He could, of course, have challenged Sir Roderick and said that he already considered Dingle’s Ride as part of his own property. But he well knew that he had no real authority for saying so any more than Sir Roderick could actually claim complete ownership himself.
The gift, Lord Melburne knew, was almost in the nature of a bribe. Equally he was very pleased to accept it, knowing it would allay for ever the arguments as to who was the rightful owner.
Saladin was pulling at the bit and doing his best to break into a headlong gallop. It would be interesting, Lord Melburne thought as he made his way through the trees to see how this new purchase could perform when he really gave him his head.
Then, as he came to the Ride, he saw that he was not alone. A little further up, emerging from the other direction, was a figure in a green habit. It was clear that Clarinda saw him at the same time he saw her and, although he was too far away to see the expression on her face, he was sure that her lips tightened and her eyes darkened at the sight of him.
It seemed to the man watching her that she almost instinctively turned as if to avoid him, for touching her horse with her whip, she then set off at a headlong gallop down the Ride, obviously doing her utmost to increase her horse’s pace and, thought Lord Melburne with a glint in his eyes, determined to escape him.
She moved so quickly that she had a considerable start on him before Lord Melburne, settling his top hat a little firmer on his head, set out to catch her up.
It was very exhilarating to feel the cool morning breeze on his face, to hear the sound of pounding hoofs and know the excitement of a chase in which he was determined to be the victor.
Clarinda’s horse was of good strain, Sir Roderick would never have had poor horseflesh in his stables, but it had not the strength of Saladin with his Arab blood. Even so Clarinda had a long start on him and, what was more, he thought, watching her ahead, she rode superbly.
She was not wearing a hat and her hair, glinting in the early sunshine, had merely been plaited and caught up into her neck with a bow of green ribbon. It seemed to wave ahead of him almost like a flag enticing him to follow.
Determinedly he urged Saladin forward with a resolution that made him feel that he was riding a race in which the high stakes presented an irresistible lure.
He did not catch up with Clarinda until they had traversed nearly three-quarters of the Ride and then as he drew level he glanced at her and saw that her eyes were shining despite the fact that she was tense. And he was sure that she was willing herself to beat him.
For a little while they galloped on side by side, Clarinda striving, it seemed, with every nerve in her body to draw ahead of him again. Then that realising it was impossible because the end of the Ride was not far ahead, she began to draw in her reins.
Lord Melburne did the same and finally they came to a standstill at the end of Dingle’s Ride. They were both breathing quickly and there was a patch of bright colour in Clarinda’s cheeks.
With an almost theatrical gesture Lord Melburne swept his hat from his head.
“As an Amazon, I salute you!” he exclaimed.
Thrilled with the excitement of the ride, she then smiled at him unaffectedly, her eyes seeming to reflect the sunshine.
And next provocatively she was challenging him,
“You realise you are trespassing, my Lord.”
“On the contrary,” he replied, “you are the trespasser.”
“This land has belonged to The Priory since the reign of Henry VIII,” she retorted.
“That is your claim, although I do not admit it,” he replied. “But as a matter of fact from tomorrow it will be mine indisputably.”
She glanced at him quickly.
“Uncle Roderick has given it to you?” she asked and added almost disdainfully, “A most generous payment surely for such small services as you have been able to render him.”
“You are trying to provoke me,” Lord Melburne said in an amused voice. “Stop being a little tiger cat and let me compliment you, Miss Vernon, on the way you ride. I have seldom seen a female with a better seat.”
Just for a moment he knew that she was pleased by his words. Then, as if the barrier that she had erected between them fell once more into place, she replied coldly,
“I have no need of your approval, my Lord. I understand that you will be calling on my uncle this afternoon. He is looking forward to your visit.”
She had moved away almost before she had finished speaking and, riding over the grass, disappeared between the trees in the direction of The Priory.
Lord Melburne sat for a moment on his horse looking after her, a smile on his lips.
And yet it was still irritating as he rode back to Melburne to wonder, as he had already wondered a hundred times, what exactly she had against him.
It was impossible for her, living the quiet life that she had lived here at The Priory, to have come in contact with any of the ladies of Society whose favours he had enjoyed.
What was more, he could not imagine that any of them, considering the high position they graced, would be likely to confide in a country girl, who as far as he could ascertain had never left the peace and security that surrounded The Priory.
He had learnt from Sir Roderick that Clarinda was just nineteen. She had been at The Priory for four years. During that time he was almost certain that she had taken little part in any social life, even in the County, let alone the fashionable Society to be found in London.
Lord Melburne had also learnt something else in his talk with Sir Roderick. Like many elderly people. Sir Roderick had become obsessed with money. He was a rich man, but he could not bear to spend anything except on his beloved estate.
That accounted, of course, for the threadbare condition of the furnishings in the house and the fact that Clarinda was quite obviously in need of a new wardrobe.
Lord Melburne, who had more understanding of human nature than he gave himself credit for, knew that elderly people usually ended up either crazily over-generous or cheese-paring with every penny.
Sir Roderick belonged to the second category with the result that, if indeed he finally left everything to Clarinda, as he intended to do, she would, although doubtless penniless at the moment, be a very considerable heiress.
There were, Lord Melburne thought soberly, a great many problems to be solved. While he pandered to Sir Roderick’s obsession that the two estates should be joined in one and that a Melburne should marry a Vernon, he was well aware that the old man’s desire to provide for Clarinda took very second place to his anxiety about his lands.
He could not bear to think of the estate not being kept in good condition or not being cared for as he cared for it with his whole heart. He would fight for the Priory Estate with his dying breath and Clarinda was only subsidiary to his main objective.
‘I wonder what will become of her?’ Lord Melburne asked himself and then shrugged his shoulders.
When Sir Roderick died, it would no longer be any of his business and she certainly would not turn to him for advice. Equally he could not help feeling that Nicholas Vernon was not going to take this in good part.
In other circumstances the sensible course would be for him to be married to his father’s adopted niece. There was no blood relationship between them. Yet from all Lord Melburne had learnt of Nicholas’s activities, he would not wish him as a husband for any woman, least of all the exquisite unsophisticated Clarinda.
As he rode back through the Park, he found himself thinking how lovely Clarinda would look if she was dressed in the height of fashion. He was ready to wager that there was not an ‘Incomparable’ in the whole of St. James’s who could hold a candle to her.
Even the acclaimed beauty of Lady Romayne would seem hard and even coarse beside the fragility of that small pointed face and the translucence of that clear white skin.
“Lovely and a great heiress!” Lord Melburne said aloud and wondered once again what the devil would happen to her in the futu
re.
Major Foster was waiting at the house with a sheaf of farming statistics.
Lord Melburne put them aside.
“Any more news?” he asked and they both knew what he was referring too.
“I went to call on the Vicar last night,” Major Foster replied. “He told me that Simple Sarah is so distraught at the loss of her child that there is talk of her having to be restrained in an asylum.”
“Wretched creature,” Lord Melburne expostulated. “At the same time I can hardly credit that Nicholas, who after all was born a gentleman, could really sink to such a deed of horror.”
“I cannot help feeling that myself,” Major Foster agreed. “I also made some enquiries, my Lord, about that odd man we talked to at Dene’s Farm. The Vicar tells me he has reason to believe that his name is ‘Thornton’ and that he is in fact a Parson.”
“Why does the Vicar think that?” Lord Melburne asked.
“Apparently there was some scandal three years ago at a Parish near Beaconsfield. The villagers rose in protest and the Parish Priest disappeared. The Vicar, who is quite astute, says the tenant at Dene’s Farm does bear a distinct resemblance to the description of the banished Cleric.”
“That is another thing we must prove,” Lord Melburne said. “The Vicar is guessing. It may be an accurate guess, but it is not evidence, as you well know, Foster.”
“No, my Lord, and I shall continue to make further enquiries.”
“I hope you will,” Lord Melburne answered.
There were many other subjects to speak about and Lord Melburne was quite surprised when luncheon was announced.
After he had eaten well, finding the food surprisingly good when he had thought that his French chef in London would have spoilt him for any other cooking, he went up the stairs to change his clothes.
His phaeton was waiting and he drove towards The Priory in a pleasant state of amused anticipation and an inner satisfaction that might have had something to do with the excellence of the claret that he had consumed at luncheon.
He did not hurry his horses, finding the sunshine pleasant and looking around him at the growing crops. He thought that the woods on the Priory Estate would make excellent cover for nesting pheasants and wondered what the partridge shooting would be like in the autumn.
There would also be partridge shooting at Melburne and he was wondering whether the Prince of Wales would like to be his guest as he drew up briskly outside The Priory.
As he did so, he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs behind him and, turning his head in surprise, saw an elegant coach tooled by a smartly liveried coachman coming down the drive behind him.
He thought he recognised the livery, but was convinced that he must be mistaken until, as the coach drew level with him, a lovely familiar face appeared at the lowered window.
“Good afternoon, Buck,” Lady Romayne exclaimed and waited for her footman to open the carriage door.
Lord Melburne, in a state of near stupefaction, threw the reins to his groom and jumped down from the high phaeton in time to assist her Ladyship to alight.
“My dear Romayne,” he said, raising her fingers to his lips, “what in the name of Jupiter are you doing here?”
“I thought you would be surprised to see me,” she answered. “But did you really think that I was not curious to hear what was afoot?”
“Curious about what?” he enquired.
“Now really, Buck, that is doing it too brown!” she replied with a little flirtatious glance over her shoulder as she walked towards the front door. “I arrived at Melburne just after you had left and I then recalled that Sir Roderick Vernon was an old beau of my Mama’s. I visited here once many years ago when I was a child. I am certain he will not have forgotten me.”
“Sir Roderick is very ill, in fact he is dying,” Lord Melburne said. “But you have not yet explained to me, Romayne, why you should post down from London in this unexpected and impetuous manner.”
She looked at him and her eyes narrowed for a moment.
“Did you really expect me to do anything else,” she asked and her voice was hard, “with Nicholas Vernon proclaiming far and wide that you have become affianced to some unknown female called ‘Clarinda’?”
Lord Melburne was silent. He was remembering the listening footman who had set off immediately towards London after his first visit to Sir Roderick. Of course Clarinda had been right. The man had gone in search of Nicholas and related to him all that he had overheard. Now Nicholas Vernon, as he had always anticipated, intended to make trouble.
But what could he say to Lady Romayne?
“I do think, dear Buck, that you might have told me,” she was saying wistfully in a soft seductive voice.
He knew her too well not to know that she was seething with anger beneath the apparent gentleness of her words.
“Now listen, Romayne,” he said. “As I have already said, Sir Roderick is on the point of death. Go back to Melburne and wait for me there. I will join you in a short time and try to give you a reasonable explanation.”
Even as he said the words, Lord Melburne thought with a rising anger that he was going to be hard put to find any explanation let alone a reasonable one.
When he had been forced by Clarinda into this intolerable position, he had not for one moment imagined that the pretended betrothal would be known outside the immediate parties concerned or indeed beyond the gates of The Priory.
With Nicholas babbling about it in London, with Lady Romayne posting to Melburne to make trouble and to find himself at the moment without any explanation for his behaviour was to make Lord Melburne feel a surge of fury towards the author of this nonsensical tangle.
It was all Clarinda’s fault, damn her! If she had wanted him to enact the Cheltenham Dramatics, she should have arranged things better.
There should not have been a footman listening outside the door and Nicholas Vernon behaving in what he had to admit was a quite predictable manner.
“Wait for me at Melburne,” he said to Lady Romayne and it was a command that he knew almost as he said it that she had no intention of obeying.
“I must see this young woman who is to be my new relative,” she said. “Why, dear Buck, must you be so secretive? After all you are my cousin. And Miss Clarinda Vernon, whoever she may be, will therefore be a cousin by marriage. Besides I am extremely interested to see her and find out how she has managed to capture your interest so quickly.”
Lady Romayne was no fool, as Lord Melburne knew. She was not going to be deceived into thinking that this was a case of love at first sight.
She was well aware that there must be some reason behind the tale that he was betrothed and God knows what Nicholas Vernon may have said.
There was nothing else he could do so he said in an ungracious voice,
“Very well, if that be your wish, come and meet Miss Vernon, although I can assure you, Romayne, there is no reason for you to meddle in my affairs at this stage.”
“So have I ever meddled?” she asked softly. “All I have ever desired, my most beloved cousin, has been your happiness.”
The fact that she assumed that his happiness still lay with her remained unspoken, but the intention was very obvious as she laid one white hand upon his arm and turned her beautiful face up to his.
Dressed in the height of fashion, her high-crowned bonnet covered with nodding plumes, with the latest Empireline dress beneath her pelisse showing off the curves of her exquisite figure, it was hard to imagine that anyone could be more enticing.
And yet Lord Melburne’s eyes were hard as he led the way into the salon.
The room was empty and Lord Melburne, followed by Lady Romayne, walked across the room and out of the French windows onto the terrace, where there was a pervading scent of roses and honeysuckle and the sunshine was warm on their faces.
With a sudden feeling of utter amazement Lord Melburne saw Clarinda standing in the centre of the Rose Garden.
She was not alone.
Julien Wilsdon was with her and he had his arms round her, holding her closely against him, his head bent towards hers.
For a moment Lord Melburne stood completely motionless as Lady Romayne gave an amused laugh.
“Poor Buck!” she said, “it appears that already, so soon after your betrothal, you must look to your laurels.”
At the sound of her voice, Julien Wilsdon and Clarinda started apart guiltily.
Then, as Julien Wilsdon stared at Lord Melburne, Clarinda, with a little cry like that of a frightened child, turned round and ran from the Rose Garden over the lawn and disappeared behind a clump of lilac bushes.
Just for a moment Lord Melburne hesitated, until without a word to Lady Romayne he turned and walked swiftly after Clarinda.
He had no idea where she had gone, but, as he rounded the lilac bushes behind which she had disappeared, he found a path and, moving along it, his chin set square, his mouth in a hard line, he found her standing outside a rose-covered arbour, in front of which was a small weather-beaten sundial.
He walked up to her and saw that she was still breathing quickly from the speed she had run at. He looked down at her and before she could speak he put out his hands and gripped her by the shoulders.
“How dare you!” he stormed and there was no doubt that he was extremely angry. “How dare you make a fool of me! You ask me to take part in some hair-brained scheme to help your poor uncle and then you insult me by flaunting your lover not only in front of me but in front of my friends.”
He was so angry that he shook her and the violence of his action tumbled the red-gold curls around her cheeks.
“You have been rude enough to me by all counts,” he said. “I imagined that there was some moral reason for your dislike of me, but now from your own behaviour I doubt it.”
He shook her again and as he did so, angry though he was, he realised how incredibly lovely she was with her eyes looking up at him in surprise, her lips parted and a flush in her pale cheeks.
Then brutally, because he was so incensed, he swept her into his arms.
The Irresistible Buck Page 5
