Page 11 of His Duchess in Disguise
Emma sat down on the steps, gratefully. While the woman was gone, Emma came up with what she hoped might seem a plausible story.
When the woman came bustling back out with a fresh crust of bread that was spread with a bit of butter and an earthenware cup of milk, Emma had managed to stop crying.
“Thank you,” Emma managed to say. She took a bite of the bread, then fed a bit to Rags.
“Oh, and you have a wee doggie. My dear, whatever happened?”
Emma decided to malign even-tempered Beauty. “My horse was frightened by the coach and ran away. She slipped and threw me. I fear that I have lost the rest of my party.”
Emma crossed her fingers and hoped the woman would not spot the lie for the whopper that it was.
But apparently the woman was simple or else she preferred not to mix in the affairs of the gentry. “Oh, my poor dear,” she crooned. “When my boy comes in from the fields, he can go look for your people.”
“I really must be getting back,” Emma protested. “But my mare is lame, and I am afraid I will harm her if I keep on riding. If I just had a horse, any horse at all, I could get back to my party and send someone for her. And bring your horse back, naturally.”
“Well,” said the woman slowly, “I don’t have a horse, but I do have a donkey. He’s a spry young thing and isn’t much troubled by a little traveling. He’s only green broke though. Do you think you can manage?”
“Of course!” Emma said promptly, even though she had no idea whether she could ride a green-broke donkey.
The proposed mount turned out to be a shaggy little beast, with long ears, a gray coat, and expressive, intelligent eyes. The farm woman helped Emma transfer Beauty’s tack to the donkey. Fortunately, the two beasts were nearly of a size, so it fit reasonably well.
Emma gave the woman one of the coins from her reticule, a haypence as it turned out, and apologized for not having more.
“Don’t you worry, my dear,” the woman said. “You just hurry along and catch up with your people. My boy will groom your horse and see to her. No doubt, all she needs is a little rest.”
“I do hope so,” Emma replied. “Thank you for your trouble.”
The donkey was not pleased to have a rider, and for a couple of minutes, Emma feared that he would buck her off. But she tightened her legs, hauled on the reins, and walked him around in a circle. Soon he settled down. He even accepted having Rags on his back equably.
With a fresh mount, Emma made much better time. First, she headed back toward the road, but when she was out of sight of the farmhouse, she turned off on another track that seemed to be going toward the south.
The donkey had a rough gait, and soon Emma’s backside was almost as sore as her feet. But the soreness in her face and the memory of her father’s promise that she should be wed to the Earl of Cleweme kept her moving onward.
It was afternoon by now, so she tried to keep the sun on her right shoulder to ensure that she was continuing to move toward the south, keeping at an angle to the Bath Road. At first, there were a number of farmhouses along the way. But as she kept traveling, they became fewer. She rode across a well-kept bridge, then onto a dirt road that led out onto a broad expanse of grassland that seemed to go on forever.
She turned the donkey out onto the trackless grassland. Clouds were beginning to come up in the sky, and the wind tugged at her cloak. Spring wildflowers bloomed here and there in the grass, but the expanse offered little in the way of shelter.
By now the donkey’s energy, which had seemed quite boundless, was beginning to flag. Still, he went along gamely enough for a time. But as the wind began to whip about her, he suddenly set his feet and refused to go another step.
“Whatever shall I do with you, you obstinate thing,” Emma fussed at him. She slid off his back and tugged on the reins. But the creature set his hooves and obstinately refused to move.
“Well, we could use a break anyway.” She looked around, but there was nothing to tether the beast to, so she decided to take the saddlebags and valise off it, to see if they could manage a bit of lunch.
She was just in the act of slipping the bridle out of the donkey’s mouth so he could graze when he reared up and bolted away back in the direction from which they came, stirrups flapping at its sides. “Be that way, you mean old thing!” Emma shouted, realizing as she did so that her shouts were only likely to drive it farther from her. Rags barked at the departing steed as if to add his commentary.
“There is no point chasing after him,” Emma grumbled to Rags. “I’m not quite sure why I took our things off him, but I think I’m glad that I did. If I had not, our provisions would be halfway back to London by now.”
Emma sat down on the grass for a moment, just to collect her wits. Reaching into the valise, she took out one of the hard biscuits, broke it in half and gave it to Rags. She nibbled the bread and wondered what she should do.
The wind was becoming bitter, and there were drops of moisture in it now. As she gazed about her, she could see something out on the horizon. It looked like a structure of some sort. Perhaps she could make for that.
Emma untied shawls from around her waist and used the largest one to make a bundle of her belongings. It was rather unwieldy with the saddlebags and valise in it, but Emma didn’t want to leave them behind. “It is not so very heavy,” she told Rags, who sat beside her and cocked one ear to show that he was listening. “I will manage. We might need something from inside them.”
Setting her bundle down, Emma draped the next largest shawl over her shoulders, wrapped the ends around her waist and tied it so that it would stay snug over her spencer. She then tied the smallest one over her head and topped it all with her cloak. With the bundle bumping against her legs, she set off once more.
The wind was blowing in earnest now, and to compound their misery, it began to rain. Not heavy rain, but the steady, grey drizzle that gets into everything. Soon Emma’s cloak and Rags long, curly fur were both sodden, and the cold crept into her clothing until she could scarcely bear it. But there was nowhere to hide from the relentless chill. Emma could no longer tell where she was because the cold rain, hitting what had been sun-warmed earth, was becoming a mist so thick that she could scarcely see her hand before her face. Ice began to form on her cloak, and the rain turned into giant flakes of snow.
“It is May!” she gasped to Rags. “It can’t be snowing.”
