Never Land the First Fish

Chapter One, Part 1

Lord Joseph Gildeforte tapped his toe as he rang the bell one more time. If no one answered this time, when he could hear voices in the back of the house, he would break down the door. It wasn't as though they couldn't hear him; the house was only a small cottage, not a manor house. Likely all Lord Athol Soddenfeld could afford. Regardless, Athol, that slimy worm, had run out on his vowels one time too many now, and if a broken door was all he was left with today, he would be a lucky man.

It had been fortuitous to receive the invitation to Toad and Sally's house party at Toadstone Hall—a celebration some weeks after their immediate marriage upon Sally's return from Outer Mongolia, or wherever it was she'd been.

That Gills was short of cash was not worthy of mention. His brother, the Marquess of Coventon, was a pinchpenny, though, to be fair, given their father's mismanagement and 30-year scandal, they were lucky to have any money left at all. He would come into his mother's trust at age 30, mere weeks away. Until then, he relied upon the kindness of generous lady friends, and he'd been given his walking papers last week after he'd won an argument without a keeper waiting in the wings.

However, upon his arrival, Toad told him his mother had placed the Soddenfelds near enough, in her words, "to pick up that blackguard, Lord Athol, by the scruff of his neck and shake him, if need be." While Gills agreed this was a sound plan, it was equally convenient for him to make the thirty-minute drive from Bristol, instead of hours upon hours from London.

As he raised his fist to bang more forcefully on the door he heard a lady's voice, clear as daylight, coming from the back of the house: "Stop!" He hesitated only a moment, until he heard a shrill "No" to follow it, then ran around the side to the back of the small house. Still, he saw no one, until a "Help me" came from what looked to be the kitchen window.

"There is no one here to help you. Not in this backwater where your thrice-damned aunt exiled you, and me with you. I could have been rich. They should never have been married, and we should have been invited to that party."

Well, Gills had been thinking about breaking down a door anyway.

Without another moment's thought, he slammed his shoulder against the flimsy door from the kitchen garden into the kitchen, where Lord Athol was unbuttoning his falls, holding a woman down on the kitchen table whom he had obviously beaten, bruised arms flailing from under the skirt tossed over her upper body as he prepared to rape her.

It must be Lady Athol, and much as Gills disliked her on principle after her campaign to ruin Sally and Toad, no woman could be left unprotected in such a scenario. When Athol looked up in astonishment at Gills and the broken door, Gills took the opportunity to slam through Athol, too, shoving him into a wall and away from Lady Athol. One glance at her showed Athol had been beating her for some time; her face was naught but a bleeding bruise with terrified eyes, her mouth a round 'o'.

She slid off the table onto her feet, still holding the edge with both hands. Taking a protective stance between them, balancing perfectly to lunge if Athol should take a step forward, he said, over his shoulder, "Can you walk?"

She closed her mouth and a sharp nod caused a wince that could even be seen through the swollen mass of her features.

"My buggy is in the front. Untie the horse and await me there. I am driving myself, so no one will see you."

Without a thought for propriety or her relative virtue, she stumbled out the broken door. Gills took a mite longer, but when he left, he felt he'd taken payment for his debt and Lady Athol's honor.

***

Gills raised the roof of the buggy, and she, thank heavens, had a shawl she'd used to cover her head and the lower part of her face. It was a wonder she could manage to move to adjust the shawl. Indeed, as he drove away, whatever strength she'd used to get from the scene in the kitchen to the carriage left her suddenly. He wouldn't call it a swoon, as she was conscious the whole time, but it was as though a puppet's strings had been cut. She slumped into him, and he had to maneuver them to the side of the road to minister to her.

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No, my lord, please just drive. Just keep driving."

"You need a doctor."

"Well, we haven't one here, so you'd best drive if you wish me to be humiliated in earnest today."

There was the Lady Athol Soddenfeld he always expected. Sharp tongued, nasty, spiteful little witch.

"Hold on to me, Lady Ath—"

She hissed and snarled. "My father is a marquess, and I shall be called Lady Julia from here on."

"...Lady Julia. Hold on to my arm, so you can steady yourself. The carriage isn't the best quality, I admit. I rented it in Bristol. I didn't realize I would be driving a young lady." Or anyone in such rough condition, so obviously needing a doctor, not a bumpy carriage ride.

She held herself apart for a second, but the carriage swayed as he took up the reins again and started moving, so she grasped his arm to keep her balance. Over the next four or five miles at a trot, she leaned into and against him, sometimes nearly oversetting him and the carriage. The second time that happened, he slowed the horse to a walk.

"You need a doctor."

"I need arnica root and water, a veil, and a place to stay where I needn't be seen in public. I know not where we will acquire any of it."

"That, my lady, is why you are so fortunate as to be rescued by me, for I do know where to acquire all of those things, and we are already headed there. We shall stop in the next village for the things you need, then for the night a few towns down the road."

He thought it unlikely Athol would let a man beat him to a pulp and steal his wife out from under him—literally—without even trying to catch them. He wanted as much road between them as possible, far from anywhere Athol would think to look.

Everyone he would turn to in a pinch was in or near Bristol at Toadstone Hall, but Athol would expect them to run there. Still, he knew some places in the city where they could hide for weeks, as long as they had money, and he did. He would send a message to the Wellbridge seat. The benefits of assistance from Wellbridge, Stocke, Longford, Etcetera, and Maddox far outweighed the chance of that pipsqueak, Athol, riding a horse in the correct direction to find his wife.

Gills pulled up to the front of an inn two villages away, where there was less likelihood of either of them being recognized. He drove the carriage around behind the inn and knocked on the kitchen door. A surprised innkeeper opened the door, pistol in hand.

"Pray, stop. Don't shoot." Gills raised his hands until the man lowered his weapon.

"I merely hoped to bring my sister out of the public square. She needs a place to rest for a time, while I go gather supplies for the rest of our journey."

The innkeeper's wife poked her head over her husband's shoulder, took one look at Jewel still swaying in the carriage even though it had stopped moving. She shoved by her husband and stalked over to Jewel. "What kind of brother are you, leaving her there like that. Come, dear, this way. I'll find a place for you to lie down." With a look over her shoulder, she added, "You needn't think of continuing on tonight. Your 'sister' needs a doctor, and you a great brute for not stopping for her before now."

"I'm the brute?"

"No, he's not the brute," Jewel confirmed. "And while I thank you for your concern, he is right; it is important that we keep moving."

"In some kind of trouble, are you?" the innkeeper asked.

"No. Not really. But her husband will be if he comes within a mile of us, and I can't say I relish the paperwork."

The innkeeper's bark of laughter brought a groom, who was instructed to put the horse up for the night. "Really, we must move on."

"Not tonight, you en't. Me wife'll make my life a misery if I let you. Come, we've got a room free."

"Two, if you have them, please. I've got coin."

"Indeed we do. And we've got supper, too."