He didn’t have to make his reluctance to have her in his carriage so obvious. But she sensed he was exercising quite a bit of patience to only let out a sigh.
She stared at him, imagining his thoughts of distaste as he gazed at her in full disarray—hair wild and dirt all over her after her fall, holding her arm awkwardly to protect her wrist. But he said nothing, and she was surprised at his gentle expression. He was probably good at feigning concern. He was a politician, after all.
She had little choice but to accept his help.
“I shall tie my horse up over there and return momentarily.” She had already turned away before she finished speaking.
“Pugh, will you assist her?”
“Yes, sir.” He didn’t sound very happy, but she heard him tromping through the heather after her.
Leorah allowed Pugh to tie Buccaneer to the nearest tree—she wasn’t sure how she would have managed it with only one hand—and she spoke soothingly in Bucky’s ear, telling him the groom would come back for him very soon and not to worry. She gave him a rub and a pat before turning to follow the coachman back down to where Lord Withinghall was waiting for them by the carriage.
Lord Withinghall took her elbow and helped her into his carriage. He got in, stowed away the steps, and closed the door himself.
“Do you often travel without your footmen?” Leorah was not very curious; she only wanted to break the awkward silence.
“I sent them ahead with the other servants.”
He was looking at her from the other side of the carriage through half-closed eyes, as if she were some sort of specimen—a disagreeable one at that—to be avoided.
Just to annoy him, she said sweetly, “You are so very kind to allow me to share your carriage back to my home. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.” She smiled, hoping to frighten him into thinking she was flirting. But it was actually true. Her wrist was still hurting badly enough for her to think it was broken, and she couldn’t ride Buccaneer back while he was missing a shoe.
He narrowed his eyes even more and stared until she was certain he wasn’t going to reply. Finally, he said, “How far are we from Glyncove Abbey?”
“We should arrive in about an hour at this pace.” His coachman was not only old but also slow.
“Were you out riding all by yourself?”
“Of course. Why not?” She stared back at him defiantly. If she were his sister, or his wife, heaven forbid, he would no doubt command her never to go riding without at least a groom accompanying her. “I like to go my own way. I enjoy my freedom, and if my mother and brother trust me to ride alone, then I don’t see why you should object.”
“It is none of my affair, as you would no doubt point out, but you see now the wisdom of not riding alone after your current mishap. For you could not have made it back home before nightfall, and you would have made your parents and brother greatly upset and worried. They would have sent a search party for you and might not have found you before a great many tears had been shed.”
She might have shed a few tears now if she had not been in the presence of Lord Withinghall, for her arm throbbed horribly with each jolt of the carriage. She tried to hold it steady, cradling it against her stomach as unnoticeably as she could with her other hand, forcing herself not to wince or cry out every time one of the carriage wheels hit a hole or a rock.
His condescending words made her even more determined to hide from him that she was in pain.
“Since some people think me reckless and say that I flout society’s rules, you can’t possibly be surprised that I would ride out alone, on the property of my own family’s estate, on a horse I am very familiar with, as I am a very experienced horsewoman.”
“No.” He clasped his hands in his lap, giving her a very bland look. “I cannot say I am surprised.”
His attitude was infuriating, the tone of his voice arrogant and condescending. If only the carriage would sprout wings and fly to Glyncove Abbey! It seemed they would never get there at this speed.
Against her better judgment, she continued the conversation. “I suppose you think a lady should be at home, embroidering cushions or netting a purse or painting fire screens, rather than riding on horseback for her own amusement.”
“I would not volunteer such advice to you, Miss Langdon, but now that you mention it, those do seem a more productive and appropriate use of your time, rather than risking your neck on an equally reckless horse.” He frowned, his piratical eyebrows raised in that scandalously rakish way—the only scandalous thing about the man.
Leorah snorted. “That is just what I would have guessed you would think. But I am no wilting flower waiting to be plucked by the first man who asks me to marry him. I am a free human being with just as much life in me as any man.” She wanted to add, “Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I want to simper and pose and spend my time embroidering cushions.” But she stopped herself. Her words would fall on deaf ears, and they sounded peevish and immature, somehow, in the presence of this man who actually was doing something worthwhile with his time, discussing state policies and proposing new laws as a Member of Parliament.
How irritating.
“You have every right to be free, Miss Langdon. No one is denying you that. But freedom is only valuable if you use your freedom wisely.”
Try as she might, Leorah could think of nothing to say to that. He’d had more experience with verbal sparring than she had, and it was irksome. The man was irksome. And arrogant. And annoyingly well spoken.
The next moment, the carriage hit a particularly jarring hole. Leorah drew in a loud, sharp breath as a pain shot through her arm. She bit down on her lip, fighting the urge to cry out. Her eyes were closed, but she imagined Lord Withinghall with a snide expression on his face, as if to say, “This is what comes of your recklessness.”
Oh God, help me make it home. Her mother would send for their kindly surgeon, Mr. Quimby, and put her to bed, and she wouldn’t have to look at Lord Withinghall again for a long time.
CHAPTER FIVE
Edward did not relish being alone in his carriage with Miss Leorah Langdon, and though it was foolish of her to be out galloping about the countryside by herself, he was sorry to see her in so much pain. She was trying to hide it from him, but her face had gone pale with that last jolt. He only hoped she wouldn’t faint.
“Miss Langdon, you are in pain. Shall I not have Pugh stop the carriage?”
“No, no,” she gasped. “Keep going.”
“Is it swollen or discolored?”
“It is nothing.” She spoke between clenched teeth.