Milady in Love by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton [Beaton, M. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7953-2000-2
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 1987-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Perhaps hoping to save the governess from having to argue with his tempestuous ward, the viscount summoned Yvonne the next morning and told her that he expected her to take Miss Cottingham along with her when she went out that afternoon.

To his surprise, Yvonne readily agreed, and surprised him further by asking if she might take out a small gig she had seen in the stables.

Cautiously, the viscount agreed, but only after having had a horse harnessed to the gig and having seen Yvonne demonstrate to a nicety that she could drive a light carriage as easily as she could ride.

Patricia was obviously relieved she was not expected to ride, and at three in the afternoon both ladies set out in the gig, taking a little-used road across the moors.

Yvonne was in high good humor, laughing and singing French songs. Yvonne knew that once they were away from the castle, they would be set upon by two footpads. For had she not arranged the whole thing herself?

The evening before, she had found two sturdy young men in the village who had readily agreed to act the part of footpads. Their instructions were to frighten the governess but not harm her. They were to find a boy to run to the castle with the news of the “attack” so that, with luck, Lord Anselm would arrive in time to witness Yvonne’s bravery but not in good enough time to stop the “footpads” from escaping. One of the young men said his brother would act as messenger.

Yvonne held the reins in one hand and surreptitiously felt the hard bulk that was the pistol inside her reticule.

As usual, Patricia was talking of everything and nothing. Yvonne reflected, not for the first time, that it was amazing how the governess could talk so much without ever betraying anything about herself. She talked of the material she had found in Penryn to make herself a gown for the ball, of the pleasant summer weather, of the poor quality of mutton from the sheep grazing on the moors, and of the new decorating of the castle, agreeing with Yvonne that not much in the way of flowers or hangings could really do much to alleviate the gloom of the place.

And then two men rose up from the heather, brandishing cudgels. Even Yvonne, who had been expecting them, let out a scream.

For the young men from Trewent were surely masters in the art of disguise. They made a villainous-looking pair, reflected Yvonne, stunned with admiration.

One of the men had seized the reins of the startled and plunging horse. “Get down,” he growled, “or it will be the worse for you.”

Patricia, white to the lips, started to get down. But to Yvonne’s disappointment, she showed no signs of screaming or fainting. Yvonne gently drew her little pistol out of her reticule. “And you,” the other man shouted at her.

As Yvonne was getting down, Patricia whipped about and started to run. “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”

As Yvonne watched,

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