Up ahead she could see Lord Glendower, closely followed by his son, and a large pack of the other guests from the shooting party. Beside her were Gabriel, Lord Dorrington, and Drake. After the first field she gave up trying to keep track of her own party, and simply concentrated on keeping up with the hunt. When the first drops of rain began to fall, she glanced about, and didn’t see a soul she knew.
The hunt didn’t appear to be slowing down any, and even a quarter of an hour later when the rain increased beyond a sprinkle most of the men thundered on, though a few began to break off and turn about.
Imogen reigned in and searched the remaining riders. None of them were from the Glendower party. She’d completely lost them all, and she wasn’t exactly sure where she was. They’d been racing about hither and yon for well over an hour by now.
She bit her lip and squinted up at the leaden sky. It wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. She was already soaked through at the shoulder, damp linen and wool clinging to her skin. Clucking to Hazard she put him into a gallop and set off after the disappearing hunt. If she lost them now she could spend the rest of the day riding about in the rain, completely lost.
Chapter Seventeen
Can it be that the Portrait Divorcée is about to take centre stage in yet another scandal? One can always hope.
Tête-à-Tête, 17 October 1789
Teeth chattering, Imogen clung to her saddle as she followed the tracks of the few dedicated riders who were left. A horse and rider slid in beside her, pushing Hazard to one side.
The gelding tossed his head, warning off the intruder and skidded to a stop. Gabriel put a steadying hand on her hip.
‘They’ve all scurried off to a dry barn or farmer’s cottage. We should do the same,’ he yelled over the sound of distant thunder.
‘Where?’
‘My cousin, bless him, has a hunting lodge not far from here, maybe another mile or so back down the last road we crossed. I imagine most of the others are already there.’
Too cold and wet to worry about who might or might not be at the hunting lodge, or the fact that she was alone with Gabriel—exactly where she’d promised herself not to be—Imogen wheeled her horse about and fell in beside him.
All she cared about was the promise of being warm and dry. They found the road, and the horses slogged through the deepening mud, their pace slow and dogged. By the time they reached the lodge it was raining harder than ever. Imogen’s feet and hands were numb.
The small dark lodge was the most welcoming thing she’d ever seen.
She followed Gabriel around to the back of the house, where he hurriedly dismounted and wrenched opened the barn door. ‘Come on, love,’ he said, reaching up and plucking her from her saddle. ‘It doesn’t look like any of them are here yet. Let me get the horses settled and we’ll get ourselves inside the house.’
Imogen stood dumbly watching as he removed the horses’ tack, rubbed them down with hay, and put them each in a loose box with a bucket of grain.
She should help, but she could barely move. Her sodden skirts were getting heavier by the minute, the weight of them, coupled with her own fatigue threatening to pull her down at any moment. So she simply stood, leaning against the stall for support, thankful Gabriel was there to take care of things.
When he was done he ushered her back out into the rain, shut the barn door snugly behind them. With a grin he practically dragged her up to the house.
‘Wait here,’ he said, placing her under the slight eve near the back door. ‘The doors are usually locked, but the window into the pantry has a broken lock; or it did the last time I was here,’ he added with another wicked grin, before disappearing around the corner.
Imogen huddled against the door, trying to keep out of the rain as much as possible. The feathers on her hat, once so jaunty, were sopping wet and dripping cold water down her neck. She glanced about, desperately hoping one of the others would come riding in.
Gabriel’s cousin had taken part in the hunt. Surely he at least would be arriving shortly? She hugged herself and shivered again as the wind whipped up and the rain blew at her sideways. After a few interminable minutes, she heard the sound of the latch being thrown, and the door swung inward. She stumbled in, and Gabriel shut the door behind them.
‘The caretaker appears to be missing,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he was assisting with the meeting today. I’m going to go and get a fire going in the front parlour. Why don’t you run upstairs and see if there’s anything in any of the bedrooms you can change into. I’m sure Julian at least has a nightshirt and a banyan stashed up there.’
More than ready to be warm and dry Imogen hurried up the stairs, nearly tripping over her skirts several times, trying not to think about the prospect of spending the entire day, and possibly the night too, trapped here alone with Gabriel. She was half hoping no one else showed up…and half dreading that whoever did show up might not be one of their own small party, and then the fat really would be in the fire.
If the Earl of Morpeth, or Viscount Layton found them alone together, it wouldn’t matter at all. But if some stranger found them…she couldn’t bear to think about it. The gossip would be deadly; defence impossible.
The first chamber yielded nothing more than two cravats forgotten in the back of a drawer, and a single cufflink lying
