That was too much for Lady Catherine. At first, only giggles escaped, but then she laughed harder and harder until the tears ran down her cheeks. Jocelyn hung back, surprised to be the source of so much merriment.
“You are so … so original,” she gasped. “Tell me, Captain Avebury, do you do this often? Scramble up muddy riverbanks? Or did you climb this one just to show me that I should not be upset that I hadn’t attempted it myself?”
She was too smart. She knew a backhanded attempt at sympathy when she saw it. For a moment, Jocelyn regretted his clumsy attempt at gallantry. “Would you accept the argument that I wanted to see what was on the other side?” he offered sheepishly.
“Never,” Lady Catherine retorted. “I am not an idiot.”
“Obviously not,” Jocelyn agreed. He smiled at her, but she pretended to pout.
“You do not strike me as a man who wants to look at cows.”
“Will you perhaps accept the notion that I am a man who enjoys a climb?”
Lady Catherine pursed her lips. Then she dimpled. “Why, of course. You are a sailor, are you not? But those clothes! You are freezing, I can see that. Come, lend me your arm. Help me to my horse.”
“Where is your groom?” Jocelyn asked in a tone of mock severity. “Surely you are not riding alone?” He offered his arm and she leant in close, placing her boots firmly into the mud as she bore down on her good leg.
“I prefer not to go out with my groom,” Lady Catherine said darkly. “He thinks I ought not to ride at all. He is a complete fool.”
“Your maid, then?”
“Miss Barrow usually comes with me. She rides tolerably well. But today she has the toothache. It is just as well. She is city-bred, you know. She would loathe this mud.”
“And who is Miss Barrow?” They squished through the mud together for a moment before Lady Catherine answered.
“She lives with me – for countenance.” Lady Catherine slanted a mischievous glance up at him. “I couldn’t possibly live alone, of course. Not even on my own estate. What would people say?”
“Why do I suspect that you don’t care in the least?” They were approaching the brown horse, who ignored them studiously while it munched. It moved two steps away.
“You are right, Captain Avebury.” Lady Catherine stopped. She turned to face him. “I don’t care, in particular. But there are limits to what even the daughter of an earl can do or say in society. There are always limits, are there not? To everything?”
Jocelyn chewed on that thought. He looked off in the distance at the fuzzy outline of Wansdyke. Were there limits even for the titled, the lawmakers, the favoured few? He knew his own limits, limits that had been placed on him at birth. And Lady Catherine’s leg was a limit, of a sort. But it was not a limit that he considered terribly important, in the grand scheme of things. A lame sailor could still do quite a bit.
“You disagree?” Lady Catherine was gazing at him intently.
Jocelyn shook his head. “No, not at all. But I have spent a life at sea. These limits imposed by society – they seem unimportant compared to some others.” He released Lady Catherine’s arm and walked over to the horse. “Shall I help you up?”
Lady Catherine made her way toward him. He watched her step carefully through the mud, knowing that he needed to let her walk on her own two feet. She rested a hand firmly on his arm. “Only if you come home with me,” she said. “You are soaked and it is my fault because I teased you. I am very sorry for that.”
“You should not be.” Jocelyn cupped his hands, and she placed her right foot on them. He heaved her up into the saddle. She grasped the reins and turned to him.
“Are you going to come?”
Jocelyn hesitated. He really had no desire to re-enter the world of Bath society. He was happy to chat amiably with the admirable Lady Catherine outside, in a green field, while they were both covered in mud. He did not want to awkwardly navigate the furniture of her drawing room, trying not to spread that mud around her home. He did not want hostile looks from her staff. He did not want to meet Lydia Barrow and her toothache.
“Perhaps another time,” he said. That nervous feeling in his stomach was starting up again.
“Oh, don’t be so infuriating!” Lady Catherine said. “I know that I will not see you again; you didn’t come to see me in town, not even when the whole world was coming to Manor Place.”
“The whole world? Indeed?”
Lady Catherine bit her lip and turned away. Her voice was a bit muffled as she replied. “Yes. The entire world has been on my doorstep for the past week and more. So I came back to Wansdyke because, after a while, I wanted them all to go away.” She looked down at Jocelyn. “They all seem to know of my title and properties – a name and estate of which, until recently, I had no knowledge.”
“And these are beyond those from your father?”
Lady Catherine laughed bitterly. “Oh, Captain Avebury. Perhaps this is why I like you so much. You really know nothing about me, do you?”
“I don’t know much about anything at all, it seems,” Jocelyn said.
“Do not take offence, I beg you, Captain Avebury. I am only too used to being tolerated merely because of my father.” Lady Catherine shifted in the saddle, causing the horse to glare balefully up at her. She patted its neck. “Lazy beast,” she muttered.
“At least you know that is not the case with me,” Jocelyn said mildly. “And I do not take offence. I am very ignorant of the things you landlubbers hold in esteem.” He backed away a little, preparing to take his leave.
Lady Catherine tightened the reins. “I hope you will visit me,” she said softly. She spoke gently to the horse and walked him closer to where Jocelyn stood.
Jocelyn shaded his eyes. The setting sun, bright behind, silhouetted her erect and secure in her seat. It was hard to imagine that this woman could not make it across a room without limping. It was hard to imagine anyone cared about her difficulty.
“In all honesty, I will probably not,” he admitted. “I do not seem to fit in genteel circles.”
“Surely you do not plan to leave?” Lady Catherine seemed dismayed.
Jocelyn thought of the note. Go nowhere. Do nothing. “No,” he said shortly. “I have no plans.”
“I hope you will feel free, then, to walk in the grounds of Wansdyke.”
Jocelyn laughed. It seemed ludicrous. “I am afraid your groundsmen will take me for a poacher. Or perhaps the ghost of some long-lost sailor relation.”
Lady Catherine was, apparently, no longer in the mood for jokes. She turned the horse round with a nimble twist of the reins. Then she seemed to think better of it. “Captain Avebury,” she called over her shoulder. The horse, which had been walking in the direction of Wansdyke, stopped obediently at the sound of her voice. Jocelyn tilted his head and squinted into the setting sun.
“Are you very rich? That is to say, were you very lucky while you were at sea?”
Jocelyn considered. He looked at the stone shape of Wansdyke, at the sculpted grounds surrounding it, at the spotted cows in the distance. He thought about the humble cottages of his childhood neighbours. He thought of the grand Bath drawing rooms in which he had recently spent his time.
“Why do you ask, Lady Catherine?”
She answered quickly. “I beg your pardon for my impertinence. But – I think you are too happy to be poor.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. If you were poor, you would be looking for ways to be rich. But instead you are walking in the mud.”
“Perhaps I belong in the mud.”
“No one who knows you could think such a thing.”
Jocelyn smiled. He turned his back and began to trudge toward the stream and its trees.
“Captain Avebury!” A desperate note tinged her voice.
He turned around, but continued walking – backwards. He shaded his eyes again.
“Were you? Lucky, I mean?”
“If you only knew how absurd that quest
ion is, Lady Catherine, you would not ask it!” He could not help it; laughter bubbled up in him. Lucky? Jocelyn Avebury? He tossed his head back and chortled. The deep-throated burst of merriment continued until his aching chest started to protest. He turned to walk back toward the bank. Then, before he knew it, Lady Catherine and her horse were almost on top of him. Startled, he turned, flailing, not sure in which direction to head. Lady Catherine brought the animal around at a quick trot and stopped squarely in front of him.
“I dislike it when my questions go unanswered,” she said. Her voice was calm, but she was angry. She had asked him a sincere question, and he had laughed at her.
“You need not scare a seaman so,” Jocelyn said, gasping. “I thought I told you that I am not very good with horses.”
“Meet me here tomorrow. Please?”
She looked both shy and defiant: there was a mulish cast to her mouth but a pink flush on her cheeks. Wind, exertion? An awareness of the impropriety of her request?
“Lady Catherine, I—”
“I am lame, you see,” she burst out suddenly. “Perhaps you think that you alone are uncomfortable in the very proper circumstances of Bath society. But I was not brought up to participate in society at all. My father locked me away as best he could. So that I would not embarrass him. And because he hated me for not being a boy.” She paused to take a breath, her chest heaving. “So I speak my mind. Perhaps I am too free. I beg your pardon if I offend. But you do not make an issue of my deformity. And I think you can tell me about the world. I want to learn. I want to think of other places – to be elsewhere in my mind.”
She leant down, inched closer to him, grasped his shoulder with one hand. She tended, Jocelyn realised, to rely on touch to keep attention. It was the result of being unable to walk after people. Despite the muddy kid glove, he sensed the warmth in the pressure of her fingers.
“Surely,” he said slowly, “surely you know that we should not meet in such circumstances. People—”
“Oh, bother people!” She sat upright again, twisted the reins viciously in her hands.
“Lady Catherine,” he said, “I am but a sailor in His Majesty’s Navy. I have no wish to disgrace you.”
“I can handle myself,” she said. There was a proud glint in her eye. “You can handle yourself when you are on your ship, I assume. Well, this is my ship.” She gestured around them, toward Wansdyke. “I can handle my destiny. If you can handle yours.”
Jocelyn bowed his head. “I cannot but admire your words, Lady Catherine.”
“Will you be here? In the afternoon?”
“I would be most happy to attend you. Suppose it rains?”
“Do you think a little rain would stop me?”
Jocelyn shook his head, smiling. “No, I do not.” He watched as she spoke to the horse, which began an amiable trot toward Wansdyke. “Lady Catherine!” He saw her half turn, slow the horse down. “I was very, very lucky at sea!”
He saw a huge smile cross her face, and her acknowledging wave. Cheerful, he turned back to his path, but he shivered and thrust his hands into his pockets anticipating the muddy scrambles that would take him back to the inn.
To go nowhere. Do nothing.
Had the warning come from Barrington?
It must have. But why? What did Barrington have to do with his hearing?
He didn’t want to think about it. He preferred to think about the pink-and-white Lady Catherine. He was not worried about becoming attached to her. He could not see himself developing a serious attachment to any lady. It would simply not be fair.
But he did crave the freedom of spirit he had felt when he stood muddied head to toe in the brown earth of England. Perhaps it would be good for his spirits to spend time in the company of someone who laughed at him so easily.
Then, when the summons came, he could bravely head off to his fate.
Chapter 11
Catherine checked the angle of her hat in the mirror. “I do not suppose you would like to come along,”
“Not today,” Lydia Barrow said. She examined the stitches in her embroidery, then pulled the needle through once more before biting off a thread. “You have spoilt two riding habits. It is very damp.”
“Not for long. It will be summer soon.”
“Does Captain Avebury not mind the damp?”
Catherine laughed. “Not at all. Yesterday he proved that he could pull a fish out of the stream with his bare hands. I believe he must be country-bred.”
Lydia looked up at that. “Do you not know?”
Catherine paused. Then she picked up her gloves and turned around. “No,” she admitted. “He tells me what it is like to be commanding a ship in a violent storm, and what it smells like in Bombay. I’ve heard all about the Chinamen and Malays who work on the ships, and their strange ways. And about the many wives of the Muslims. But not very much about the man.” She began to pull on her gloves.
Lydia bent over her needlework again. “I could find out. If you would like.”
Catherine pulled the fingers of her gloves taut. Lydia had made her offer in the barest murmur; she could pretend not to hear without appearing to be too rude. She knew that Lydia would make use of connections she would rather not know too much about. On the other hand, to know more about Captain Avebury … It was extremely tempting. And it was always better to know.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Do that for me. Jocelyn Avebury. Royal Navy. He would have gone to sea as a child, I suppose. Quite young.”
Lydia nodded and kept sewing. “There is that message, also. You really ought to respond.”
“Do not remind me of that,” Catherine said sharply. “The impertinence of that man! I refuse to speak to him. His demands are unreasonable.”
“He still has the portrait.”
“I will get it from him.” Her voice was shaking; she swallowed. Her throat burned. She had been a fool – oh, she had been a fool indeed.
Lydia looked up, then stuck her needle into the cloth and rose. “That will be difficult.”
“Everyone has a weakness. I’ll find LaFrance’s. Money, women, power – everyone has his Achilles heel. He will be sorry for trifling with me.” Catherine took Lydia’s arm and hobbled into the hallway. A footman held the door open as they emerged into the sunlight.
“I will see about the captain,” Lydia said in a low voice. Catherine nodded. The groom held the gentle brown horse for her at the bottom of the steps. Lydia stopped her before she began her descent. “But do consider that message.”
Catherine grimaced. “I will go to London myself to deal with LaFrance, if necessary. He will not defy me.”
Lydia shrugged. She handed Catherine off into the hands of the groom and stepped back. With a brief nod, Catherine mounted, took the horse round and headed for the fields.
* * *
Captain Avebury was chasing sheep. Catherine slowed her mount to a walk, then stopped. Her eyes followed him as he ran round and round in circles; the sheep baa-ed, panicked. Still, he ran, hatless, his curly brown hair ruffling in the breeze. He looked as carefree as a boy. How old was Captain Avebury? Thirty? Somewhat more? Sometimes, she wondered if he was right in his mind. Yet he was possibly the most stable, the most collected person that she had ever known. She fancied that sea captains had to be solid and calm if they were to control a ship full of men out on the open sea. But here was this one, chasing sheep with the exuberance of a young boy.
Perhaps he had gone to sea as a lad and never had the chance to experience the carefree joys of a child in a field of sheep. Catherine shifted herself in the saddle and smiled wryly. Well, neither had she.
He saw her and slowed his run to a trot. He waved, coming toward her.
“You are chasing sheep, Captain Avebury?” She pretended to be shocked.
“Certainly. A great deal of fun. You can join me.”
“You are dreadful,” Catherine laughed. “You know very well that I cannot.”
“Not on that big brute. C
ome, I’ll help you.”
“How ridiculous, Captain Avebury. Chasing sheep! Wherever did you come up with that idea?”
She turned and slid nimbly down from the saddle, whereupon the horse promptly bent its head to chomp on a juicy tuft of greenery. She placed her hands on one strong arm and leant comfortably against him in a position that they had worked out by mutual, silent agreement. He was easier to walk with than Melinda; he did not walk as slowly as she did, and he seemed far more solid and sure-footed. Leaning against Captain Avebury was like leaning against a comfortable old tree.
“Look, there’s a crotchety old ram there. Perhaps if we chase him, he’ll turn and chase us back.” There was a glint of mischief in the blue-grey eyes, but Avebury picked up his pace. He was apparently not joking.
“Captain Avebury!” Catherine squeaked. “I do not want to be chased by a ram!”
She hobbled along, half-laughing, half-protesting. Almost by instinct, she slipped her hand into his, and he ran ahead, pulling her behind. To her surprise, she could run – she could run! It was more of a thumpity-thump gallop, to be sure. But it was passably smooth, and she could run! Like an excited child, she cried, “Look at me, Captain Avebury! Look at me!” Her hat flew off, but she had no interest in retrieving it. Thrilled, she let go of his hand and ran headway into a stupid-looking group of young sheep, causing them to scatter, making loud noises of annoyance.
Avebury slowed and turned, watching her thump across the field gleefully. “Careful!” he called, but too late.
She was going too fast to stop herself, and when the ground fell away slightly beneath her feet, she tumbled. Flailing, she went down hard, headfirst into the grass. For one humiliating moment, she lay there, tasting grass and grit in her mouth. The baa-ing of sheep grew louder and louder, until she sensed them gathered in a semi-circle about her.
Avebury was kneeling next to her, not in the least bit panicked, as Melinda would have been. “Lady Catherine, are you hurt?” It was his grave sea-captain voice, Catherine decided, the one he used to establish authority over a situation.
The Portrait Page 7
