Thankful that she’d set them all into motion, he shared his concerns. “I was on the ground when Anthony was shot. He stood when he saw me fall and was an easy target. I saw him fly back, but I don’t know if he flew out of the phaeton or is still in it.”
“We did not see the phaeton on the road, nor did we see him, so I would conclude he is still in it.”
That gave him a bit of relief. “Legend and Lore wouldn’t go far. Hopefully, we can find him quickly. He saved my life. I very much wish to do the same for him.”
When they broke through the trees, they found two coaches. Without waiting for the others, she tied Zephyrus to the Mabry coach, then he and Mariel climbed in and headed for the road.
Mariel, sitting beside him, patted his good arm. “I think we should check at Blackmore House first in case anyone saw the phaeton and already brought him back.”
Though he was ready to scour the roads all the way back to the center of London if he needed to, he recognized the logic of her council. “I agree. We are not far.”
After giving instructions to the coachman, they both watched out the window for any sign of the phaeton or Anthony, but they saw none, none that is until they pulled into the short drive of Blackmore House.
He was out the door in an instant, causing a wave of dizziness to take him, but he kept moving. The Sommerset coach was there along with the phaeton. “Anthony!” He strode toward the conveyance where two footmen were lifting his friend’s prone body.
He stopped them and with a lump in his throat, he set his fingers to Anthony’s neck, hoping the blood all over his torso did not mean what he feared. At the movement of the slight pulse, he dropped his hand in relief.
Mariel stepped to his side. “Take him upstairs immediately and be careful.” She turned to the Mabry coachman. “Intercept the Northwick coach and tell them to come here immediately.” She turned to her parents, who remained by the Sommerset coach. “Come inside. Thank you for finding him.”
Despite his fears for Anthony and his own pain, he wasn’t unaware of what a service her parents had done. “Lord and Lady Wakefield. Thank you. Whatever chance he has is because of you.”
Lady Wakefield put her hand to her mouth, but her husband replied, “I packed the wound to stem the flow of blood, but I don’t know how long he was there on the side of the road. Joanna is far better read on the subject of bullet wounds than I. Are you injured?”
“Yes, he is.” Mariel grasped his arm once again. “And we can all discuss it once we are inside and have a cup of tea in our hands.”
He grimaced. “Or a bit of whisky.”
She looked askance at him, but didn’t say anything as she ushered them all up the three steps. The door opened and Gibson stood there, mouth agape.
“Gibson, show my parents to the parlor and have tea brought. Then have water set to boiling and have it and some cloths sent upstairs to Mr. Taylour’s room. Lord Blackmore will need a hot bath filled immediately. Is Lady Blackmore about?”
The man closed his mouth long enough to shake his head. “She has taken to her bed, my lady.”
“Then don’t disturb her. When my sisters arrive, send the duke and duchess to Mr. Taylour’s room and Lord and Lady Sommerset to the parlor.”
Mariel turned to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Now go bathe and retire. You need to rest to heal.”
As she turned toward the parlor, he pulled her around with his good arm and clasped her to him, amazed at how calmly and astutely she arranged them all. “But I want to marry you.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “You will. Tomorrow.” Then, in front of Gibson, she raised on her toes and gave him a kiss that promised an exciting consummation.
After shooing him with her hand, she strode into the parlor.
“She will be a welcome member of the Blackmore family, my lord.”
He turned to find his butler smiling. “Yes, she will, Gibson. Yes, she will.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Mariel sipped hertea as Amelia explained to her husband and their parents what had occurred in the woods. Even as she listened, her palms grew hot and her heart pounded. She’d almost lost him again. What if the vicar hadn’t needed to be somewhere? Would she have waited too long before searching for Marcus? Would she have been too late? And what if she’d gone alone?
She took a deep breath. Wondering what might have happened was hardly productive. Marcus was safe. They were all safe, and she dearly hoped Marcus’ friend would be well again. It was important to be thankful, something Belinda had never forgotten, even being grateful for the months she’d lived beyond the Scarlet Fever, despite being so weak. That’s what she needed to remember, to be grateful. Now they would focus on Mr. Taylour.
Joanna had come down to tell them he’d lost much blood and dared any of them to suggest they send of a physician. None of them dared, nor wished to, which required an explanation to Lord Sommerset about Joanna’s foray into medicine when Belinda had been ill.
A part of her envied her sisters for being able to have their husbands near, but as much as she wished Marcus was at her side as they waited, it was better that he rest. Even as the memory of the man, Cobby pulling back the hammer on his flintlock filled her head, her hands began to shake and she found it harder to breathe.
She clasped her index finger with her other hand. She’d just needed Cobby to turn his back. It was all she required, but it had been so close. She closed her eyes, trying to push the image away, but all she saw was Marcus tied to the tree, bleeding, barely able to see, then suddenly free and rushing toward the gun. She’d thought she would lose him. Her heart raced and she couldn’t seem to swallow.
