The man held up his skinny little hands. “I would not accuse you for the world.”
But Edward’s trust in the man, if he ever had any, was entirely gone. He would spread this story himself. Edward debated whether to save time and just call the man out now. But no. He had sworn to his poor grieving mother all those years ago that he would never, ever participate in a duel. After what had happened to his father . . . Oh God, you wouldn’t allow me to be trapped in a similar situation? Not when I have striven so hard and so long to be as unlike him as humanly possible.
He had to pull himself together and think clearly. Besides, this was nothing like his father’s situation. His father had deserved disgrace and dishonor. His father had taken several courtesans, including a married woman—which was common enough, though no less wrong—while married to Edward’s mother, and in the end, he met his fate at the end of his lover’s husband’s pistol.
Edward, on the other hand, had never taken a courtesan, had never done anything so disgraceful, and did not deserve to be accused of impropriety with Miss Langdon. And she, though reckless, also did not deserve such ignominy.
But however little they deserved it, it still might come to pass.
“I shall trust you, Mr. Pinegar, to be discreet and not spread vile tales that appear scandalous but, in actuality, are completely harmless and unfounded.”
“Oh, you may depend upon me, my lord. It is that clergyman, Moss, I’d be worried about, as well as the girl. What girl, one without a title, would not want to marry you, a wealthy viscount? Not to mention the country surgeon they’ll be going to fetch, along with any assistant of his. Then there are the Langdons’ servants, who will undoubtedly see or hear something about their young mistress coming home after being alone in your carriage with you for several hours in the dark.”
“Instead of imagining terrible consequences for my future, Pinegar, perhaps you should be helping me figure out what happened to my carriage and why it apparently broke apart, thereby killing my coachman.”
Was it Edward’s imagination, or did Pinegar’s face suddenly go a shade whiter? His face twitched just below his eye, once, twice, at least three times.
“Oh, that was very bad luck, very bad luck indeed.” He cleared his throat and suddenly became restless, picking up the lantern and turning up the wick. He almost bumped Edward’s broken leg with it.
“Have a care, Pinegar. Don’t forget, I am injured.” His suspicions about Pinegar churned as he tried to recall all their past interactions and dealings with each other.
“It is very fortunate for Miss Langdon and myself that you came along when you did. I am most grateful, as was Miss Langdon, I am sure.” He eyed Pinegar for his reaction while trying to look nonchalant.
“Oh yes, the good clergyman, Mr. Moss, and I were on our way back to his parish after a friendly call on Lord Delamere. We were to dine there last week but had to postpone the pleasure due to my illness.”
“I’m sorry to hear you were ill, Mr. Pinegar.”
“Oh yes, I was deathly ill, but I am very well now. And now you will be laid up for some time, I fear, with this broken limb. Dear, dear, what a shame. But I’m sure your leg will be as good as new in a few weeks, in plenty of time for when Parliament reconvenes in November.” He smiled, his weasel-like eyes narrowing to slits. “I do hope the surgeon will be able to do a proper job of setting it.”
“I’m sure he shall. In any case, one does not die of a broken leg.” But one does sometimes die from carriage accidents, and poor Pugh was lying dead now. If Pinegar had had anything to do with this, he would pay a high price. Edward would see to that.
And that sassy Leorah Langdon had survived it as well. He’d shielded her with his body and protected her broken wrist when he felt the carriage overturning. At least she had acquitted herself well, had not screamed or fainted, and had even tried to catch the horses so she could ride for help, though she had fallen on top of him at a very inopportune moment. But now they were both in danger of . . . what? Losing their reputations? Being subjected to malicious gossip? Being forced to marry?
Surely it wouldn’t come to that.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Leorah accompanied Mr. Moss to bring Mr. Quimby to tend to Lord Withinghall. He made a splint and wrapped Lord Withinghall’s leg much as the viscount had done to Leorah’s arm. To spare him some embarrassment, Leorah stayed in the carriage while this was being done, for the bone was out of place, Mr. Quimby said, and he would have to move it back before he could put on the splint.
Having just broken her own arm, Leorah could easily imagine the pain this would cause, and she sat shuddering in the damp carriage at the thought, saying a prayer for the man. Compassion was a Christian commandment, after all. But actually liking Lord Withinghall . . . even God couldn’t expect that of her. And yet, she did feel some gratitude toward him.
After the setting and the splinting was done, they carried Lord Withinghall to the carriage, where he stretched his leg across one seat. Even in the dim lantern light, she could see how pale he was.
Immediately, Leorah saw that there was not enough room in the carriage for them all, especially with Lord Withinghall’s broken leg taking up one entire seat.
“Shall I stay here,” Mr. Moss offered, “and you can send the carriage back to fetch me after you’ve delivered Miss Langdon and Lord Withinghall to Glyncove Abbey?”
“Surely we can find a way for us all to fit,” Mr. Pinegar said.
“I could ride with the driver,” the surgeon suggested.
“But it is so wet and cold, and you do not have appropriate clothing,” Leorah said. She hated to think of it.
“There is a solution,” Mr. Pinegar said. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure it would be proper.”
“What is it?” Leorah was damp, her arm was aching, and she just wanted to get home. Men could be so missish sometimes.
“You could sit on the seat with Lord Withinghall and hold his leg and make sure it doesn’t move around.”
She glanced at the viscount. His eyes were closed, and he looked rather pale. “Do you mind, Lord Withinghall?”
“No. Let us be off.” His voice, at least, was strong.
Leorah lifted his leg very slowly and carefully, watching his face to make sure she wasn’t hurting him. He seemed to be holding his breath, but he didn’t flinch, so she sat down and gently placed his lower leg across her lap.
As the carriage lurched forward, Leorah clutched Lord Withinghall’s leg, trying to keep it from moving with the rocking and jolting of the carriage. She couldn’t tell how much pain he was in, for he kept his eyes closed and said nothing, but there was a tension around his mouth and a hardness about his chin.