Page 12 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days
Castle Redmayne.
Alexandra scanned the storm, wondering if the castle, or the sea, was visible from here on a clear day. The weather was both peculiar and ominous. Evening darkness loomed much earlier than usual. The raucous clouds so heavy, they appeared black in some places. The storm was lively with lightning, and yet an ethereal fog clung to the ground, refusing to be dispelled by the rain. Displaced bythe knees of scurrying travelers, it swirled and eddied, lending an elegance to the bustle.
The small village of Maynemouth hunkered nearby. Charming streets lined with businesses built tight to the rails. The attractive crofts, cottages, and stately homes gleamed farther up the hill, so the clamor of the train and the bustle of industry didn’t disturb their infamous Southern tranquility.
A bitter sudden gust drove little needles of rain sideways. As Alexandra and her things had been abandoned at the edge of the awning, the storm and the runoff combined their efforts with the wind to soak her threadbare travel kit clean through.
Do hurry, Cecelia,she urged, opening her umbrella against the onslaught of rain, which disappeared as quickly as it had assaulted her.
Lightning separated the clouds above, forking down toward the train with a brilliant, chaotic snap.
For a magical breath, all occupants of the station appeared frozen in time, respectfully awaiting the thunder before they resumed their business.
Obligingly, a rumble preceded a boom above so brash, Alexandra was convinced that if the awning didn’t conceal the sky, they’d have all borne witness to a collision of the clouds violent enough to render such a roar.
Now that most of the passengers had disembarked for their destinations, a bevy of soggy merchantmen and their workers broke against the train like a wave at low tide. Boxcar doors were thrown open on rusted rails and uncouth voices shouted orders and curses in time to the dance of lifting and lowering merchandise to the ground below the passenger platform.
A ramp was lifted onto a livestock car, and a cadre of workers coaxed four skittish thoroughbred horsesdown the incline by their leads and out to an awaiting coach.
One voice rose above the tumult, commanding the same rapt attention from rough-hewn men as the thunder.
Alexandra squinted across the platform admiring the horseflesh and hoping to identify which man belonged to the distinctly masculine voice. There’d been a resonance to it. Something sonorous and commanding. It plucked the same vibrations within her as ancient cathedral bells.
“He’s too unsettled,” the voice called from the cavern of the boxcar as two lead ropes were tossed from the gloom. “You two there—keep the tension on the rope until I can get his blinders on.”
With the gentry gone—other than Alexandra—Smythe slithered between the remaining travelers, darting toward the livestock car as though a mighty wonder was inside.
What commanded such curiosity? The beast, or the man?
Smythe snatched the rope and cautiously tugged until it ran out of slack. His resolution almost made up for his lack of stature as he wrapped the rope several times around his forearm and wrist before locking it in his grip.
Alexandra stood too far off to warn him of his folly, and dearly hoped that someone else might be observant enough to do so.
No such luck.
A sturdy footman bent to grasp the rope on the opposite side of the plank, but before he could secure it, another streak of lightning blinded them all.
An inhuman scream rent the storm before the largest stallion Alexandra had ever seen leaped from inside the car in a graceful arc, clearing the ramp altogether.
The moment his hooves met the earth, he leaped andbucked with alarming grace and speed. Pandemonium erupted as the dark bay reared on his hind legs, striking out at whoever was unlucky enough to be in his path.
Several men went down. It all happened so quickly, she couldn’t tell if they’d fallen, been kicked, or merely dove out of the way.
Another figure appeared in the doorway of the railcar, a towering man to match the thunderous voice commanding everyone to get back.
At the sound of the man’s bellow, the stallion stopped its flailing, and simply bolted. Not toward the trainyard or the road, but toward the still-emptying passenger platform not fifteen strides away. Smythe gave a yelp as he was yanked into the air, and an audible crack might have been his shoulder dislocating.
If he was lucky.
Alexandra glanced behind her to ascertain if any passengers were left, spying an elderly couple frantically helping each other toward the cloakroom. Beyond them, a bleary-eyed mother struggled to heave a carpetbag and push a pram. A girl of perhaps five clutched at her skirts, pointing to the advancing stallion with a screech. The mother turned to admonish the girl, but her words died as she spotted the steed. She froze for a precious, petrified moment before dropping her bag and doing what she could to wrestle both children out of the way.
Turning back, Alexandra gaped at how much closer the stallion had galloped in a matter of seconds.
Poor Smythe! Snagged in the rope he’d wound around his arm, he was dragged like a sack of grain through the mud. His head barely avoided the horse’s churning hooves. He worked vigorously to unwind himself, but she couldn’t tell if he made headway.
Alexandra searched the vicinity for help for one more frantic breath. No man could be found on the platform, conductor, constable, workman, or otherwise.
Why did she bother looking? When had a man ever come to her aid?
