Amanda tittered and Mama gave a little puff of a laugh. Where they get this impression that I am rude or unfriendly, I can't imagine, but I decided to pay no heed to them. The first order of business was to discover what information I could on this provocative stranger. Robert's letter wasn't much help:
My dearest Mama,
This letter will introduce Sir John Meddows to you. John is a great friend of mine, and an excellent judge of horseflesh. I've asked him to look out a pair for me for my phaeton while he's in your area. He knew of the Overview stables, but not of Hinchly Farms, so he has a treat in store for himself. I've warned him not to let Catherine hoodwink him into buying her favorite animal, as she's done to me so many times!
And he should be grateful to me, the cad. I've never led him astray.
My best to you and my sisters. Your letters are always welcome, though I'm afraid I'm a poor correspondent myself. Perhaps I'll come down for opening day, but probably not. There's much better shooting at Chelverton. Your loving son,
Robert
It was still more than a month until shooting season began and we'd hoped Robert would come down for Public Day in mid-July. He'd never missed one before, but then, Papa had been alive for all the others. Last year's had been canceled because we were in mourning and I think all the neighbors and servants were looking forward to this one. I sighed and handed the letter back to Mama.
“Have you asked him about coming down for Public Day?” I asked.
“I've mentioned it in every letter for the last month,” she said with some asperity, “and, as you see, he makes no mention of it. Whatever can have gotten into the boy?"
It was a rhetorical question. Not that any of us knew the answer. It occurred to me that Sir John might, though. And perhaps that was what Mama had in mind when she asked him to stay. Very clever of her. Keeping an eye on him would be my primary concern.
I could manage that with a little perseverance. Sir John might not be willing to listen to my opinions about horses, but I was established, if only to his amusement, as the knowledgeable one in the family, and he might well be obliged to take me with him. In fact, I would see that he did.
When I went upstairs to dress for dinner, I insisted that Milly do something different with my hair. It wasn't to impress our visitor; it was from a distinct fatigue with my usual style. Milly managed to coax my rambunctious curls to remain tamed at my temples, and the long tresses to stay down in back with merely a string of pearls capturing them at my neck. A very satisfactory solution, something the maidens in London might have done well to copy, I thought.
Amanda was green with envy. “What have you done to your hair?” she demanded in that shrill voice she is reduced to by hysteria. “You can't wear it like that! You've let Milly get carried away. I tell you that girl ought to find herself a position as a hairdresser."
“I think it looks quite nice,” I said, waving aside her concerns. “And yours does, too, Amanda. I don't think you've worn it so fluffed out in the last two years. Is this the newest style in Le Beau Monde?"
“That has nothing to do with it. I wanted to wear it in the usual way, but Mama insisted that her woman could make me look a good two years older by working with it.” It was hard to tell whether this distressed or pleased her by the simpering expression she wore. She straightened the lace fichu that closely guarded her modesty. “Mama says gentlemen don't always pay attention to the youngest woman in a gathering, if she hasn't been out in London. And while we all know that I should have been out but for Papa's death, well, a stranger wouldn't know that. So it seemed prudent to enhance my age by just this trifle."
“It suits admirably,” I complimented her. “You'll have Sir John eating out of your hand in no time."
“Catherine! How can you say such a thing!"
“Never mind!” I dashed down the stairs away from her protestations. “He'll be here soon. Don't let your distress raise your color too high."
I don't know why I can't restrain myself from teasing her. She's such an easy target. Rather unworthy, actually. I had made it to the hall when there was a strong hammering on the front door. Our butler, Williams, is country-bred and consequently rather stiff with some of the more exalted personages who appear at our door. Without so much as a flicker of his eyes, he ushered the baronet into the house, but I got the distinct impression, nonetheless, that he disapproved of Sir John. Our visitor wore a driving coat with more than a dozen capes; we dress more conservatively than that in the country.
Behind Sir John I could see the curricle being taken away toward the stables. It was indeed a magnificent sight. Glistening black with red trim and yellow wheels. His groom held a steady hand on the reins as a pair of perfectly matched chestnuts strutted off down the drive.
“Think you could handle it?” Sir John asked me as he handed his gloves to Williams.
It was an impertinent question, and meant to depress my pretensions to some familiarity with horses. “Of course I could handle it,” I said stoutly, though I wasn't at all sure because it had been more than a year since I drove Robert's. But Sir John had put my back up and I wasn't going to admit it. I have always taken some pride in my riding and driving skills.
His brows rose almost to his thick brown hair. “Ah, I see. Your brother told me you have some faith in yourself as a whipster. But I very much fear it would be remiss of me to allow you an opportunity with my curricle. As I mentioned, it's an unstable vehicle."
The footman was bringing two portmanteaus into the house and I noted that they were large enough to serve Sir John for quite a stay. Williams asked, in his roughly formal voice, if Sir John's man would be coming, and our visitor admitted that he would, in a day or two. I received the distinct impression that Sir John was settling in for a considerable stay. And I wondered why. And how I felt about that.
Chapter 3
We sat down five to dinner. Mrs. Cooper had outdone herself with the entrees—lobster cutlets and beef palates à la italienne—but I found myself more interested in the conversation than the food. Cousin Bret had treated Sir John with a certain coolness when they met in the drawing room before dinner, and I was eager to see how the baronet handled my cousin's sniping over the meal. Cousin Bret prides himself on his ability to carry on a distinguished discourse with even the lowliest and least intelligent of his fellow human beings—which is just about everyone except himself—and his condescension was a matter of humor within the family. I didn't think Sir John would see it in quite the same light. Their exchange went something like this:
Cousin Bret: I hear we're to have the honor of your company for a brief visit, Sir John.
Sir John (smiling at my mother): Mrs. Ryder has been so kind as to invite me to make my stay at Hastings while I search out some carriage horses for Robert and myself. I understand there are several excellent breeders in the area.
Cousin Bret (with a smug laugh): Oh, I doubt if they can match the quality of the breeders in my own county. Somerset, you know. Nothing is so suitable for horses as the rich pasturage and sweet-smelling air there.
Sir John: You surprise me. I had no idea Somerset was famed for its horse breeding. Now, I suppose that will mean that my search here will take longer than I'd anticipated, Mrs. Ryder. Perhaps I should put up at the inn after all.
Mother (understanding that he was only teasing): Not at all! You are to stay here just as long as it is convenient for you, Sir John. Any friend of Robert's..."
Sir John: How kind of you! I must admit that I am tempted. (He glances with favor upon my sister.) But we shall see, we shall see.
Cousin Bret (with a sneer): You must take my Cousin Catherine's advice in choosing your pair. I'm sure she'll be more than willing to give you the benefit of her knowledge.
Me: Sir John has already made it clear that he thinks it unlikely I know anything about horses.
Sir John (with a pretense at surprise): Have I? My dear Miss Ryder, I'm sure you must have mistaken me. Even your dear brother mentione
d the matter before I left London.
Cousin Bret (interrupting the indignant remark I'd intended to make): Yes, indeed. Cousin Catherine has cultivated that most pressing of the ladylike arts: judging horseflesh. Why, I remember when she was a child and hung around the stables all day..."
Mama: I think we're due for even hotter weather, don't you, Sir John? Amanda will show you some of the cool spots in our garden, if the heat becomes unbearable.
And so forth. It was really a most unsatisfactory meal, with Cousin Bret taunting me, or trying to give Sir John a set-down. Mama managed to keep me from telling my cousin what I thought of him, something I do on a fairly regular basis, but Sir John didn't even seem to notice Cousin Bret's pinpricks. Which, of course, infuriated my cousin. He's not used to being found of so little consequence. And Sir John managed to do it in such a polite manner that even my cousin could not have faulted him for his behavior.
Much as I detest Cousin Bret, I have to admit that I didn't like our visitor coming off so well. Both Mama and Amanda were immensely impressed with him, though, I could tell. Most unfortunate. I could scarcely manage the gosling in the third course for worrying about it.
Mama looked particularly splendid in a gown she hadn't worn in more than a year, and one that was, if the truth were told, a little too elegant for the evening. Sir John didn't seem to notice. I was delighted when Cousin Bret excused himself from joining us in the gold room. He always made me feel that he scorned Mama's choice of outfits. Mama's style of dressing has never been quite in the ordinary mode, but that is no business of Cousin Bret's.
The gold room is the most impressive room at Hastings. A single cube room of thirty feet in each dimension, it is the untouched work of Inigo Jones. There is a chimneypiece of Italian marble with great swags of fruits and flowers carved in wood above it, painted white and gilded in different shades of gold.
Dotted about the huge space are gilt and red velvet settees and fragile chairs and elaborate mirrors by Chippendale, which were all designed just for this room. The coved ceilings are particularly ornate and all around the room are panels meant to hold family portraits. But we Ryders have a penchant for sporting scenes, so only a few portraits grace the area, above the mantel and near the door. Mama busied herself adjusting the fire screen, though there was no fire on the grate. This was usually a sign of agitation in her.
“Have you been to Robert's lodgings in the city?” she asked soon after Sir John had taken the seat she indicated beside Amanda on the sofa.
“On many occasions,” he replied. Though he sounded open and aboveboard, I detected a trace of reserve—or caution—in his eyes.
“We opened the house in Grosvenor Street when Catherine came out, but Robert didn't want to live there when he went up to London this time,” Mama explained.
“Far too large for him, of course. Our place in Berkeley Square is the same, but my mother makes periodic excursions to town, so there is always a minimal staff. Robert indicated that your house in town had been let for a while. Perhaps ever since Miss Ryder was presented in London? I'm certain I missed that occasion."
His subtle amusement made me wish to stomp on his toes, but I merely lifted my nose a fraction of an inch. Mama ignored his reference to my Season.
“Yes, the house is let and has been for over a year, but I daresay it could be made available to him at any time. In fact, I urged him to take it the last time the lease was up for renewal."
Sir John rested a hand along the back of the settee. “Robert is very comfortably situated in his rooms on Mount Street. The place is large enough to be comfortable and small enough for his man and one female servant to take care of it with no trouble. Perhaps one day you'll come up to see it for yourself."
“Perhaps,” Mama said vaguely. She fingered the lace ruffle on her sleeve with nervous fingers. “I've never quite understood what it is young men do when they live in London. How do they occupy their time?"
His broad smile was almost rakish. “Oh, there are a thousand things for a young blood to do, my dear ma'am. Riding in the park and visiting with one's friends, the balls, the parties, the shops, the clubs. Almost more than a fellow can fit into a day."
“But that's all play!” Mama protested. “When my husband went up to town he at least had business to occupy much of his time. The diversions were of great interest, of course, but they were offset with a certain amount of honest effort.” She rose to pace the room, adjusting a picture frame with a tsk as she passed. It was far more crooked afterward. Amanda and I glanced at each other and looked away.
Mama continued. “When we were in town with Catherine for her Season, there was so much to prepare for, just for her introduction to society. I suppose one could look on it all as very frivolous, but it is serious business for any family to see their daughters well established."
I felt mortified by this discussion. As though I were a task they meant to accomplish! And failed, at that.
Sir John eyed me with interest. “It's a challenge,” he said, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “I'm surprised Miss Ryder didn't carry off half a dozen hearts with her."
“She did, she did! Only she would accept none of them. Not that I blame her,” Mama admitted. “You've never seen such a disappointing group of suitors. Perhaps it was the war. Or just not a particularly pleasant Season because of the dreary weather, but they were all spotty young men or gouty old men, certainly no one of a caliber to win Catherine's heart. And I assure you I do not look for marriage where there is no attachment. My Catherine will not be pushed to wed for the convenience of her family."
She spoke so vehemently that Amanda now looked mortified. This agitation and plain speaking are one of Mama's eccentricities. There are other, more serious ones, which will become evident as my story progresses. Her distress about matrimony was not because of any circumstance of her own. Mama was not forced into marrying my father. No such thing. She was dearly in love with him from the day she first saw him until the day he died. I sometimes think that is why... But I get ahead of myself.
“I'm sure Miss Ryder would discover a most suitable parti if she were to venture upon the town again,” he suggested, with just that inflection that indicates “this is the polite thing to say” and not that he really meant it. “And hasn't Miss Amanda come out yet, then?” His eyes sought and held my sister's.
“She would have, except that Mr. Ryder died only two months before her Season was to begin. Just over a year ago.” Mama frequently has to dab at her eyes when she says this sort of thing, but that night she merely held her head a little higher and went on. “Our year of mourning is past now and it is time we saw to Amanda's presentation. Not in London until the fall Little Season, of course, but here, perhaps, on our Public Day. We used to give a ball of sorts, country-style, but quite a pleasant affair. I'm sure we could do that again."
Amanda blushed with pleasure and with the attention this questionable stranger was giving her. His eyes continued to linger on her countenance. “It sounds a most delightful solution,” he said. “Perhaps Robert would come down for it."
“That is just what I was thinking,” Mama admitted. “I am convinced that he would be more likely to do so if you were to be here for the affair. It's only three weeks’ distant. You could stay until then."
“You're good to include me, but I really cannot feel I should impose on your hospitality for such a lengthy period of time."
“Do consider it. I realize our entertainments aren't half so elegant as any you would come upon in town, but I do have my two charming daughters to tempt your interest."
“Strong inducement, indeed."
By the pond, there had been a dangerous, rakish light in his eyes. But now he sat at his ease, meek as a lamb, looking just the sort of fellow Amanda could set her heart on and Mama could trust. I did not for a moment believe this was his true nature, and I was determined to prove it before he managed to disrupt our whole household.
The night was clear and warm and
he suggested a walk with the three of us in the gardens. Mama declined but insisted that Amanda and I accompany him. We each wrapped a shawl about our bare shoulders and stepped out into the refreshing evening air. Sir John gallantly offered an arm to each and Amanda coyly placed three fingers on his. I gripped his arm firmly, and was startled by the strength of it. Of necessity I ignored his sardonic expression.
As we walked along, his head inclined frequently to Amanda's side. “Tell me what gardening you do,” he said. “My mother is such an avid gardener that I know a deal more about garden flowers than field crops."
Fortunately for my sister, she knows a bit about nemesia and delphinium, rambler roses and centaurea. The entire walk through the hedged garden is perfumed by stocks, a fact that has been pointed out to me any number of times, though I couldn't distinguish a stock from a sweet pea to save my life. Not that Sir John asked me to, or paid the least attention to my occasional quips.
Though Amanda pointed to various kinds of flowers, and Sir John dutifully regarded them, his gaze was scarcely restricted to the flower beds. He managed to take in every gravel path and half-hidden succession house as we walked. He was as inquisitive as a three-year-old.
“Where does that path lead?” He pointed down the far border to where a gate let out into the home wood.
My sister acted as though he had suggested an assignation to her. She dipped her head and peered at him through her long, golden eyelashes. “Just into a glade in the woods. There's no horse trail in that direction. The glade is infrequently visited these days, since the path is rather overgrown."
“That won't deter us,” he remarked, with a long gaze into her blue eyes. “I can tell you're not the kind of woman who's put off by a little unruly grass."
“No, no, of course not,” she agreed in a hopelessly breathless voice.
I never thought Amanda would be so gullible. This man was having her on, no doubt about it. His behavior was almost a caricature of a man infatuated—and he'd only known her for five hours! But there would be no convincing Amanda of it. She expected men to pay attention to her and probably fantasized that one day such a handsome fellow would come along and fall madly in love with her at first sight.
Miss Ryder's Memoirs Page 3
