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to talk to you about this, but, in the meantime, be sure not to gossip about it.’

      Giles glanced anxiously at Joanna, who was beginning to sway now that Mrs Penny’s skinny form was no longer supporting her. Fortunately the Squire’s house was as easy to find as Mrs Penny had said, and as he drove on to the gravelled apron at the front a groom came round from the side of the house. ‘Good evening, sir, may I take your horses?’

      ‘Thank you. Is the Squire at home?’ Giles put a steadying arm around Joanna, whose eyes were fluttering closed.

      ‘Yes, sir, and Mrs Gedding, sir. Will you be staying, sir? I can stable the team and give them a good rub down and a feed.’

      Giles was too concerned to get Joanna inside to pay much attention to the niceties such as introducing himself to the Squire first. ‘Thank you. Just hold their heads while I help the lady.’

      Between them they lifted Joanna down safely. Giles was not sure whether she had fainted or was simply asleep, but her head fell against his shoulder as he carried her and her face was buried in his coat front. A wave of fierce protectiveness swept over him, startling in its intensity: somehow he was going to make this all right for her.

      A sensible-looking maid opened the door to him, took one look at his burden and said simply, ‘You’ll be wanting Mrs Gedding, sir.’

      He followed her across the hall and through the door she held open and saw a big, grizzled man sitting on one side of the hearth, a plump, cheerful lady opposite him, obviously in full flow of speech. She broke off at the sight of the apparition on her threshold, then jumped to her feet and hurried over.

      ‘Ma’am, I apologise for the intrusion,’ Giles began. ‘My name is Colonel Gregory and—’

      ‘You need help,’ she finished for him. ‘Bring the poor lamb in, everything will be all right.’

      And Giles, who could not remember feeling so relieved since he had seen a relief column of cavalry cutting their way through to his bridgehead at Vittoria, decided it probably would be.

       Chapter Seven

      Joanna stirred, yawned without opening her eyes and snuggled down into the bed again. She felt completely drained, she realised, sleepily beginning to wake up, but that was no wonder after such a dreadful night made hideous with nightmares. How had she imagined such appalling creatures? That clergyman, his sinister sister, their unspeakable plans for her…but her imagination had at least conjured up Giles to rescue her.

      Then a cold, queasy hand gripped her stomach and she woke fully, remembering the day before, realising that it was all true, that it was no nightmare. ‘Giles!’ Joanna scrambled up against the pillows, searching the room with wide, frightened eyes, but it was not the shabby, dark room with its barred window. This was an airy, pretty chamber with delicate furniture, white muslin curtains stirring gently at an open window and a bowl of tumbling roses on the sill.

      The door opened and a smiling lady looked in. ‘Are you all right, my dear? I am Mrs Gedding and this is my home. You are quite safe here.’ She came further into the room and Joanna saw she was a motherly-looking person with an air of commonsense kindness about her. She relaxed back against the pillows, her panic ebbing. ‘My husband is the squire and a magistrate, and he and your young man are off dealing with those dreadful people,’ she added reassuringly.

      ‘My young man? Oh, you mean Giles? Oh, no, he is not…I mean…’ Joanna was afraid she was blushing and when she saw the twinkle in Mrs Gedding’s eyes she was sure of it. ‘He is a friend of the family,’ she added hastily, then realised with a shock that she had no idea how it was that Giles had saved her. How on earth had he come to be there? It had seemed so right, so perfect that it was the man she loved who had rescued her from that nightmare that it had never occurred to her to question it.

      She recalled, as though from a long time ago, her fierce anger with her captors and Giles’s calm handling of her fears. ‘Are they, the Thoroughgoods, I mean…?’

      ‘Off to Peterborough gaol last night,’ her hostess said firmly. ‘Two armed constables with them in a locked carriage. They’ll be out of harm’s way now, and there they’ll stay until Quarter Sessions. The Colonel and my husband have gone back to the house today to search it for more evidence and to see if they can set an ambush for that Milo Thomas you told the Colonel about.’

      She smoothed the bedcovers and watched Joanna for a moment, her head on one side like an inquisitive robin. ‘You’ll do better knowing all there is to know, I can tell. Some people don’t want to know, other people need to. You’ve got too much imagination to be sheltered with half-truths. The Colonel told us how brave you were. Now, would you like a bath and some breakfast? Or would you like to talk to me about anything?’

      Joanna smiled back. In the absence of Giles’s arms around her, she could not have felt more secure than she did with this frank, friendly lady. She hugged the comment about Giles’s opinion to herself and considered the question. ‘Not at the moment, thank you,’ she said. ‘I asked Giles about why, and that sort of thing. That was what I could not understand. Why? And what made men like that? He explained it all.’

      ‘Did he, indeed!’ Mrs Gedding’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Well, he is an extraordinary young man if he could do that without turning a hair.’

      ‘I think I could talk to Giles about anything,’ Joanna said thoughtfully, then remembered exactly what they had been discussing and smiled faintly. ‘He is very kind—and brave,’ she added. ‘I expect he had rather have faced a cavalry charge!’

      Mrs Gedding smiled back. ‘Bath and breakfast? I have no idea what has happened to your luggage; probably it is still at the Thoroughgoods’ house. Even the most thoughtful and courageous man may be relied upon to forget such essentials as clean undergarments and tooth powder in a crisis. Never mind, my younger daughter’s things are here—she is staying with her married sister, and she will not mind at all if you borrow whatever you need.’

      A bath and clean, pretty clothes restored Joanna’s spirits and she sat down to breakfast ravenously hungry. ‘I do beg your pardon, ma’am,’ she apologised when she realised she had finished the entire plate of toast, ‘but I have eaten hardly anything since I left home but a meat pie at Biggleswade, and that made me ill.’

      ‘Ah, yes, your home.’ Mrs Gedding refilled her tea cup. ‘The Colonel has written to your parents, and I have added a note. I have left the package open, so if you would like to add something of your own we will get it sealed up and off to Peterborough to catch the post as soon as may be.’

      ‘Oh. Yes. Thank you.’ Joanna bit her lip. She had meant to be with Georgy at least two days ago, with a reassuring message on its way to London as soon as she arrived—without any direction for finding her, of course. ‘I should never have done it,’ she blurted out, suddenly acutely conscious of the anxiety she must have caused. ‘I was so miserable and confused. I cannot imagine what you must think of me.’

      ‘That you were very unhappy, Joanna dear, and not thinking very clearly,’ Mrs Gedding said prosaically. ‘We all do stupid and thoughtless things at least once in our lives. Now, in his letter the Colonel has explained a little of what has happened—not the worst of it, naturally—and has told your parents that he must stay a day or so until the evidence is all collected together and you have rested. I have promised your mama that I will look after you and that we will find you a suitable chaperon before you travel back to London. All that remains for you to do is to rest and get stronger. But write your note first.’

      ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Joanna said meekly. The letter was hard to compose. In the end she managed a few lines to say how sorry she was, and that she was quite safe and that Mrs Gedding was very kind. But it was more than she was capable of to apologise for running away before Lord Clifton called to make his offer. The ink was blotted here and there with large teardrops, but she did not want to ask for more good notepaper and she hoped Mama would recognise tears of real regret.

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