That was all she could take. Taylor peeled off her gloves and handed them, along with the satchel, to her maid. As she stalked toward the tree, the muck sucked at her shoes and her cloak dragged behind her, but she didn’t care.
“Help them, Clay,” Taylor ordered when she reached them. “We’ll never get out of here without extra help for the men.”
Her brother, standing beside the earl, gazed into the distance, pretending not to hear her.
“Push harder.
“The horses and the men are tired,” Taylor said to her brother. The rain continued to beat down on her, but neither man shifted an inch to make room for her under the tree’s branches. “They’re no closer to moving the carriage than they were an hour ago.”
She wanted to shake Clay. He continued to disregard her, brushing water droplets from his cloak.
“Don’t ignore me,” Taylor persisted. “You need to go out there and help them.”
“You must be daft.” He glared at her. “Help them how?”
“Lend a hand. Help push the carriage onto the roadway.”
“No bloody chance of that. I’m wet enough as it is.”
She hated to admit it, but her brother was becoming more and more like their father every day. “We’re
“Have you forgotten my shoulder? The deuced thing will never heal if I don’t give it a rest.”
“You tripped climbing two steps six weeks ago, and it hasn’t stopped you from fencing at the club or rolling dice with your friends.”
“You’re a cold fish. You have no sympathy. No heart. You couldn’t care less about the pain I’ve endured.”
Taylor definitely had no patience for the drama that came part and parcel with every interaction with her brother. Four years older than Clay, she wasn’t his mother. She wasn’t his keeper. And she was tired of the jealousy that lay just beneath the skin of every comment he directed toward her. During arguments, he made no attempt to veil his hostility and resentment. She knew the source of his antipathy. Over five years ago, her mother’s brother had left a fortune to Taylor. Not to his nephew, not to his brother-in-law, but to his niece. And any moment now, she knew Clay would bring up the topic.
“I wouldn’t even
“Save your complaining for another day. They need you now.” Taylor pointed at the men struggling in the storm. “Go.”
“I think not!” Clay shot back hotly, turning to the earl. “Father, speak to her. If you don’t curb her, she’ll have us driving the carriage ourselves.”
Lord Lindsay looked down his nose at her, at his son, and back again at Taylor.
“Look at you. You’re as tall as your brother. Wider in the shoulders. And you’re surely twice his weight. Too bad you’re not a man, because you’re hardly a woman.”
Her throat closed. Her eyes burned. Her skin flushed in anger. His barbs were nothing new. She’d been the target of his demeaning comments about her size and shape for all her adult life. During the years when she was paraded out in front of society’s eligible bachelors—only to be treated as if she were invisible to them—he’d have the same sharp jabs. She could ignore the scoffing efforts at wit from strangers, but not from her own kin. She could pretend her father’s gibes didn’t sting, but the hurt never went away.
Throwing the hood back and shedding her cloak, Taylor shoved it into Clay’s stomach and turned on her heel, moving down toward the carriage.
“What are you doing?” The earl’s shout followed her. “Come back here this instant.”
Tears escaped but immediately washed away, mingling with the droplets of the rain. She wouldn’t allow them to see her cry. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they could still hurt her. Her anger regarding their carelessness and lack of responsibility, they were accustomed to. Her temper, when unleashed, was the only thing they feared and respected. And in moments like this, she valued it, as it provided her with a shield.
One foot sank into the mud, followed by the other, as she trudged toward the carriage. With each step, she tried to silence the haranguing voices behind her and instead focus on the men who’d paused for breath. They were all staring as she approached.
“Shall we?” she asked, rolling up her sleeves to the elbows.
“M’lady, you shouldn’t.” The driver glanced uncertainly at his master and back at her.
She shook her head at his soft-spoken words. “I believe I should. Let’s do this now. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Ignoring the murmurs of protest coming from the others, she put her shoulder against the rear of the vehicle. She braced her feet, and after a moment’s hesitation, the men returned to their places.
On three, the driver shouted his commands to the horses and they all pushed. But the carriage remained anchored in place.
