A Well-Trained Lady (Seasons of Change Book 4)

by Jess Heileman

  “That sounds lovely!” I was relieved to see how willingly Ruth had moved on from her irksome comment, until her smile faltered. “But I hate to ask Augustus to see to such an expense.” Ruth paused. “Are you aware of my situation? That I have no money of my own?”

  I sent Leah a knowing glance, and she quickly excused herself.

  “Augustus told me,” I said, moving to Ruth’s side and placing my arm around her. “And I’m so very sorry for all the loss you’ve had. But you must realize that you are not a burden, Ruth. I have seen it in Augustus’s eyes. You are as dear to him as a sister, and surely you would not believe he would deny Sarah such a request.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “But he cannot know what you require if you do not tell him.” When Ruth’s countenance did not alter, I leaned in closer. “I will talk to him, if you wish.”

  The smile returned to her lips.

  “Considering you never had a proper coming out, I might even convince him to hold a gathering in your honor—after you’ve completed your training, of course.”

  Ruth squealed in delight, twirling toward me and wrapping me in an embrace. For once, I fully welcomed it.

  Ruth gave a pout as we made our way back to the drawing room of Safford Park. “I do wish Sarah would have been allowed to join us. Chicken and mushroom vol-au-vents is one of her favorite dishes.”

  I released a small sigh, in no mood to revisit Ruth’s disappointment at not having Sarah here yet again. “She is not out in Society, Ruth. It is the proper thing for her to remain home.”

  “But she always comes to Safford Park with us.”

  “Not when a gentleman is visiting.”

  We stepped into the drawing room and meandered to the far side together. It was quite a bit grander than Fairhaven, and I could not help but admire the elegant furnishings and rich colors that were evidence of the Whitmores’ wealth. “Does this room not remind you of Fellerton?”

  Ruth mirrored my appraisal. “It is most similar, isn’t it?” She tipped her head to the side, as though the change in perspective would better help her identify the similarities. “How odd I should not have recognized it before now. The tapestry on the side opposite the hearth … and the maroon wall color. Even the gold framing around the paintings seem to be the very same.” She righted the angle of her head and smiled at me. “Perhaps that is why I have always adored Safford Park. Well that, and the Whitmores being here, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  She paused, appraising the room a second time. “I wonder if I will now find that some of the other rooms have a likeness to Fellerton as well. Though I must admit, my memories of it are growing dim considering how long it has been since I’ve seen it.”

  “Where is Fellerton?” Mr. Treynor asked, stepping to join us. “If you don’t mind my intrusion, of course.”

  I gave him a polite smile. “Near Bath. It is my family’s estate.”

  “Candace mentioned the two of you were childhood friends long separated?”

  Ruth bobbed her head up and down. “The best of friends, just as we are again.”

  “But how did—”

  “Are the gentlemen not taking port?” I asked before Mr. Treynor could continue his interrogation. I was in no mood to turn tales as to the reasoning behind our separation, especially with the risk of Ruth contradicting them.

  He shook his head. “I was not opposed, but Mr. Brundage preferred to defer and rejoin the group.”

  “Shall we begin our game of Lanterloo, then?” I glanced around to see where the others had gone, when my gaze fell on Augustus and Miss Whitmore standing together a ways off. Despite my best attempt, I could not look away as he slipped her what appeared to be a missive. Miss Whitmore glanced toward her inattentive mother before she offered Augustus a timid smile. He leaned in and whispered something to her, causing my stomach to clench at the sight. I forced my consideration back to Mr. Treynor. “I hear you enjoy horses, sir?”

  Mr. Treynor illuminated. “I do. In truth, I hope to breed them one day.”

  “Though I have never cared much for the creatures, Ruth here adores them.”

  She nodded. “Oh, I do. My uncle bought me one of the finest horses in all of England before he died. Her name is Guinevere, and she is as fast as she is beautiful.”

  Mr. Treynor’s eyes moved across Ruth’s features with interest. “Do you know her parentage?”

  Ruth’s mouth opened then closed again. “No. I haven’t much considered pedigrees before.”

  He gave a small nod, and silence reigned.

  “Mr. Treynor, I fear I’m quite parched,” I said, offering an apologetic look. “Would you retrieve me a refreshment?”

  “Of course.” He took two steps back before pausing. “And you, Miss Seton? Are you thirsty also?”

  She shook her head.

  He gave a nod and started toward the refreshments on the other side of the room.

  I glanced toward Ruth. “Do you remember what I taught you earlier today?”

  Her nose scrunched in confusion. “It’s all a blur.”

  “When he returns with my drink, you must flatter him.”

  Ruth shook her head, a terrified expression on her face. “No. Surely I will make a mess of it.”

  “You shall not. Simply act interested in what he enjoys.”

  “And what is that?”

  I repressed a moan. “Pedigrees and breeding.”

  Her eyes flew to Mr. Treynor as he finished filling the glass for me. “But I know nothing about any of it,” she said, her voice a forced whisper.

  “You needn’t know a thing. All you must do is encourage and compliment him along the way.”

  Panic filled her features. “Why don’t you do it? You said you’d show me how it’s done.”

  “Because I know you can.” I paused. “And because I’m quite certain I glimpsed a spark of intrigue when he looked at you just now.”

  “Here you are, Miss Godwin,” Mr. Treynor said, approaching with my drink.

  I took hold of it. “Thank you.” My gaze flickered back to Ruth, who stood motionless with her mouth agape. “In your absence, Ruth mentioned that the reason she does not care for pedigrees is because she knows so little about them. But, if perhaps someone could assist her …”

  A small grin appeared on Mr. Treynor’s lips.

  “I do long to know more,” she said, her blush absolutely perfect. “That is if you don’t mind sharing some of what you know.”

  A smile filled Mr. Treynor’s features. “I would be most pleased to oblige you. What is it you desire to understand?”

  Her eyes moved to me, but all I offered was an encouraging nod. “Well,” she said, giving him her full attention. “I suppose one must start at the beginning.”

  He took a breath. “Well, a pedigree is an ancestral history of the horse. Not simply its sire and dam, nor a step up in generations from there, but the tracing of its lineage to specific and notable bloodlines. You see, a winning thoroughbred will likely have a healthy mix of English and Arabian ancestry.”

  “And why is that?” Ruth asked, now completely focused on him.

  “Well, Arabian horses are lighter and faster with more stamina. English breeds are of larger size, so when they were first bred the offspring were—”

  “Larger than the Arabians, but still fast with stamina.”

  Mr. Treynor’s delight mirrored Ruth’s. “Precisely.”

  “It is all quite brilliant, I suppose. I can understand why you find it so fascinating.” Ruth faltered ever so briefly before she found her next question. “But how do you know which bloodlines are superior?”

  Not wanting to distract Ruth from her purpose, I repressed an excited smile by taking a sip of my drink. She continued on marvelously as Mr. Treynor explained how to ensure the best outcome for siring a quality racing horse. Though I cared little for such information, watching the two of them get along was preferable to watching Augustus and Miss Whitmore doing s
o.

  Augustus stepped to my side, the warmth of him absurdly gratifying. When I saw that Miss Whitmore was no longer with him, I set my drink down and took hold of his arm. “I was hoping to have a word with you.” Mr. Treynor’s gaze flicked toward us, and I hurried to pull Augustus away before the interruption could disrupt Ruth’s success.

  We took several steps away, and he leaned in close. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

  “I merely did not wish for you to disturb Ruth and Mr. Treynor when they are getting on so well.” Augustus hardly looked thrilled with my reasoning, but I tightened my grip on him so he would be obliged to stay. “But now that you mention it. You have reminded me of something I wish to speak to you about. You see, I asked my maid to update a few of Ruth’s dresses, and we noticed that she is in need of a gown for full-dress.”

  “And you wished to see about having one commissioned?”

  I gave a small shrug. “If that is agreeable. One should be perfectly sufficient, or perhaps two. For she will require a ball gown also.”

  Augustus gave an amused shake of his head. “Two it is, but I trust you will be economical in your selections.”

  “I shall be as careful as if it were being made at my own expense.”

  His gaze moved over my gown in a way that brought a blush to my cheeks, before a teasing smile lifted onto his lips. “On second thought, you should consider inviting my mother along.”

  “So little trust.” I nudged my shoulder into him, feeling no need to confirm I had already planned on speaking with Mrs. Brundage about the matter.

  Our regard moved back to Mr. Treynor and Ruth. “And I suppose that is your doing?”

  I lifted my chin. “It is.”

  He studied their interaction for a moment. “He does seem susceptible to such flattery, doesn’t he?”

  With Augustus’s acknowledgment, I could not refuse a smile.

  He shook his head and looked back to me. “Weren’t you supposed to be the one with that focused look of fascination Ruth is now donning?”

  “Sometimes one learns by watching, other times by doing.”

  “Well, the whole thing will end soon if he takes one more step toward her. They are more than close enough to carry on a conversation.”

  I laughed, craning my neck up to look at him. “Hypocrite.”

  The warmth of his nearness penetrated into my skin, causing it to prickle. “I suppose you do have a point. But again, I would argue that we are an exception to the rule … being the old friends that we are.”

  I lifted a brow. “And yet it seems I am not the only exception to the rule.” My gaze flickered to Miss Whitmore who spoke with Mrs. Brundage and her mother on the settee. “There are apparently others privileged enough to be treated as an old friend.”

  He tilted his head to the side, his lips curving upward.

  Before he could offer a retort on my jealous nature a second time, I gave a small pout. “You are absolutely tiresome. Do you know that?”

  “You make it sound as though that is a bad thing.”

  My lips parted in exasperation. “It is fortunate for you that I am no longer an impressionable young lady.”

  “And why is that?”

  I ignored the trembling within me. “For it is no easy thing for such a woman to discover a man’s attentions are not exclusive to her alone.”

  His eyes searched mine, his smile fading. “I suppose it is like a man discovering that a woman’s affections are promised elsewhere entirely.”

  The air around me grew thick, but I did not look away. I could not appear weak. I could not be that young lady I had just claimed I was not. “Then let us be glad we are friends and nothing more.”

  His countenance fell. “Shall we see if the others are ready for that game of cards?”

  I followed him back to where Ruth and Mr. Treynor were still happily chatting.

  “Forgive me,” Mr. Treynor said as we approached, shooting Ruth an apologetic smile. “I fear I have rattled on far too long.”

  “There is no need to ask forgiveness, Mr. Treynor.” Ruth fluttered her lashes at him, causing Augustus to avert his eyes in exasperation. “It was I who desired your rattling.”

  He smiled, his gaze resting on Ruth a moment longer.

  “Yet I am suddenly most eager to begin our game of Lanterloo.” Augustus took hold of Ruth’s arm and placed it in the crook of his elbow.

  Mr. Treynor swallowed, eagerly shifting away from Augustus. “Cousin,” he called to Miss Whitmore. “Do you care to join us for cards?”

  “Absolutely.” Miss Whitmore whispered something to her mother and Mrs. Brundage, causing them to laugh, and started toward us. Her dark hair glistened in the firelight, and I couldn’t help but notice her graceful beauty, despite my attempts to overlook it.

  She flashed me a kind smile that somehow only made me feel defeated. “Are we playing three card Loo or five?”

  I glanced toward the fire. “Perhaps a game of whist would be preferred?”

  Ruth scrunched her nose. “But whist is only for four players, and there are five of us.”

  I gave her a small smile, refusing to look at Augustus. “I fear I have a headache coming on and should sit this hand out.” And all the subsequent hands.

  Ruth’s face filled with concern. “Should we return to Fairhaven so you can rest?”

  I had no intention of thwarting Ruth’s continued success with Mr. Treynor. “No. It is only a minor one. I shall go sit near your aunt and Mrs. Whitmore for a time but will join you later if I feel up to it.” Ruth gave a small pout, and I placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Do not make a fuss, my dear friend. I shall be right over there, watching.”

  Without another word, I walked toward the settee where the two women spoke in hushed voices. Not wishing to interrupt them, I continued on and took a seat near the fire. Several minutes later, Ruth’s giggle tempted my notice to the foursome seated about the card table. As my gaze skirted about their delighted expressions, it landed on Augustus, whose worried eyes met mine. I offered a quick nod and leaned into the wing-back chair, allowing the side of it to conceal me from his questioning stare.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ruth dropped her needle-work to her lap. “I still cannot believe how easy it was to encourage Mr. Treynor along in conversation.” She shifted her smile to Sarah. “If only you had been there to witness it.”

  Sarah poked the needle through her sampler. “I would have liked to have seen your success.”

  The disappointment in her voice was evident, and I hated to hear it. “Perhaps we should go on a family outing with the Whitmores. That way you could join us.”

  Sarah met my gaze. “To the seaside?”

  “I don’t see why not, as long as your mother and Augustus are amenable.”

  The ladies shared a smile.

  Ruth leaned back, stretching out her legs. “I do hope it can be arranged before Mr. Treynor departs.”

  I shimmied my needle up through the linen. “And when is that, exactly?”

  Ruth pouted. “Sometime next week. He has already extended his stay a few days, but he must soon return home to help his father with some business.” She released an audible breath. “At least he promised to return for my coming out event, whenever that shall be.”

  I lifted my eyes from my sampler. “When did he make such a promise?”

  Ruth’s expression grew thoughtful. “I suppose it was not an actual promise, but the terms of a wager.”

  “You were making bets with Mr. Treynor?” I could not keep the concern from my voice.

  “I’m trying to remember exactly how it came to be.” She scrunched her nose. “For some reason, he mentioned that Mrs. Whitmore believes that Augustus intends to offer for Candace soon.” Ruth looked to both Sarah and me, apparently ensuring we found the notion as amusing as she did. “Apparently there is supposed to be a wedding by the end of summer.”

  I looked down at my sampler again, attempting to convey disint
erest. “And you do not believe such an event will take place?”

  “No. Augustus and Candace are dear friends, nothing more.”

  “And yet Mrs. Whitmore believes it a possibility?”

  “Mr. Treynor said so. Then he insisted that the best of marriages are built on friendship. And though I agreed with him, I said they must also be built on love.” Ruth giggled. “You should have seen the shade of red his face turned when I mentioned the word.”

  “And what is he to get if he wins?”

  “Mr. Treynor only asked to ride Guinevere.” Ruth paused, her expression full of contrition. “In truth, I am attempting not to feel too guilty about the arrangement, considering I would have allowed him to ride Guinevere if he had just asked. But my solace is that I am not wrong, so it shan’t matter.”

  I did not glance up. “You do sound quite confident in your opinion.”

  “Because I am.”

  I tied a knot in the thread before it grew too short to work with and grabbed the sewing shears. “And why is that?”

  “Because he loves you, of course.”

  My gaze moved to her so quickly that I clipped the tip of my forefinger with the shears. The pain was immediate. “Drat!” I cried, dropping my sampler.

  I examined the damage, a trickle of blood trailing down my finger.

  Ruth jumped to her feet, only to stand there motionless, the color draining from her face. “You are bleeding, Bella.”

  “Do sit down, Ruth.” I stood. “It is only a small cut. If I can find something to wrap it with, I shall be right in no time.” I glanced around for anything that could work as a bandage, but there was nothing suitable. If only I’d had the foresight to bring down my entire sewing box and not just my sampler and one color of thread.

  I appraised Ruth, who stood unmoved, her focus locked on the crimson liquid. She lifted a hand to her paling cheek. “I think I may faint … or perhaps be sick.”

  Shifting my hand out of view, I gestured for Sarah’s aid. “Will you please help Ruth to sit while I go to my room for a piece of linen?”