Page 59 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

The scene that had followed her declaration had been anything but pleasant. Nash’s stony silence as she attempted to repair her appearance—one pin she hastily shoved into her hair certainly stuck straight into her head—continued as he followed her from the bedroom to the receiving room.

Had she thought it would not have given rise to too many questions at home, she would have abandoned her hat. However, she did not think herself up to much of an inquisition, so she diligently scoured the small room, finally spotting her ostrich plume curling out from under a corner table. She had pulled it onto her head, secured it with a lone pin and, with one defiant look at Nash, had stalked from the room and demanded her horse. His curt order for the two grooms to accompany her had done nothing to temper her anger, although given the recent savage events in the county, she saw the value in their presence.

Charlotte finally rounded the stand of oaks that shielded her manor house. Hers and no one else’s. She stopped and waited for the grooms to catch her up.

“As you can see, you have discharged your duty.” She pointed to the house and then dragged her manners forth. “Please thank Lord Wrotham for my escort.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she touched Ajax and he shot away toward the stable. She hoped the men had the good sense to leave before they were spotted by her servants. The last thing she wanted to explain was how a ride in her park had produced an escort of Wrotham’s making. Bitterness had exhausted her powers of invention for the foreseeable future.

Chapter 21

October 1816

The full sun of the brilliant early October sky beat down on Charlotte as she pulled Ajax down from a trot to a walk. Glorious heat soaked into her black riding habit, warming her in the chilly autumn air. Nature blazed in all about her in a splendor Charlotte had never seen before. Much better to be out in the fresh air than brooding indoors.

She had been reluctantly planning her next house party when Mr. Courtland, her estate manager, had suggested she ride out with him to oversee the harvesting in the fields.

“You said you wanted to learn about the land, my lady. There’s no better time to do so than ingathering.” The round-faced young man, newly married, had laughed. “Unless it’s planting time in the spring. You’ll want to watch the cycle of the seasons on the property, how the ground is prepared and sown in the spring, how the crops are managed during the growing season, and how we bring the harvest in. You’re starting at the end of the process, but next year you’ll see it from the beginning.”

Charlotte had been delighted at the prospect. It gave her purpose, a sense of becoming tied to the land and the people. It also kept her from fretting about the Earl of Wrotham’s treachery. She had written a scathing letter to her father, demanding that he cease to meddle in her affairs and proclaiming her intention to remain unmarried, no matter the circumstances. She had received no reply, which had been expected. Neither, however, had she heard anything from Wrotham. After his passionate appeal to her, she’d thought he would attempt a visit or at the least write, imploring her to marry him and save his political career.

Not that she would do it, of course. Still his silence perplexed her, hence her relief at Mr. Courtland’s suggestion of working closely with her land.

They had been riding out almost daily for the past week, inspecting the different groups of harvesters. This morning Courtland had called for her at nine and they were on their way to her furthest fields by half past the hour. The morning had melted away as they inspected the fragrant fields, met the harvesters, and received early yield reports on the hops, a major crop in Kent. By noon they had finished with one entire sector of the estate and had turned toward home and a good lunch.

Charlotte slowed Ajax as they approached a stand of trees. The path that meandered through the little wood wasn’t wide enough to allow them to ride abreast, so they had ridden through single file on the way out this morning.

“I’ll take the lead this time,” Charlotte called, touching her heel to her horse. The stand of oaks was small but dense. Little sunlight filtered through the tree cover and the chill air intensified as she headed under the canopy. Shivering even in her woolen clothes, Charlotte glanced up, wondering that the leaves were still so thick. The cold weather should have brought most of them down by now.

“Why haven’t the leaves turned more, do you think?” Charlotte called over her shoulder.

“Likely the cold year has confused their cycle. They’re used to the temperature changing from warm to cold. This year it’s been so chilly all summer they don’t know it’s time to change.” His tone said he didn’t find this amusing at all.

“Just as the crops have taken so long to mature.” Charlotte gave Ajax his head in the dim light, allowing him to pick his way along the path strewn with twigs and small branches. She peered ahead to where it brightened at the end of the stand. A dark shadow lay across the path about halfway to the light.

“That’s odd. There’s a small tree down up here. It wasn’t there this morning.” She turned to him, eyebrows raised.

He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, my lady. Might be a deadfall. Or it’s not so big that something couldn’t have rooted it up. We do have wild pigs here about.”

A likely explanation. She nodded and urged her mount toward it. “Too big to step over, I think. Let’s try to go around to the right.” Charlotte pulled her reins to the side, heading off the path when the forest exploded with howling men. They came at her from all sides, trying to grab the reins, her skirt, her legs.

The robber gang.

“Courtland!” she screamed, holding on for dear life as Ajax reared up in fear, his hooves flashing out at the nearest attacker. The man gave way, though others still tried to seize her. She slashed her riding crop across the face of the nearest man. He cursed and grabbed it out of her hand, almost unseating her. Slipping her foot from the stirrup, she took aim and kicked the nearest body, the pointed toe of her half boot connecting with the man’s head. He yelped and fell back.

“Ride, my lady! Ride!” Courtland yelled.

She heard a shot. God knew who had fired it. She hammered her heel into Ajax’s side. The horse shot forward, trampling one of the robbers before crashing through the trees in a mad flight.

Anchored only by her right leg in the sidesaddle pommel, Charlotte grasped the reins in one hand as she clutched the horse’s mane in the other and prayed she could stay on. The gelding fled straight through the trees, branches scratching her face as they whipped past her head. Sounds of the attack faded and still the panicked animal ran. Charlotte tried to pull back on the reins, but in her hunched state it did little good. She feared without her foot in the stirrup she’d fall if she loosened his mane.

At last they burst out of the trees onto the short grassland of the park. Ajax continued his headlong flight, though after some minutes of steady pulling on the reins he slowed sufficiently for Charlotte to regain the stirrup. She breathed easier and looked quickly about, trying to get her bearings. She had to get help to send back to her manager. God knew what those blackguards had done to him.

The land looked totally unfamiliar. Was she still even on her own estate? She set her heel into the horse’s flank and he took off at a canter. Charlotte decided to make for the ridge on a rise to her left. Perhaps from its height she could locate help.

They crested the hill and Charlotte gave a sigh of relief. A field in the process of harvesting lay spread out before her.

Men. Thank God.