Ivy would tell her a dog would be a much better, warmer companion than a hard old brick, she thought with a smile. Violet knew of many children who repeatedly asked their parents for a dog at Christmas, but her sister had to be the only adult who persisted in begging. Unfortunately for Ivy, their history with the Prince Regent’s dog would ensure the Musgraves never, ever owned one.
She tugged her scarf up over her nose and eyed the passing fields as the curricle bumped and rocked over the well-worn road. The frost made for an easier journey, freezing over the ruts made by frequent carts. It made for a less pleasant one, though, ensuring she was bounced to and fro like a shuttlecock between rackets. It might have been smoother in the closed carriage and most certainly warmer but there was no sense in causing a big fuss just for her and a few presents. Besides, the church was but two miles down the road. She’d be warm again soon enough.
The young driver swung the occasional glance her way, perhaps bemused by her resemblance to a pile of blankets while he stiffly maintained he was perfectly fine in his jacket and scarf. Of course, she could have asked her sisters along, giving a good reason for the carriage to be prepared but Clementine was still tired, Ivy was busy tending to her kitten, and Lilly would be gone for hours with the horse. At least this way, she could have some time alone to think too.
After all, was that not what Duke offered her? Time?
She blew out a breath and the warmth of it suffused through the scarf, warming her frozen nose briefly. Who could say what time would do? Many young women hardly knew the men to whom they were engaged, having perhaps danced with him a handful of times and shared a little conversation at balls. She knew Duke inside and out. No one could deny his past, but he was no fool—he would not commit himself to something of which he did not believe himself capable.
The carriage came to a fork in the road, and she viewed the spire of the church just above the bare branches of a line of trees. The driver veered left, taking them away from the church and Violet furrowed her brow. He could be taking the loop around she supposed but the only reason she could fathom would be if the other road was blocked.
She tapped his arm. “Is there a fallen tree or something?”
The driver gave her the briefest look but did not respond. Had he not heard her properly through her scarf?
“It’s just,thatis the direct road to the church.” She pointed toward the slowly vanishing spire. “Should we not go that way?”
He remained quiet, his jaw set tightly. She’d been so preoccupied with Duke and escaping the house that she’d scarcely noticed how uncomfortable the driver seemed. He gripped the reins so tight it was a wonder the horses did not revolt against him. Her stomach tightened when they picked up speed.
“We are going the wrong way,” she said, gripping the side as the vehicle lurched over a deep rut. “And you are driving too fast.” When he kept his attention ahead and continued past the next turn, she pulled down her scarf. “You need to stop. Now,” she demanded. “Stop!” she repeated when he flicked the reins and urged the horse faster.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he muttered. “I have no choice.”
“No choice? Whatever do you—” Violet stilled, the swirling in her gut turning into a chill that spread through her, making her pulse quicken. “Doyle,” she whispered.
The man’s lips tightened, and she knew precisely what happened and what was intended for her. The kidnap of William failed so they intended to take her—with the help of the driver who was no doubt under some sort of threat.
“Stop now,” she urged. “We can protect you, we can—” The carriage jolted, and she released an involuntary squeak as she was thrown from side to side. She couldn’t see any sign of her would-be kidnappers along the quiet country road nor could she see any hope of rescue or persuasion. She had no idea how much time she had to engineer an escape.
Violet waited but a moment before snatching the reins.
“What are you doing?” The driver snatched them back, yanking them hard from her grip. “You’ll kill us both!” The curricle veered sharply to the left then back to the center of the road as she tried to wrestle them from him again. Her kid gloves offered her little help against his rougher ones, the leather slipping easily from her grip.
She eyed the passing hedges, their bare branches offering nothing more than a painful, dangerous landing. The narrow strip of road to either side of the vehicle shot past. Violet peered over the side and watched the large wheel skitter across the surface of the road. If she jumped, she could either wind up skewered upon a hedge or crushed under the wheel.
Or she could survive, and Doyle would have no leverage to use against Duke. She didn’t know what Duke would do but she suspected he would not leave her at the mercy of Doyle’s men for long and she could not stand it if he wound up hurt because of her.
Glancing ahead, she spied a gap in the hedges where a wooden fence blocked the entrance to a farmer’s field. She had little time to consider her next move. Swiftly, she threw off the blanket, tossing it at the driver. He uttered a curse and fought the fabric as it obscured his view and Violet rose to her feet, gripped the hood of the curricle, and leaped.
Violet landed feet first. The impact shuddered through her, making her drop to her knees. A cry of pain escaped her at the impact of hard, frost-bitten ground but she shoved up quickly and dashed toward the gate. She heard the horse’s whinny and the rattle of wheels halting.
Heart pounding in her throat, she fumbled with the catch on the gate, flung it open and shut it hard behind her sparing a glance at the driver.
She gasped when she spied two men on horseback heading toward the curricle. They could be her salvation.
She stopped only briefly. They could also be her doom.
Violet snatched her skirts and stumbled across the barren field. There was no farmhouse with a welcoming plume of smoke from its chimney to greet her, nor were there any buildings or stables in which she could hide. Great stretches of fields splayed out in front of her, leaving her in the open. She knew these lands well and could think of nowhere to run but the church. She threw a glance over her shoulder. The men dismounted and unlatched the gate. One of them bellowed her name.
A shiver of terror pierced her. These men were no salvation. The only way the strangers would know her name would be if they intended to kidnap her.
She fumbled with the buttons on her thick coat, unpicking each one as she ran, air burning her lungs. Lilly would tell her she did not exercise enough, she thought wryly. With any luck, she’d live long enough to tell her sister she was right. The unyielding wool of her pelisse prevented her from running efficiently and once she shucked it off and tossed it aside, she was able to move quicker. When she spotted a stile, she darted toward it, skirts bunched in one hand and quickly scaled it then jumped down on the other side.
The hedges of this field were taller and obscured her view of her pursuers. Maybe there was hope. If she could not see them, they could not see her. She followed the hedge line and gasped when she spied the spire of the church. Violet heard the men bellowing at one another—one of them flinging a multitude of curses at the other. Their voices were horrifically close.
The edge of the field offered little more than a small barrier between her and the next field with no way of getting through. The church was too far still, too. Her legs would give out before she reached it.
Pausing, she eyed the ditch that ran along the edge of the field. Her best bet was to hide, surely? They had horses and were stronger and likely faster than her. It would not take much for them to catch up with her but maybe they would pass her by unnoticed.