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"Then you have been spared several of his opinions. He will be delighted to meet you."

"Does he possess so many?"

"Enough for all of Hertfordshire, though I believe he keeps the more troublesome ones in his library."

"And your parents?"

The question surprised her. "They died when I was eight. My uncle is my father's elder brother."

"I am sorry."

She gave a small nod. "Thank you."

The gentleman regarded her more carefully. "Were you taught to manage an accident by your father?"

"My father served in the Navy. He said that when people are frightened, the first useful thing is to discover what must be done and then do it."

"Excellent advice. I wish my coachman had remembered it before attempting that turn."

Elizabeth would have replied, but the gentleman suddenly closed his eyes. Alarmed, she spoke his name—then realized she did not know it.

"Sir? Pray look at me."

He opened them again. "I am obliged to you, Miss Bennet, but if you intend to lecture me, I should prefer you wait until I can escape."

"You may escape when the surgeon says you are fit to do so."

"A tyrant," he murmured. "I have fallen into the hands of a tyrant."

The surgeon arrived at last in company with Mr. Bennet, who had heard of the accident from a breathless boy dispatched to the village. The sight of his niece kneeling beside a bloodstained gentleman gave him a moment's genuine alarm.

"Elizabeth! Are you injured?"

"Not at all, Uncle. But this gentleman has hurt his arm and perhaps his leg, and the driver has injured his shoulder. I thought it best that no one attempt to move the gentleman farther until Mr. Harris arrived."

"A most sensible decision," the surgeon declared as he bent to examine his patient.

Mr. Harris lifted the blood-soaked outer cloth only when he had another dressing ready to take its place. He examined the injury, secured a tight bandage, and watched the Earl’s face with an expression that made Elizabeth suddenly conscious of how nearly the gentleman had fainted.

"He has lost more blood than I like," the surgeon said to Mr. Bennet. "The cut is in an unfortunate place. Had the young lady left it unattended while someone fetched me, the loss might very well have proved fatal. Holding pressure without lifting the dressing was precisely what was needed."

Elizabeth stared at her stained hands. "I only remembered something my father showed me," she said. "I was afraid of doing it wrongly."

"Then you had the good sense to be afraid and do it rightly," Mr. Harris answered. "Now let the men bring a proper litter. His lordship is not to try that leg until I have examined it again."

Mr. Bennet looked at the wreck, at the scattered apples, and at his niece's ruined hem. "I suppose I ought to be grateful you did not also attempt to repair the carriage."

"I considered it," Elizabeth assured him. "But the wheel appeared beyond my abilities."

The gentleman on the grass laughed and winced.

Once the surgeon had checked for more serious injury and had the patient's leg carefully supported, the footman identified him as the Earl of Matlock. Mr. Bennet's eyebrows rose, and Elizabeth looked from the gentleman to the overturned vehicle.

"An earl?" she repeated.

"In better circumstances," the gentleman answered, "I am occasionally thought a respectable example of one."

"I hope, then, that your lordship will forgive me for having spoken so freely."