ROSALIND: A Regency Romance (Bachelor Brides, Book 1)

by Jenny Hambly

“No, no, I was referring to his teaching her to drive. I do not think he is serious in his intentions, merely enjoying a light flirtation, you know. I think he is a trifle piqued that she shows no interest in him, I have experienced that sensation myself. Have you not noticed that any attempt at engaging her in playful flirtation leads to her withdrawing into her shell?”

  Lord Atherton looked rather haughty. “As I have not attempted to flirt with her, I wouldn’t know. We are more likely to come to cuffs you know.”

  His friend grinned. “Yes, I had noticed. Let’s just say I’m not ready to be caught by any of the fairer sex yet, even if they are as alluring as Lady Rosalind. I feel there are one or two adventures left in me yet.”

  “Feeling restless, Philip?” Lord Atherton smiled. “Always, my dear fellow, always.”

  Chapter 8

  Rosalind proved to be an apt pupil. She was quick to pick up the gist of Lord Preeve’s sometimes somewhat disjointed instructions but her affinity with horses and her natural co-ordination stood her in good stead, as did her determination to prove to Lord Atherton that she was safe to drive his curricle.

  It was barely three days before she had convinced her tutor that she was ready. Lord Preeve very quickly found himself at home with Lady Rosalind, he enjoyed her company, especially as he soon realised he wasn’t expected to do the pretty. In fact, he discovered she was quite as likely to laugh at his compliments as to be thrown into maidenly confusion.

  He was relieved to have his dignity restored when they graduated to the curricle. After half an hour or so tooling around the countryside he allowed her to take the reins; as they passed no other vehicles and only one solitary person on foot on the way back, this excursion proved not too alarming, although he did feel obliged to curb her pace as they swung through the gates into the park.

  He was just silently congratulating himself on avoiding any potentially embarrassing situations when Lady Rosalind came to a sudden halt by the home wood.

  “Is aught amiss?” he asked, surprised.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied quietly. “Listen, can you hear anything?”

  Lord Preeve dutifully listened. “I th-think I c-can hear a cat,” he finally deduced.

  “No, that’s not a cat, not unless they can whimper! It’s a child!” she said, throwing the reins at him and jumping down from the curricle immediately.

  Lord Preeve was not used to the young ladies of his acquaintance being able to step down from a carriage unaided, never mind leaping from a curricle (thank heavens it wasn’t the high perch phaeton), and so was thrown off balance.

  “L-lady Rosalind whatever c-can you mean to d- do?” he said uneasily, suddenly remembering the highwayman.

  “Find him, of course,” she threw back over her shoulder somewhat impatiently. All feelings of self-congratulation fled as he observed her climbing onto the fence that separated the park from the home wood. He had a horrible vision of her falling but as there was no-one to hold the horses and Atherton wouldn’t thank him if they bolted back to the stables; he found himself helpless. He closed his eyes in a silent prayer as she balanced precariously on top of the fence before grasping the nearest tree. Slowly, he let out a sigh of relief. It was premature.

  “Harry is that you?” she called, craning her neck so she could look up into the tree.

  “I’m up here,” came a very small voice and a tear- stained, grubby face peeped out from between the branches about half way up.

  “Uncle G-George made me promise not to talk to any strangers I saw and there was this man with a face like a scrunched up muffin, so I climbed up but, Lady Rosalind, it’s so very high and I can’t get back down again.”

  “Don’t worry, Harry, I’m coming to get you,” she said calmly, swinging herself up onto the nearest branch.

  “L-lady Rosalind, c-come down I b-beg of you,” groaned Lord Preeve, seriously alarmed. “We can get someone from the house to h-help!”

  But even as he spoke she had almost reached Harry. She stopped on the branch below him. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Harry, but I want you to give me your hand and slide down next to me,” she coaxed gently. “You don’t want George to think you were a scaredy cat now do you?”

  That did the trick and in a very few moments he was on the branch beside her.

  “That’s my brave boy,” she said encouragingly. “I’m going to go ahead to the next branch and then we will do the same again, do you think you can manage that?”

  Harry nodded, wiping away his tears with his sleeve.

  They had just reached the bottom branch when hoof beats were heard coming down the avenue, and Lord Atherton came into sight. He pulled up beside the curricle and followed Lord Preeve’s rather stunned gaze.

  “I tried to s-stop her, G-George...” he began.

  “I don’t doubt you, John,” he said in a resigned voice.

  “Uncle George,” cried Harry thankfully. “I was hiding from the stranger like you told me to and I got stuck in this stupid tree. But I have been brave, haven’t I Lady Rosalind?”

  “Very brave,” she smiled.

  “Lady Rosalind is a really good climber, even though she’s only a girl,” he informed him.

  Lord Atherton dismounted swiftly and tied his horse to the fence. “So I see. Lady Rosalind, you will pass him down to me and then wait for me to help you,” he said tersely.

  She obeyed the first request but had already dropped down onto the fence by the time he had put Harry safely down. Turning back to her, he grabbed her firmly around the waist and swung her around, holding her for a moment before letting her go.

  It was a strange feeling to have his hands span her waist and she felt the colour rise to her face and her heart beat rather faster at the intimacy. Expecting a rake down, she was surprised when he merely bowed and thanked her before handing her back up into the curricle.

  He took Harry up before him much to that little boy’s delight.

  “Thank you Lady Rosalind,” he called cheerfully as they set off towards the house.

  “I hope I haven’t shocked you,” Rosalind said to an unusually quiet Lord Preeve as they followed in the curricle.

  “N-no, just w-worried me a little. Not at all the th-thing for you to b-be climbing t-trees though you know,” he advised her kindly.

  “Well no, of course not but the thing is,” she confided, “I climbed a lot when I was a child and Harry looked so scared I had to help him.”

  Lord Preeve patted her hand almost paternally. “I’ll t-tell you what it is, you’ve got a dashed k-kind heart.”

  Whilst this episode did not lessen his admiration for Lady Rosalind or his appreciation of her aptitude as a pupil, it did make him a trifle uneasy as to what adventures their future drives might include if her compassion was stirred.

  Rosalind went straight to her room and after changing out of her carriage dress, sat down on her bed with her sketchpad. Harry’s description of the stranger as having a face like a scrunched up muffin had not escaped her, nor did it seem incomprehensible to her. In fact, it had struck a chord, for the only person they had passed on their drive was a solitary man on foot. She had glanced at him and had been struck by his face. She had no trouble sketching it; he had a round face, rough and wrinkled with small button eyes, his nose had been wide and rather squashed, as if he had been unfortunate enough to be punched there on more than one occasion. He had been wearing a rather worn felt hat with a flat brim, a short black coat and a red neckerchief.

  She found Harry enjoying a hearty luncheon in the nursery and happily investing his adventure with sinister overtones as he described it to his little brother, more often than not with his mouth full.

  “He doesn’t sound very scary,” George said thoughtfully. “You said he had a face like a muffin, muffins aren’t scary.”

  “They are when someone’s face looks like one, you would have run home as fast as you could if you had seen him!”

  George nodded in agreement. “That woul
d have been more sensible than getting stuck up a tree and having to be rescued by a lady!”

  Rosalind, who had entered the room quietly behind the boys, shared an amused glance with their long-suffering nurse before intervening, as judging by the way Harry was rolling his bread and butter into a ball, the argument was about to descend into a food fight.

  “No, George, I am not a boy, although I often used to pretend I was when I was younger and that is why I am quite good at doing the things boys usually do.”

  They had both turned round a trifle sheepishly but this comment interested them deeply.

  “Why didn’t you want to be a girl?” they asked in unison.

  She found herself being regarded by two pairs of almost identical, questioning hazel eyes and for a moment was at a loss how best to answer them, then she offered them a grin. “Would you rather be fishing, climbing, riding or sewing samplers?”

  Harry accepted this but George was harder to satisfy. “But you’re s’posed to like sewing and stuff,” he persisted. “Besides, you’re too pretty to act like a boy, isn’t she Uncle George?”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling disturbingly at Rosalind as she whirled around in surprise, “far too pretty.”

  Colour suffused her face at the compliment whilst the boys watched with interest.

  “I came to ask Harry about the man he saw,” she said, changing the subject firmly.

  “So did I as a matter of fact,” replied Lord Atherton, turning to his nephew. “Now you have had time to recover from your adventure, Harry, perhaps you can tell me what he was doing or where he was coming from before you climbed the tree?”

  Harry thought about it for a moment. “I was chasing a rabbit,” he said slowly, “so I wasn’t on the path. I was kneeling by the hole it had disappeared into when I heard someone whistling, so I stayed quiet until he had passed and then climbed the tree in case he came back.”

  “And did he?”

  “Yes, a few minutes later, but I don’t know what he was doing.”

  “Did he see you?” asked Lord Atherton.

  Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Rosalind opened her sketchbook and showed Harry the sketch. “Was this him?”

  Harry nodded, looking astounded.

  “You’re right, Harry,” said his brother fairly, “he has got a face like a squashed muffin!”

  “I told you he had!” said his brother, flicking a small bread and butter ball at him.

  “But I still don’t think the muffin man looks scary,” challenged George, casually wiping away the smear of butter on his cheek.

  Lord Atherton had the presence of mind to withdraw with the re-opening of hostilities, taking Rosalind with him. He took her to his study to take a closer look at her sketch.

  “Where did you see him?” he asked quietly.

  Rosalind looked frustrated. “I don’t know the area well enough to describe where but I could show you.”

  She had promised Belle she would ride with her that afternoon and she looked a little put out when she discovered her brother was to accompany them, suspecting him of wanting to keep an eye on her. But when she discovered Sir Philip was also to be of the party, she came out of the sulks.

  They made the small market town of Shadbury their destination, and had not gone far down the country lanes when Rosalind slowed down looking carefully about her.

  “Yes, it was about here I saw him,” she said in a low voice to Lord Atherton. “But I don’t think the information is going to be of much use to you,” she added in a dismayed voice.

  Just ahead of them was a crossroads, to the left the signpost indicated the narrow road ran towards Astley village, the one to the right leading to a hamlet named Lade. “He could have been going in any one of three directions,” she mused.

  Lord Atherton nodded. “Yes, but at least it gives us a starting point.”

  “What do you think he was up to?” Rosalind asked.

  Lord Atherton shrugged. “Perhaps nothing. But I admit I would rather be sure of that and would ask you to keep your wits about you any time you leave the estate.”

  Shadbury was a very pleasant market town and it soon became clear that both Lord Atherton and Belle were well known and respected there. After exchanging greetings with several acquaintances, the party left their horses at the George and took a stroll through the main street. As Belle decided she would like to go in search of some new gloves the party split up, agreeing to meet back at the George in an hour.

  Belle enjoyed herself hugely, purchasing two pairs of gloves, a new reticule and a silk scarf. Belle’s assertion that they made a striking couple was surely borne out as the two young ladies attracted a lot of attention, but whereas Belle was happy to return a smile or flirt light-heartedly with any chance met acquaintance, Rosalind tried to melt into the background. She found herself looking over her shoulder more than once as an irrational feeling they were being followed refused to be shaken.

  As they approached the George they perceived Lord Atherton in close conversation with a beautiful young lady in a very smart barouche. Rosalind found herself being nudged in the ribs before Belle leaned in towards her.

  “That is Miss Letitia Grey, she’s the daughter of Sir Peter Grey, a local baronet, and she has wanted to sink her claws into dear George, forever! Fortunately, she has had no luck in attracting more than polite interest so far, for she is a spiteful little cat who thinks far too much of herself.”

  As they came up to the barouche, Rosalind found herself being closely scrutinised by a pair of hard blue eyes and the small smile that curved the little prim bow mouth certainly didn’t reach them.

  “How delightful to see you, Belle,” she said unconvincingly, “if I had known you were back I would have paid you a visit, however it sounds as if you have quite the houseful at the moment.” She gave a little titter, turning her eyes back towards Rosalind. “I must own that I am surprised your mother would be receiving visitors at such a time.”

  Belle gave her a sparkling smile but there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes. “Oh, but only very close family and friends, we are not receiving in the normal way you know. We feel ourselves very fortunate that Lady Rosalind could come to keep Mama company, for she has been like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day, hasn’t she George?”

  Seemingly getting into the spirit of things, George surprised Rosalind by bowing low over her hand and kissing it. “Indeed she has, she has brightened all our days at this sad time,” he confirmed, bestowing an intimate and disturbing smile on her.

  Even as Rosalind flushed up to the roots of her hair, Miss Grey suddenly remembered she must hurry back or her mama would wonder what had become of her. She had barely pulled away before Belle went into peals of laughter. “Well done, George, that gave her her own again!”

  Lord Atherton smiled crookedly at Belle. “It wasn’t well done of me, you heartless baggage, but I have enough to do at the moment without having to fend off Miss Grey’s less than subtle advances!”

  Although Rosalind was not quite happy to be part of this game, she was forced to swallow any impolite retort as at that moment, Sir Philip strode out of the inn to enquire if they were coming in before the tea had gone quite cold.

  “Some friend you are leaving me to the mercies of that man eater!” complained Lord Atherton.

  Sir Philip gave him an unrepentant grin. “You are unjust, my dear George, I merely considered myself de trop, her interests clearly lay elsewhere and I simply beat a graceful retreat!”

  “More like hasty retreat!” growled Lord Atherton.

  Whilst Belle happily regaled Rosalind with tales of the lengths some of the local ladies had over the years gone to, to attract her brother’s attentions, he drew Sir Philip to one side.

  “Any news, Philip?” “No-one saw anyone near Jenkin’s cottage but there is some talk of strangers being seen near the old lodge on the east side of the old Hadley estate.”

  “But that place is going to rack
and ruin, old Lord Hadley hates the country and barely steps out of his London house these days, in fact my father considered offering to buy it from him at one point as it marches next to our own land but when he saw the state of the place, decided it wasn’t worth the effort to bring it about again.”

  “Worth taking a look?” asked Sir Philip.

  “Yes, but it will have to wait until tomorrow, I have promised to look over the home farm this afternoon and I want to see how the repairs on Jenkin’s cottage are going.”

  Rosalind had enjoyed her excursion but still unused to always being surrounded by company, grabbed her paints and easel, quietly let herself out of a side door and made for the lake for some much needed solitude. After choosing her vantage point she sat for a few moments just drinking in the peace. Closing her eyes she let the gentle breeze wash over her face. She always tried to empty her mind before she began to draw or paint, it enabled her to gain the objectivity and creativity required to produce a work that would both represent the view but also imprint something of herself into it. Annoyingly, a dark, handsome face with eyes not unlike the sheen on the lake, kept intruding into the darkness. One moment it was all arrogance and annoyance, the next smiling and uncomfortably handsome. Although she knew he had only flirted to annoy Letitia Grey and probably embarrass her, it hadn’t stopped her heart missing a beat. Opening her eyes, she pushed herself to her feet and walked briskly to the edge of the lake. Picking up a small handful of stones she started throwing them in one at a time, punctuating each plop into the lake with a softly muttered utterance.

  “He is a gambler. He is arrogant. He criticizes when he should say thank you. He thinks he can have anyone for the click of his fingers. He thinks he always knows best. I will not think of him!”

  She watched until the ripples from the last stone dissipated and then nodded to herself, turned on her heel and marched back to her easel. Soon she became lost in concentration and hours flew by without her realising it. Finally she was satisfied, putting down her brush she planted her hands on her hips and leaned backwards to stretch out the back that still ached from heaving pitchers of water.