The Love Match by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton [Beaton, M.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7953-2189-4
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 1989-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Felicity was never to forget that mad drive to the north of England. The marquess’s traveling carriage pulled by six black horses moved at an amazing rate.

The marquess was driving his team himself. Agnes became so sick with the constant swaying motion that Felicity opened the trap in the roof and begged him to slow his pace because Agnes was ill. He called down heartlessly that if she looked like she was dying, he might consider stopping. Otherwise, he advised Miss Joust not to be sick in the carriage but to put her head out of the window.

“What did he say?” asked Agnes faintly.

“He is very concerned about you, but says that speed is of the uttermost importance,” lied Felicity.

A faint color came back to Agnes’s wan cheeks. “Dear Simon,” she murmured. “So solicitous.”

Felicity was beginning to feel quite sick herself and heaved a sigh of relief when they finally stopped at a posting house for the night.

The marquess opened the carriage door. Agnes collapsed into his arms and appeared to faint dead away.

“Was there ever such a woman?” he said crossly. “Here, John,” he ordered one of the grooms, “carry Miss Joust into the inn.”

Agnes felt herself being lifted in strong arms. She had been so busy pretending to be unconscious, she had not heard the marquess’s order to his groom. She pretended to recover consciousness and wound her arms around John’s neck and said, “Oh, that this moment could last forever.”

She opened her eyes wide and gazed up into John’s weatherbeaten face.

“Put me down, sir,” she cried, writhing like an eel. “Where is your master?”

“Right behind, miss,” said John, tightening his hold. “My lord said I am to carry you into the inn and carry you I shall.”

Furious, Agnes lay rigid like a plank, and like a plank, John propped her up against the wall of the hallway of the inn.

Agnes was furious. She had been nearly at death’s door, and no one had cared. She would show them. She allowed Felicity to help her up the stairs to her room. One of the many things Agnes did not like about Felicity was that that self-sufficient young lady did not consider it necessary to employ the services of a maid. Agnes collapsed on the bed as Felicity efficiently ordered the chambermaids to unpack such items from their luggage as they would need for a night’s stay at the inn.

Agnes was torn between pretending to be ill and staying in her room, or putting on her best lilac silk gown and dazzling the marquess. The lilac silk gown won the toss.

They had a private parlor. To Agnes’s disappointment, the marquess was abstracted and said little. Felicity looked wan and tired, and he asked sharply, “Are you sure you are fit to travel tomorrow, Miss Felicity? I am afraid our headlong dash has been a little too much for you.”

“And for poor me,” said Agnes pathetically.

He ignored her and looked at Felicity.

“I shall be well enough after a night’s rest,” said Felicity.

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