As do you, sir, I’ll be bound. I’ll send Maisie up with some soup for you and I will look out a couple of nightgowns for you and your wife.’
She bustled away, closing the door softly behind her. Tristan rebuked himself for not telling her they were not married. His senses were more disordered than he had realised. He glanced at Natalya, lying still and silent in her torn silk gown. Almost all the white rosebuds had disappeared now and her tangled curls were fanned out across the pillows like a dark storm cloud. A wry smile tugged at his mouth.
‘Hell and damnation,’ he murmured. ‘Here’s a pretty coil!’
Natalya stirred, fighting against the fog of a very deep sleep that had been plagued by disturbing dreams. Then she opened her eyes and realised she was not in her own bed. Nor was it her own nightshift she was wearing, for it was far too large and much thicker than the fine cotton shifts her aunt had purchased for her. So, it could not all have been a dream.
‘You are awake.’
Turning her head, she saw Tristan sitting in a chair by the window. As memory came crashing back, she tried to stay calm and gather her thoughts.
‘Where are we?’
‘Farnell Hall, home to Sir Toby Farnell and his lady. They are in London at present, but fortunately for us their housekeeper, Mrs Sturry, is a good Christian and took us in when she learned of our predicament.’
Natalya put a hand to her cheek. ‘What could you possibly have told her to account for our appearance last night?’
‘I told her the truth, that you had been abducted and I rescued you.’ He smiled. ‘She thought it quite romantic.’
He had shed his coat and neckcloth, his shirt was open at the neck and the sunlight glinted on his hair, turning it a rich golden brown. With his handsome face and strong, athletic body, there was no denying he looked every inch a romantic hero. Natalya blushed furiously at the thought.
‘You are probably wondering why I am here alone in the room with you,’ he said, anticipating her next question. ‘I am afraid our hostess thought we were man and
