by Sahara Kelly
His pace had been slowed considerably, and at one point he leaned down, tapped a gentleman on the shoulder and inquired if there was any kind of special event occurring in the neighbourhood.
The man laughed up at him. “Why no, sir. It’s Christmas Eve. Many have been given leave for the afternoon, others just want to share their happiness that this damned year is almost at an end.”
“Ah. That makes sense, I suppose.” He held his horse in check as a group of children skidded gleefully down the snow-covered street. “Thank you, friend. Happy Christmas to you and yours.”
“And to you, sir,” grinned the man. “Safe travels.”
They couldn’t be anything else but safe, mused Perry, plodding along at a walking pace. He could have run to Mowbray House and reached it sooner.
Precious minutes were wasted going around a band of musicians; although their music was sprightly it was all Perry could do not to yell at them to get out of the dratted way and let him through.
His eagerness to reach Grace was making him irritable and he took a breath, trying to attain his customary placid state.
He failed, and for the next quarter of a mile drummed his fingertips on the pommel, while struggling very hard not to grind his teeth together in frustration.
Finally—after what seemed like hours—the crowds thinned and he was able to pick up the pace, trotting for a while and then finding sufficient room to canter. Riding ventre à terre was still out of the question, but since he didn’t consider himself the hero of a fanciful and florid romance novel on his way to rescue Grace from a fate worse than death, he spared little time worrying about it.
Mowbray House loomed ahead, and Perry gulped down the mixture of excitement and apprehension that threatened to choke him. His heart thudded beneath his thick jacket and his hands were damp inside his gloves. This, he told himself, is utterly ridiculous. That a man his age should be suffering from an attack of nerves? Well, it was embarrassing to even admit it to himself.
Moments later he was looping the reins of his horse around a convenient statue and pounding on the door of Mowbray House.
Deery opened it and raised an eyebrow at him. “Sir Peregrine.”
“Yes,” answered Perry, somewhat obscurely. “Er…yes.”
“May I be of assistance, sir? Would you wish to come in?” He held the door wider.
“I’m hoping to see Mrs. Chaney, Deery. Could you ask her if she will grant me a few moments?”
“Oh dear.” Deery’s face grew even more sombre, if that was possible. “I’m afraid Mrs. Cheney isn’t here, sir.”
“Not here?” Perry’s voice squeaked and he cleared his throat. “What do you mean not here?”
“That would be not present, Sir Peregrine. As in not in the house. She has left. Gone.”
“Gone?”
Deery’s eyes almost rolled. “Correct sir. Mrs. Chaney has departed Mowbray House.” He spoke slowly and distinctly, matching his words to the obvious confused state of the gentleman before him.
“Gone where?”
Deery sighed. “Well, it is my understanding that Mrs. Chaney expressed the intention of returning to Seton Hall, and spending the rest of the winter there in her own home. Mr. Max and Mrs. Kitty have already left for Ridlington.” He looked down his nose at Sir Peregrine. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Dammit.” Perry almost gnashed his teeth but caught himself at the last moment. “No, Deery. Thank you. I will attempt to catch up with her then, at Seton Hall.”
“Very good, sir. I shall wish you a happy Christmas then.” The butler nodded.
“Oh, uh…yes. Happy Christmas, Deery. Thank you.”
Mounting up once more, Perry turned toward Seton Hall. “Damned woman. Can’t stay in one place, it seems.”
He set off at a spanking pace, grateful that he didn’t have to avoid so many people. He should be able to make the trip in less than an hour, God willing.
And then—then, Mrs. Grace Chaney—there would be words spoken and matters settled. Followed by a pleasurable period of intimacy.
Wincing at the inevitable bodily response to the thought of such things, Perry slowed the horse a little and determined to focus on other matters, lest he arrive at Grace’s side bruised and useless.
That would not enhance any of his plans for this Christmas Eve.
Chapter Twelve
While Perry was attempting to collect his focus, Grace happily trotted into the outskirts of London, mounted on her favourite mare Snowball.
As white as her name, the horse had been with her for several years and their relationship was one of affection and tolerance.
Grace was very affectionate to her and Snowball tolerated it.
They both enjoyed the rides that Grace took quite regularly; although not strenuous gallops through miles of fields and over a dozen fences, both horse and rider approved of the occasional canter along country lanes and a gallop once in a while if the weather was perfect.
She had been able to persuade a not-too-pleased Mrs. Heathers that no groom was necessary for this journey. It was fortunate since she had made sure her household staff had some time to themselves over the Christmas season. The only candidate available to accompany her was Norbert, a sprightly seventy-year-old who had put her on her first horse, and wouldn’t hesitate to reprimand her if he thought she was doing something improper.
Sometimes one’s servants could be much higher in the instep than her Society acquaintances.
However, she was free, alone and making good progress toward her goal through the beginnings of the holiday revels. She’d passed the road to Mowbray House and was now in the outer parts of London.
She laughed at the music, waved to the children and remembered to keep most of her face covered by her muffler. She was a lady in midnight blue on a white horse, and she made her way through the streets with a fanciful image of her knight awaiting at the end of her pilgrimage. She wasn’t in Canterbury and Perry wasn’t a knight…well, he was but probably not the jousting with a massive broadsword kind of knight…
One thought led to another and her distracted mind veered down a euphemistic path that concerned thrusting swords of various kinds…
“Wotch yer ‘orse, lady,” yelled a lad, dodging past Snowball.
Recalled to her surroundings, she waved. “Apologies. Happy Christmas.”
It was slower going now, but she knew the way to Perry’s residence and a short time later took the turn toward his street with some relief. There were fewer crowds here, so it wasn’t much longer before she was tying Snowball securely to the hitching post outside his front door.
Two children were walking past.
“Excuse me…I have to go inside here for a few moments. Would you both watch my horse for me? There’s sixpence for each of you if she’s here when I return.”
Two pairs of eyes widened. “Really, missus? Sixpence? Each?”
Grace nodded. “Yes indeed.”
“All right then.” The girl neared the horse. “Yer a pretty one.”
Snowball snorted gently, acknowledging the compliment.
“I hope I won’t be more than a few minutes. Then they will tell me where I can stable her.” Grace nodded, knowing that a whole shilling was a reward worth working for, and that Snowball would be safe where she was for a while.
Walking up the steps, she took a deep breath and rapped on the door.
It opened after a minute or so to reveal an aged butler. “Good afternoon, Madam. May I help you?”
“Yes, you may. I believe you are Morris? I’m here to see Sir Peregrine,” answered Grace. “Would you inform him that Mrs. Chaney would like a few moments of his time?”
Morris’s long face grew even longer. “I am sorry, Madam. Sir Peregrine is not here.”
“Not here?” Grace blinked. “How can he be not here?”
“Is that an existential question, Madam?”
“What? No. I mean didn’t he just arrive home?”
&
nbsp; “He did indeed. Very sombre he was too, for a while. But then, to my astonishment, his mood took an about-face.”
“It did? I am astounded,” said Grace, entering into the literary spirit of the moment. “Do tell me, Morris. What happened then?”
“He spent some time refreshing mind and body, Madam. Then, without ado, summoned a horse and departed.” Morris frowned. “It is quite worrying.”
“Why? Was he unwell?”
“Oh no, I don’t imagine that was the case. It was just quite unlike the practical and controlled Sir Peregrine we all know and respect. The man whose intellect deserves our fullest appreciation and whose attention to details and routines make this such a perfect residence.”
“Oh. That Sir Peregrine,” nodded Grace, enjoying herself enormously. “So he left in an unusual state of…how would you describe it, Morris?”
“One might use the word vivaciousness, perhaps…although I am uncertain as to the propriety of assigning such a description to a gentleman of Sir Peregrine’s standing.”
Grace swallowed. “Right then. So Sir Peregrine left, in a cheerful state of mind…can you tell me his destination? It is most important that I reach him.”
“Sadly no, Madam. He didn’t say.”
“What?”
“Sir Peregrine did not see fit to convey his destination to me, prior to his departure. He merely mumbled something about Christmas as he finished his last scone.”
“Hmm.” Grace frowned. “So you have no idea where he was going?”
“I believe I just said that, Madam.” Morris gave her a rather dry glance.
“So you did,” said Grace, half-amused and half-irritated. “That is most disappointing Morris.” She thought for a moment or two. “If he returns, would you please tell him I called and would appreciate the chance to speak with him at his earliest opportunity.”
“Of course, Madam.” He bowed. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
She shook her head. “No, Morris. Thank you anyway.” She turned away, then glanced over her shoulder. “Do have a happy Christmas.”
“Thank you, Madam. And the same to you.”
The door closed behind her as she walked back to the street, frustrated, a little worried and wondering what her next step should be. She gritted her teeth. She would find the damned man, and when she did, she’d give him a large piece of her mind.
She stared at Snowball, her thoughts revolving around her frustration. Finally, she sighed. “Oh bollocks.”
Two gasps echoed near her.
“You said a bad word, Ma’am,” said the little girl. “My Daddy would smack me if I said that.”
“He did let me have it once when I said it,” added her brother. “I had a bruise.”
Grace recalled herself to the present. “And he would be quite right to do so. I should not have used that term, and I do apologise.”
“We’ll forget it for another sixpence,” the lad offered with a sly smile.
“You’ll both get your sixpences,” Grace reached into her reticule and retrieved the promised recompense. “But I refuse to set your feet on the path to wickedness by permitting you to blackmail me.”
The children took the coins, even though the boy sighed.
“Nice try, my friend.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll make a wonderful businessman when you grow up.”
“Thank you, lady.” They walked off down the street.
“Oh, happy Christmas,” called Grace after them.
They waved their response, leaving her on Perry’s doorstep with her horse. And no Perry.
*~~*~~*
“Not here? What do you mean not here?”
Perry’s words sounded oddly familiar to him, but he pursued his line of enquiry with a stern woman who was obviously Grace’s housekeeper.
“Do you mean she is not at home, or is she really not at home?”
Mrs. Heathers sighed. “Both, Sir Peregrine. Mrs. Chaney is not in Seton Hall at all.”
“But she couldn’t have arrived that long ago,” he complained.
“That is true, sir. And since she mentioned your presence, it is not unusual that you should know her activities earlier today. But after arriving from Mowbray House, she determined that she had a very important errand to undertake.” The woman paused. “At least I think that’s what it was. Anyway, she refreshed her person and then called for her horse.”
“She’s riding?”
“That is correct. Mrs. Chaney, if I may be permitted to say so, is a fine horsewoman. You need have no worries on that score. Been riding Snowball for several years, she has.” She frowned.
“If not on that score, then what? I can see you are concerned,” said Perry with gentle encouragement.
“Well, sir, I will note that I am always concerned about Mrs. Chaney. She is much loved here at Seton Hall. So her going off without a groom like this, and it’s a winter afternoon and it’ll be getting dark soon…” The woman wrung her hands. “I do worry so, sir.”
“Without a groom? That does sound unlike her.”
“It is.”
“Then I understand your concern. Mrs. Chaney is lucky to have you at her side.” He thought for a moment. “Now, I would certainly like to find her and make sure she is all right. Can you tell me anything that she said before she left? Was there any indication or mention of her destination?”
“None at all, sir,” the housekeeper sighed. “I am quite beside myself. Said she was off to get her Christmas present, she did. That was all.”
“Did you know of this gift?”
“Not a thing. First I’d heard of it. But she was quite excited, I’ll tell you that.”
“Really?” Perry blinked at that piece of news. “More excited than usual?”
“More than I’ve ever seen her, sir. Not given to flights of excessive emotions is our Mrs. Chaney. She’s usually a quiet and somewhat sombre lady. Pleasant of course, but not one to fly into the boughs at all.”
An idea dawned in the back of Perry’s mind.
“Well, since she’s not here, I’ll be off then,” he said. “Thank you, Ma’am. You’ve been a great help. And I’m sure Mrs. Chaney will return soon, safe and sound.”
“I do hope so sir. I really do.”
“Now you just go and have a nice cup of tea. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Very good then, sir. And thank you.”
“Happy Christmas, Ma’am.”
“And to you, sir.” She curtseyed as she closed the door.
Perry hurried down the steps to his horse. “One more ride, my lad. Let’s see if we can outguess our quarry, shall we?”
His horse responded with a look that spoke volumes about his master, the cold air, and the advantages of a warm stable and fresh hay.
“Oh come on. Cheer up. I am hoping the lady may have a similar goal to myself.” He swung up into the saddle and buttoned his thick coat up to his throat. “If that’s true, then you’ll be home and snug soon enough.” He grinned. “So will I.”
*~~*~~*
The return journey toward Seton Hall seemed to drag.
Grace was no longer in a hurry since she couldn’t imagine where Perry was or why he had headed out in a vivacious frame of mind.
Perhaps he had a party to attend or some errands to run. He’d said nothing about such things to her, but then again, why would he?
Faced with the conclusion that she’d been a silly chit to imagine anything other than a brief affair, her spirits sank and she wrapped her muffler even more tightly around her face so that nobody would notice a tear or two making its way over her chilled skin.
Her life stretched in front of her in unvarying grey, a drift of uninterrupted monotony, extending over the years ahead. Perhaps she would enjoy being an aunt; baby Margaret was a treasure to be sure. But the babe had two loving parents, who were not ones to desert their child for weeks on end, unlike other fashionable couples.
A little flare of anger grew deep in her
heart. It was all Perry’s fault.
If he hadn’t shown her that she could still respond to a man, give herself to a man and enjoy every single damned minute of it—she wouldn’t now be contemplating the miseries of future tedium and predictability.
And if he was regretting their dalliance, well, rushing out of his house in a noticeably bright frame of mind certainly concealed any sign of it.
There was no way around the whole matter.
Her Christmas idyll had ended.
She elected to take the well-travelled road back toward Seton Hall, even though dusk was rapidly drawing in. A sharp eye would be needed against others journeying this way, especially those who thought galloping was safe, in spite of the darkening skies and slush covered ground.
Several times she eased Snowball to one side so that carriages could pass; and afterward muttered a few decidedly unfeminine expressions at the drivers who bore no interest in those they splashed along their way.
Before long, the road quieted and the sky cleared to reveal a sunset of colours that turned everything crimson and purple.
It was quite magnificent, and she paused, just taking in the dramatic art of nature.
At that very moment, ahead where the road curved into dusk, a single rider appeared, trotting toward her from the opposite direction.
The sound of his horse alerted her, and she quickly looked ahead.
And blinked.
Then sucked in a breath…no, it couldn’t be.
But it was.
Perry saw her at almost the same instant and had almost the same response. He too sucked in a breath of air, but then spurred his horse onward, hurrying to her side, positive it was who he thought it was.
“Grace?” he shouted, making her horse whinny. “Grace, is that you?”
“Oh my God. Perry?” It was a squeak, but Perry could hear a little thread of excitement in it.
“Don’t bloody move, woman.” He skidded his mount to a stop beside her, and stared, drinking in the sight of her astonishment, her dear face looking at him as if he was some kind of apparition.
