by Dorothy Mack
Lady Sophronia informed her daughter at lunch that she had had a syrup for the relief of a persistent catarrh brewed in the still room for Nanny Higgins, and that she would be obliged if Coralee would deliver it with her compliments that afternoon to the old nurse, who lived in a cottage at the edge of the village.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible today, Mama. George and Malcolm have arranged to take Miss Delevan and me riding this afternoon.”
“You may ride in the direction of the village as well as not,” replied Lady Sophronia.
“Unfortunately, we plan to ride in the opposite direction to the village. George has promised to show us the new foal that was born at the manor the other night.” Coralee glanced over at her cousin. “Gemma cannot ride yet. Why can she not take the syrup to Nanny?”
“If Gemma cannot ride yet, she certainly can’t walk that distance.” Lady Sophronia frowned at her daughter.
“I don’t propose to walk,” said Gemma, entering the discussion at the first opportunity. “If you wish Nanny to have the syrup today, Aunt, I will take the gig — that way the wretched ankle need not be subjected to the strain of walking or riding.”
“If I may be permitted to accompany you,” put in John with a smile, “I will answer to Lady Sophronia that you do not endanger your recovery in any way.”
Gemma wrinkled her straight little nose adorably. “I don’t need a driver or a guard dog, but I shall be glad of the company,” she finished, softening the effect of her first statement.
Coralee turned her beautiful eyes half-accusingly on John. “Did I not hear you tell George that you’d like to see the foal also, Mr. Delevan?”
“Yes, but I didn’t say when I’d ride over to the manor. Perhaps in two or three days Lady Gemma will be able to take Fleurette out again. The foal will have enough admirers today with you and Lucy cooing over it.” John’s tranquil smile brought a minimal response from Coralee, who was always averse to seeing a member of her court slip away.
The sprightly bay mare harnessed to the gig seemed to be as ready to enjoy an outing as Lady Gemma was. She tossed her head and nuzzled the hand patting her smooth nose.
“What a perfect day, and what a delight to be locomoting on my own, even if my foot will only fit in Coralee’s old sandal,” enthused the radiant girl, accepting John’s help in ascending the seat with a care to the foot in question.
“Are you always this uplifted when performing a good deed?” he asked, quizzing her with wicked blue eyes.
“This is not a good deed, this is blessed freedom! I shall drive,” she stated firmly in case he should have other ideas. “You signed on this cruise as a passenger, sir. You needn’t fear I’ll spill you into a ditch, though. I have been told that I am a competent whip.”
Small capable hands gathered in the reins and accepted the whip from the patient groom who had brought the gig around to the side entrance. She thanked him and off they moved toward the avenue leading to the main gates on the lane. John angled himself so he could watch the delicately made girl beside him handle the reins as though it were second nature to her.
They took the turn in style and headed at a steady pace down the lane in the direction of the village. Only the profile beneath a chip-straw hat was visible to him as she concentrated on her driving, but he had no complaints to make. One feathered brow, a charming nose that just escaped an upward tilt, inviting rosy lips, a firm rounded chin that didn’t reveal the cleft from this angle, and one deliciously curved earlobe beneath dark ringlets added up to an enchanting vision, the contemplation of which filled him with sheer joy.
She turned and caught him staring. Both brows arced upward. “You cannot really fear I’ll overturn us in a gig,” she exclaimed.
“Of course not.”
The feathery arcs descended to a straight line as she frowned. “Oh. Well, you were staring at me so intently as if wondering whether you were safe.”
“The danger is not that you’ll overturn me.”
“Oh? What is the danger, then?” she asked innocently — too innocently.
He could see the dimple in her cheek struggling to surface and felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. So far she had shown no disposition to flirt with him, or with anyone, for that matter. He said, whether to disconcert her or test her he could not be sure, “The danger is not to my limbs but to my heart.”
She pursed her lips together and nodded wisely. “I have heard of people dying of fright. Their hearts just stop beating.”
The minx! “You are a very difficult girl to flirt with,” he complained mildly.
She gave him one of her direct looks. “Do you wish to flirt with me?”
“No, not really,” he replied upon consideration, returning her look with an unusually serious one of his own. “I’d just like us to be happy together today.”
“We always are,” was the startling response, but before he could search her face for any deeper meaning, she had returned her attention to the horse, and her next remark was on a neutral subject.
The lovely summer day and the exclusive company of the most entrancing girl in the world combined to produce a sense of wellbeing and contentment in John. He would have been satisfied never to reach their destination, but all too soon they pulled up before a tiny slate-roofed cottage set behind a rather weedy collection of flowers lining the dilapidated fence that had a gap but no gate leading onto a flagged path. John jumped down and tied up the mare, devoutly hoping no frisky movement on her part would pull down the whole fence. Turning back, he was just in time to prevent his companion from jumping down from the gig unassisted. She looked guilty at his exclamation.
“I forgot about the foot; it feels so much better,” she offered in extenuation of this injudicious move.
“If you wish to dance at this ball next week, you will control your unfortunate and unnatural inclination to do everything for yourself and permit others to wait upon you,” he advised sternly as he lifted her down from the seat, marvelling anew as he did so at the delicate smallness that could contain such boundless energy and vitality. His hands spanned her waist perfectly and he loosed them with reluctance.
“What is so unnatural about wishing to do things for myself?”
“Females are raised to expect men to assist them — that is, females of your class,” he amended hastily as a strapping young woman carrying two heavy pails of water entered the cottage across the street.
“Pooh! What does such a female do, pray, when there is no man around? Sit there unmoving like a log until rescue comes? What a ridiculous waste of time! I am not so feeble,” she declared with perfect truth, reaching back into the gig for the basket before he could retrieve it for her.
“Shall I wait for you here?” he asked as she started up the path.
“If you would not mind coming inside for a minute, Nanny will love meeting you. She has been very lonely since her brother died. She kept house for him here after we left the nursery and doesn’t wish to leave the cottage now, but it gets lonely for her sometimes, though the neighbours are good to her.”
It was very dim coming inside from the bright sunlight, and his eyes were a time adjusting to the gloom, but Gemma went unerringly forward to the shawl-wrapped figure stirring in the chair. John felt he had never encountered anyone as old as the wizened form that greeted them from a rocking chair near the fireplace.
“Is that you, my love, come to see old Nanny? I heard tell you had an accident in Bath and couldn’t walk a step,” the old woman said in robust tones that, coming from such a shrunken figure, startled Mr. Delevan. It told him something about the speed and efficiency of village gossip as well.
“It was nothing, Nanny, merely a sprained ankle that’s all better now,” explained Gemma, leaning down to kiss a withered cheek. “I have brought a syrup for your cough from Aunt Sophronia.” She placed the basket in Nanny’s lap.
A rumble of laughter shook the black-clad form, ending in a hacking cough. When she retrieved her voice, t
he old lady said, “Eh, she was ever a one for brewing possets and cures, her ladyship was, but thank her kindly for me, my love. She was a good girl, Lady Sophronia was, never gave me a moment’s worry, not like Master Ernest, now. I well remember how he would —”
“I have brought someone to meet you, Nanny,” said Gemma, cutting off the old nurse’s reminiscences of the duke before they should prove embarrassing. John stepped forward. “This is Mr. Delevan, who is visiting us this summer.”
John made his best bow and found himself being studied by two bright dark eyes, sunken in their sockets but decidedly alert for all that. “I am very pleased to meet you, Nanny Higgins,” he said, returning her gaze with interest.
“You won’t get round me with that sauce, young man. Why would anyone want to meet an old worricrow like me?”
Not in the least disconcerted by this attack on his veracity, John replied, “I am happy to know any friend of Lady Gemma’s, ma’am, and I understand you to be her oldest friend.”
The crone looked rather pleased by this refusal to knuckle under. “Harrumph, you’ve a mighty smooth tongue, I’ll say that for you. Isn’t your sister staying at the hall too?”
“Yes, Nanny,” confirmed her former nurseling. “Lucy would have come with me today, but she was engaged to ride with Coralee and the Godwins.”
“And why are you not out riding too? Why do you waste time on a useless old woman?”
“I can’t get a boot on my foot yet, and you’ve never complained about my visiting you before. Don’t you like me to come?” teased Gemma gently.
One claw-like hand waved away this irrelevance. “So that pert piece is up at the hall too, is she? And still determined to take anything that belongs to you for her own, I’ll be bound.”
Neither of her listeners was in any doubt as to where this slighting reference was aimed.
“Coralee and I get along fine now, Nanny,” said Lady Gemma.
“Then she must have altered for the better since last I saw her.” Shrewd snapping eyes captured Mr. Delevan’s. “Has she?”
“Miss Fairmont is a very amiable young woman,” he replied smoothly.
“I hear she has turned into a diamond of the first water. Is that true?” probed the old woman.
“I believe you would have to agree with common opinion that holds Miss Fairmont to be a beautiful young lady.” Mr. Delevan was at his blandest. The woman studying him was clearly dissatisfied.
“Do you share this common opinion?”
“Yes, certainly I do.”
His inquisitor changed tactics. “I have heard that Coralee’s beauty casts Gemma here into the shade. Is that also true?”
“Nanny!” protested the girl. “You are embarrassing Mr. Delevan!”
John relented. Smiling into the intent eyes fixed unwaveringly on his face, he said simply, “No one could ever cast Lady Gemma into the shade, Nanny Higgins.”
He was rewarded with a toothless smile. The little figure in the rocker relaxed against the backrest and set the chair in motion again. In the silence that greeted John’s declaration, she opened the basket on her lap. “Oh, grapes! Thank you, my love, they’re beautiful.”
“They were always your favourites,” babbled Gemma, eager to get the conversation on another track. “These are the first of the season from Papa’s succession house. Shall I put these things on the table for you?”
“Yes, do.” The old woman gave up the basket and closed her eyes, thereby intensifying the image of great age. One forgot it for a time when she was speaking and those lively eyes were interrogating her audience.
Gemma came back and stooped to kiss her once more. “I hope we haven’t tired you too much, Nanny. Will Flossie be in later with your supper?”
“Yes, she’s a good girl, Flossie.”
“I’ll bring Lucy to see you next time, shall I?” asked Gemma, preparing to depart.
“If you like, and you may bring your young man again too.”
Almost to the door, Gemma stopped so suddenly John nearly bumped into her. Avoiding his laughing eyes, she corrected Nanny Higgins firmly. “Mr. Delevan is not my young man, Nanny. He is my father’s guest.”
A raspy chuckle floated over to them from the creaking chair. “Does he know that?” inquired Nanny Higgins.
She was allowed the last word as Gemma was making a dignified exit. John turned for a farewell smile in his champion’s direction before following his hostess out into the sunshine once more. He was careful to school his features to impassivity, and after a quick look, Gemma decided not to pursue so awkward a subject even if it meant allowing him to come away with mistaken ideas.
John was about to hand her up into the gig when a tiny child lurched across the street crying, “Lady! Lady!”
His companion waited to admire the unsteady progress, then bent down to scoop the child up into her arms. “Hallo, sweetheart, have you a kiss for me today?” A smacking kiss was delivered to her cheek as two tiny arms wrapped themselves around her neck.
Lady Gemma turned so her escort could see the slightly grimy but sparkling face of the little girl. “This is Hannah. Her mother, Flossie, used to be my maid until she married Tim Evans. They live in that cottage on the other side of the street, and Hannah should not have come across by herself. You know that, Hannah,” reminded Gemma, holding the child off for a moment to look sternly at her.
“I saw Lady,” piped up the unrepentant imp.
“Yes, I know, but next time you call to me and I’ll come to see you. Do you understand, Hannah?”
A vigorous nod of red curls attested to the fact that Hannah understood.
“Will you say good afternoon to Mr. Delevan, Hannah?” The red curls were presented to John as the child sought the safety of Lady Gemma’s neck in a rush of shyness. “If you hide like a silly baby, Mr. Delevan will think you do not like him and he will feel hurt. You don’t wish to hurt his feelings, do you?” The curls vibrated again with a negative shake. “Then come say hallo,” coaxed Lady Gemma.
Two green eyes peeked shyly at him as Hannah compromised with a smile to return his greeting. Lady Gemma shifted her burden slightly, and Mr. Delevan took the child from her before either party could protest.
“She’s too heavy for you at present. You must rest your foot. Hannah won’t mind if I carry her home to her mother, will you, Hannah?”
Fortunately, since the little girl showed every inclination to protest the abduction, her mother appeared in the doorway at that moment and came hurrying across the street to them.
Flossie Evans dropped a curtsy to Mr. Delevan on being presented by her former mistress, and she relieved him of her squirming daughter. They exchanged a few civilities while John helped Gemma mount into the gig to get her off her feet. Unlike Nanny Higgins, who took full advantage of her venerable years to speak her mind, Mrs. Evans made no reference to Mr. Delevan as Lady Gemma’s young man, but her thorough inspection of his person left him in no doubt that she’d recognize him the next time he crossed her path. He bore the scrutiny with his usual calm demeanour and bade the woman a civil farewell in due course.
As they headed back toward the hall at a spanking pace, Gemma glanced over to her passenger to thank him for accompanying her on her errand.
“No need to thank me; it was my pleasure.”
“Thank you, you are very obliging, but I daresay this has been the most boring afternoon you have thus far spent in Wiltshire.”
“Then you would be wrong,” John said quietly. “I have not been at all bored. In fact, I cannot conceive of being bored in your company.”
She was slightly shaken by the unmistakable sincerity in his tones but strove to keep the atmosphere light. “Vastly prettily spoken, sir, thank you. I promise that our next outing will be more to your taste.”
She changed the subject to some impersonal topic, and he willingly followed her lead for the remainder of the short ride home. When he had assisted her down at the entrance to the old wing, so she could ret
ire to put off her bonnet and gloves before tea, however, he reverted to their earlier conversation. As she thanked him for taking charge of the gig, he fixed her eyes with a speaking look and said softly, “I meant every word I said, little one.”
“Th-thank you,” she stammered with downcast eyes, and fled into the house.
John whistled softly and cheerfully as he returned the gig to the stables. Today marked the first occasion on which he had had Gemma to himself for more than a few moments, and he congratulated himself that she had been content to have it so. At no time this afternoon had he felt that he was merely a substitute for George Godwin. On the other hand, he reminded the impatient lover who inhabited his placid form as he made his slow way back to the main house, Gemma’s spirits, depressed since that horse race, had been much improved of late, and he could not claim any credit for the transformation. He could only hope that this upswing was not entirely due to the increasing devotion of her captain. Although his confidence was not of a very high order, it would not do to despair entirely.
There were two irrefutable facts in the hazy situation in which he found himself. One was that Captain Godwin did not love Gemma, and the other was that the duke would not countenance a marriage were the captain to seek his consent to pay his addresses. Neither of these factors furthered his own suit, of course, and much as he desired Gemma for his wife, he would not be a party to any coercion. She must come to him willingly.
By the time he entered the house, all inclination to whistle had left him.
CHAPTER 13
At dinner that evening, the conversation touched as usual on the activities engaged in by various members of the house party. Lady Sophronia subjected her niece to a catalogue of questions on the exact state of Nanny Higgins’ health and spirits, all of which Gemma responded to with exemplary patience before her ladyship dismissed her, thanking her almost as an afterthought for carrying out the errand of mercy.
Lucy in her turn was unexpectedly voluble on the subject of the Godwins’ new foal. “He is the dearest, most perfect little creature imaginable,” she announced to the company at large, going on to detail the foal’s many outstanding attributes.
