Focused on the women in the carriage, no one spoke as they worked to get the door opened. It had jammed in the collision and had to be torn from the hinges. “I’ll climb down and hand them out. Someone needs to ride to the house and get help.”
“How bad is the driver?” Garrett asked his brother.
“He’s breathing, but in terrible shape. I can ride to the house and get help,” Marcus offered.
“No. Your sudden appearance could cause Mama to have a heart attack if she wasn't prepared. News of this accident will be stressful enough. I’ll go,” Garrett said, swiping at his eyes. He grabbed his brother’s arm and squeezed it. “I don’t know how you are here, but I am glad.”
“I will tell you all about it later. Now go.”
Garrett hugged his brother and grabbed his horse, taking off for his parents’ house.
“Marcus—that is your name, right?” Michael said. “I need to create some sort of pulley. There is a rope on my horse. Can you get it?”
Seeing a tree limb above them, Marcus tossed the rope over the limb and caught the end as it fell. He took the longer end and threw it up over a second limb and caught it. Taking one end, he fastened it to Michael’s saddle. “Here, Your Grace,” he said, passing the rope into the carriage. “I’ve made it into a pulley and attached the end to your horse. You tell me when to let him move. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve had to change your saddle. I needed the D ring.”
“They both have a pulse,” Michael yelled. “But we must hurry. Belle became pinned beneath the bench that came loose.”
The two men worked together and pulled Beatrice from the carriage.
“She’s breathing. The ground is cold and wet, but it’ll suffice for a few minutes,” Marcus said, climbing back onto the top of the conveyance.
“I’ve got Belle. Her ankle looks like it could be broken. But she’s breathing,” Michael said, handing her up to her brother. As soon as Marcus had her, Michael climbed out of the carriage and helped carry her to the grass.
“You love her,” Marcus said, simply.
Michael looked at the man he had first thought to be a squatter. “Yes. You do, as well. That must have been what kept you here. When I saw Garrett this morning, I thought the similarity to the man I had seen in my cottage was incredible. His profile and yours—they are almost identical. Until then, I only had my suspicions.”
“I have missed my sister,” Marcus said. “When I saw her, I felt things . . . to remember . . . things I had been told were my imaginings.”
“Belle never gave up hope you were alive,” Michael said, finger-combing Belle’s hair away from her face.
“For so many years, I was told the family I remembered from my dreams didn’t exist. Until my mother . . . I suppose she wasn’t my mother. I’m not sure what to think of her now. When she died, she told me to come here and find Mrs. Crustin, who would recognize me, I suppose . . .”
Michael held up his hand. “It’s not for lack of interest, because I want to hear your story. But you will be peppered with questions and tell the story once the others arrive. Unless I miss my guess, that carriage has both of your parents and your brother. They will want to see you, Marcus. Go.” A second carriage stopped behind his family’s coach.
The carriage stopped, and the earl and his wife exited, running towards them. A man dressed in a black suit and waistcoat, carrying a black bag exited behind them and walked toward Belle and Beatrice. Stopping first at Beatrice, he listened for her heart and checked her pulse. “She’s got a very weak pulse. Can you carry her to the second coach? We need to get them both back to warmth.”
The man in black moved to Belle. As he bent down and listened to her heart, her eyes fluttered open. “Michael, you are here,” she whispered hoarsely, looking into his eyes. “Bea, is she alright? I cannot breathe, Michael . . .”
“Take slow breaths, sweetheart. Beatrice is injured but still breathing. We need to get you both back to your house,” Michael said. “Did you find the driver and the footman?”
“There was a footman?” Marcus asked.
“James. He was arguing with Danson. Danson was . . . driving too fast. I tried to . . . stop the carriage.” She cried as she moved her arm. “Everything hurts.”
“Marcus, can you stay with your sister? Garrett and I will check the area for the footman. He may have been thrown off the rig.” He stepped aside as Marcus kneeled next to his sister.
“Marcus . . . my brother?” she asked, incredulously glancing up into a pair of eyes that reflected her own. “You have grown.”
“As have you, little sister,” Marcus said, hoisting her up before turning to Michael. “I’ll get her to the coach.”
“Unless I miss my guess, Mama ordered a pile of blankets loaded into that second coach,” Garrett said, interrupting the conversation. He kissed his sister on the head. “I’ll be home as soon as we locate James.”
It didn’t take long. Michael and Garrett walked past the two coaches and checked the ditches on both sides. James was laying in one. “Over here,” Michael yelled, stooping to check the man. “He’s breathing.”
“Let’s get him in the coach with the others,” Garrett said. “We’ll lay him on the floor with the driver.”
“Garrett, when we left my house, I had hoped to surprise you with your brother, Marcus. I had seen his profile in the window of my gamekeeper’s cottage. When you turned to your side at the sideboard, I saw the same profile and I knew he was the man staying in the cottage, although I didn’t know why. Your family will be happy to see all three of their children,” Michael said. “Let’s lift him on the count of three. I want to get back to Belle.”
