Shouts heralded the arrival of Gabriel and Bradley. The valet tossed aside his rifle and both men reached up to heave on the traces, leaning all their weight to prevent the fall into the quarry.
Susan recovered her wits and ran to help Griff drag the baron the rest of the way out of the carriage.
As they collapsed in a heap, Gabriel and Bradley let go of the traces. The creaking carriage hovered for only a breathless moment before plunging into the dark waters below.
Heavy breathing was the only sound until a faint splash echoed.
Bradley and Gabriel hefted the baron and carried him away from the edge.
Griff gathered Susan into his embrace. “You saved my life,” he whispered close to her ear. “You are brave as well as beautiful.”
Clinging to him, she breathed in his familiar scent, shaken by the realization of how close he’d come to death.
The woman who disdained men had come to rely on this man’s strength. Life without him would have been unthinkable.
A snort from Orion drew Griff’s attention. “What are you doing here, Boy?” he asked, holding out a hand.
Susan dithered when the horse nuzzled Griff’s palm. The two had clearly bonded and her fiancé might be upset if she’d injured the stallion in any way. “I rode him,” she murmured. “When Tillie alerted us, it seemed the fastest way to get to you.”
Orion bared his teeth and shook his noble head as if to confirm how difficult a ride it had been.
Griff put his hands on her shoulders and eased her away, a frown marring his handsome features. “Well, that explains how you knew what was afoot here, but I take back what I said. You’re not just brave. You’re bloody incredible.”
The Ball
Two weeks afterthe near catastrophic events at Woltham Quarry, Lady Emma Crompton-Smith stood beside her handsome husband at the entrance to the ballroom of Thicketford Manor. Nervously scanning the spacious, glittering room one last time, she was reassured the string quartet was playing at a suitable volume, the refreshment table was piled high with sweets and savories, the bewigged footmen looked immaculate in their new livery. “All is in readiness,” she told Frame.
The butler descended the staircase in his usual regal manner. Emma wasn’t sure how he managed to get the attention of the guests assembled for cocktails in the foyer without even a slight cough, but a hush gradually fell.
“Lord and Lady Farnworth welcome you to Thicketford Manor and invite you to ascend,” he intoned.
It had been years since Emma had taken part in a receiving line. Her first husband’s funeral was likely the last occasion. She barely remembered anything about that stressful day, except for her outrage at Arthur Coleman’s shockingly suggestive behavior.
This grand event was the first ball she and Gabe had hosted as earl and countess. They knew some of the guests, but many were strangers. They’d invited local gentry as well as powerful industrialists who were reshaping Lancashire’s economy. Some had come from as far away as Bolton and Liverpool. The guest chambers here and at Withins Hall were full. Rooms were booked at all the inns in Preston. It was a relief her sister had sent regrets. She didn’t need Priscilla’s judgmental eyes on everything she did, nor her husband’s disparaging remarks about the idle rich.
Emma was glad Gabe was by her side. Neither of them had been born into the nobility, but her handsome husband—resplendent in his officer’s uniform—had an easy way with people that would make up for any gauche missteps she might make.
It was a relief when Susan appeared on Griffith’s arm. Her former sister-in-law looked stunning in pale green satin. Emma noticed she’d taken to showing off more cleavage since the Earl of Pendlebury had come into her life.
Emma’s husband had turned out to be a more than satisfying sexual partner. She suspected Susan had found a mate who would carry her to rapturous heights. The perpetual frown had all but disappeared and been replaced with a hungry craving every time she set eyes on Halliwell.
“Thank you,” Emma whispered to her friend. “I can practice on you.”
“You’ll be fine,” Susan replied pecking a kiss on her cheek. “You’re a natural at this.”
Emma bobbed the required curtsey to greet Griffith. “My lord, welcome.” It was tempting to tell him how handsome he looked. His forest green frock coat and full-length form-fitted trousers complemented Susan’s gown. Cut a little short to reveal the plum-colored waistcoat subtly embroidered with a delicate yellow motif, it clung to his broad shoulders. A perfectly tied white cravat and snowy white shirt completed the impression of a wealthy young man comfortable in his own skin. Emma recognized Mr. Carr’s handiwork in every stitch.
Griffith bowed, bestowing a polite kiss on Emma’s gloved hand. “I hope to gain some pointers this evening, my lady, so Susan and I may one day host an event as grand at Clifton Heights.”
“I’m so pleased we can announce your engagement this evening here at Thicketford Manor,” she said sincerely.
“As am I,” he replied, his eyes locked with Susan’s adoring gaze.
As they moved on into the ballroom, Emma exchanged a smile with her husband, pleased to see the same happiness for Susan in his expression that she felt.
Emma’s mother-in-law came next, but she was clearly in a dither about something. “What’s wrong, Rebecca?” she whispered close to her ear.
“I’m concerned for Bertrand. He’s having a devil of a time with the stairs. Anthea’s fussing over the dilemma, but you know how inept the girl can be.”