Heartless Lord Harry

by Marjorie Farrell

  “And I am losing more than a week as it is…”

  “Have you ever been to Cornwall, James?”

  “Why, yes, years ago.”

  “Well, why not go again. In fact, we could travel down together, if you like. I confess to some curiosity about this May Day festival. And Miss Richmond would be impressed with your interest in her scholarship.”

  James’s face lit up. “That is a splendid idea. I can’t believe I never thought of it myself. Are you sure you won’t be bored, Harry? I really will appreciate your company. I would feel I was intruding upon the family, otherwise.”

  “Don’t be so grateful, James. I am rather bored with the usual round, and the Richmonds are the most interesting family I have met in a long time.” Harry did not add that he would also be happy to see more of Miss Kate Richmond, for he was not at all sure why that should be so. “Now go off and start packing or do something useful with yourself. I want to get into a hot bath and soak my damned knee.”

  * * * *

  A half hour later, as he lay soaking in his bath, Harry found himself thinking about the Richmond sisters. It was very odd, he realized, that much as he had wanted, nay needed to break through Miss Richmond’s remoteness, he had, her sister was right, no real desire for her. Oh, his pulse had raced at the thought of her perfect face and silver gilt hair. And he had wanted to kiss her. But he had not realized until now, thinking back to that night, that he had not wanted her.

  Yet now, lying in scented hot water, feeling all the tension and stiffness drain out of him, he found himself drifting back to the picnic and the sensation of leaning upon Kate Richmond’s arm and gazing down into her honest gray eyes. He could close his eyes and see her, and the sensations that aroused were quite different from what he had felt for any woman since he returned home from the army. He was not feeling compelled to pursue Kate Richmond or to force her to respond to him. Instead, he was drifting in a sort of liquid state and felt more open and relaxed than he had in months. In fact, he felt desire for the first time in a long while, for as he lay there, her image floating in and out of his mind, he could feel himself growing hard merely at the thought of dropping a gentle kiss on top of her head—or tipping her chin back and touching her lips with his…

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, “I had better call for cold water!” He stood up suddenly and grabbing the bowl of clean water by the side of the tub, poured it over himself. It was by no means cold enough, but it was cooler than his bath and his fantasies, and did the trick.

  He was glad, he thought, as he toweled himself dry, that he had suggested the trip to Cornwall. It would give him time to further his acquaintance with Miss Kate Richmond.

  * * *

  Chapter 32

  All the Richmonds, including the dowager marchioness, had decided to make the journey to Padstow. Gareth offered the Thorne coach for the trip and declared that he would ride alongside so that they wouldn’t need two vehicles. He regretted it by the end of their first day on the road. The weather, which had been glorious for the last week or so, changed two hours after they left the city. The temperature dropped, and a fine rain began to fall, so that by the time they reached the first inn, Gareth was cold and damp. The next morning the rain was no longer a drizzle but a downpour. His family protested that they could squeeze him into the coach, but he insisted on riding and was soaked after fifteen minutes. He had not been so uncomfortable since his Peninsula days and was in a foul mood by the time they stopped for the night. When Arden fussed over him, he snapped at her. Another woman might have been silenced, but not Arden, who snapped back that she had indeed married a rudesby. “There is no reason to take out your temper on me, Gareth. After all, you could have been warm and dry inside the coach.”

  “And made you all most uncomfortable. I knew I shouldn’t have come. This has become like my worst memories of the trips we took in my childhood, bad weather and bad tempers.”

  “Yours is the only bad temper so far, Gareth,” his wife remarked and left him there, half-dressed, and went to join the others in the private parlor.

  * * * *

  The next day it rained even harder, if that were possible, and Gareth gave in and squeezed beside his wife. The coach was roomy, but not made for seven, so by the time they stopped for tea, Gareth’s was not the only temper that was frayed. The trip was tedious, the roads rutted, the coach overcrowded, and all but Lynette and Mr. Richmond were wondering why on earth they had decided to come. If it had not been raining so hard, they would at least have been able to enjoy and comment on the scenery, but as it was, they could see nothing.

  Thank God, thought Kate, as she drank her tea, we have only a half day’s journey to go. I don’t think I can stand any more. She was certainly not alone in her thoughts, for the rest were counting the hours, too.

  Lynette had passed some of the time trying to picture what the ‘oss would really look like. It was one thing to read about it and see drawings; it would be quite another to experience it. She was surprised, however, that her thoughts kept wandering away from Cornwall to London and Lord Clitheroe. She was beginning to like him very much. Perhaps “like” was too mild a term. She had great affection for him. He was kind and generous and thoughtful and had not pressured her at all. Beyond walking arm in arm at the picnic, he had barely touched her. Why had he hardly touched her? she wondered. Sidmouth had taken every opportunity even before the balcony fiasco, whereas James had done nothing very much at all beyond holding her a little close while dancing. And now she realized, she was beginning to want him to. He was very handsome in his own way. Very solid. She wondered what it would be like to rest her head on his shoulder. She thought it would be very nice. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Her mind would shy away from the image, but not in sheer panic, as with Lord Sidmouth. There was still a part of her that was scared, but more of her seemed to be curious, and yes, even desirous.

  * * * *

  If the Richmonds’ journey was uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to James’s and Harry’s. They had decided to ride, since it would be faster, but after the first day of rain, James insisted on renting a chaise. Unfortunately the chaise was not at all well-sprung, and they suffered even more than the Richmonds from the bad roads. They were a half day behind and never met the other party at any of the inns along the way. Harry, in fact, was convinced that they were the only fools on the road. “The Richmonds probably turned back long ago,” he complained. “We will be the only outsiders there watching this ridiculous horse, whatever it is—if they hold the damn ritual in the rain, which they probably do not!”

  James, who had had more than enough of Harry’s ill-temper, almost threw a plate of stew at him. “Stuff it, Harry. This was your bloody idea, so you’d bloody well better enjoy yourself.” It was so unlike James that Harry looked at him in amazement, and then struck by the awfulness of their journey, could only laugh. This set James off, and their helpless laughter restored both of them to good temper.

  * * *

  Chapter 33

  The two men arrived in Padstow late in the afternoon of April thirtieth, May Eve. It was still raining, although not as hard, and was beginning to look as though it might clear up by evening.

  Padstow was a small fishing village with a crescent-shaped harbor and steep streets rising up from the beach. It looked like any other little fishing town in Cornwall, and as James and Harry looked around, they marveled that this particular town, out of all the others on the coast, had kept an ancient ritual alive.

  There was a maypole in the town square that was in the process of being decorated, despite the rain. Across the narrow streets were strung lines from which hung all the flags of the town’s small fleet. The gaiety and color of the displays began to lift James’s and Harry’s spirits, despite the weather—until they sought for accommodations. There was no real inn in the village, only the Golden Lion pub. When they questioned the pubkeeper about rooms, he looked at them with amusement.

  “I d
o be having a room at the top of the stairs there,” he said and pointed, “but you’ll get no sleep here tonight.”

  “We don’t mind a little noise, do we, James?” said Harry. “We’ll take it.”

  The pubkeeper smiled broadly, pocketing Harry’s money and showing him up the stairs. “Now, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  The room was small, with two cots that took up most of the space. “But it is a damned sight better to stretch out and sleep than to be jounced around in that chaise,” said Harry as he lay down on one of the cots.

  “I am going to look around, Harry. I’ll be back to get you before supper.”

  “Looking for the Richmonds, eh? Good luck to you, James.”

  * * * *

  James went down to the bar and asked for a pint of ale. As the barkeep was pulling it for him, James questioned him about the celebration.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Well, some say two or three thousand years,” said the barkeep. “But I can’t swear to that, of course. I can tell you that my grandfather and his grandfather and his grandfather all remembered it.”

  “Do many people come and watch?”

  “All of us from Padstow, of course. Even those that have moved away. They always come back, just for May Day. And there are always some folk from other towns and even from London, like yourself.”

  “Are there others down here from the city?”

  “There be a few, I’ve heard. Mrs. Couts has taken in a whole family. I hear the gentleman is a scholar and wants to study the ‘oss.”

  “Ah, that must be my friends the Richmonds,” said James. “They must have gotten the last accommodation.”

  “Yes, but they booked ahead, I believe.”

  “Very smart of them,” said James, finishing the last of his ale. “I think I will explore the town a little.”

  “It won’t take you long, sir, as it’s a little town,” joked the barkeep. “But at least it has stopped raining.”

  James was relieved to find that this was so. He walked down to the quay, where they found the tide out and the boats drawn up in a semicircle. The sky was getting lighter, despite the hour, and the late afternoon sun at last broke through, lighting up the streets and striking all the windows of the town so they shown gold. It was a moment a painter would have relished, thought James, for the combination of light and shadow was breathtaking. His spirits lifted, and he felt, despite the hardships of the journey, that it had been the right thing to do. He only hoped Harry would think so.

  * * * *

  The Richmonds had settled in comfortably at Mrs. Couts, having arrived earlier in the day. She had been recommended to Mr. Richmond by an old friend as someone who took in paying guests, and she was a delightful hostess and marvelous cook. The younger people had explored the town before tea, in spite of the rain and were content to sit in front of a warm fire and play whist for a few hours.

  “Now, I want all of you in bed early,” said Mr. Richmond, as though he were speaking to a group of ten-year-olds.

  Gareth looked up and grinned. “But Father, we want to stay up late tonight.”

  His father laughed. “Oh, I suppose I did sound ridiculous. All I meant was that you don’t want to miss a minute of tomorrow morning.”

  “And what are you planning to do tonight, Edward?” asked his wife.

  “I am not going to bed at all, my dear. I shall be down at the Golden Lion watching them dance. I understand that some of the best dancing takes place before the actual celebration. And maybe I’ll also have a chance to get some of my questions answered.”

  “And, of course, only men are allowed in the pub,” remarked his wife.

  “I am afraid so, my dear.”

  “Perhaps I’ll go down with you,” said Gareth.

  Lynette looked over at her father and said, “It seems most unfair that Gareth can just walk in, and I, who am more interested cannot go at all!”

  Aunt Kate looked up from her cards. “I heartily agree with you, child. Is there nothing you can do about it, Edward?’

  ‘There is no one here who knows us,” commented Lady Elizabeth. “And Lynette is tall and slim enough for a lad…”

  “What are you suggesting, Elizabeth?” asked her husband.

  “I am suggesting that you and Gareth rummage through your clothes and find something suitable now, so that we can make any alterations that are necessary right away.”

  “You can’t mean to let her dress up as a boy, Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, why not, Father. I’ll be very quiet and just stay in the background. If I put my hair up under a cap, no one will ever guess.”

  “Well, I understand your eagerness, Lynnie. And it is unfair that after all your scholarship, you don’t get to do a little field work.”

  “I’ll be there to watch out for her, Father,” said Gareth.

  “All right, all right, I give in. Go upstairs, Gareth, and see what shirts and pants you can come up with.”

  Of course they almost gave up the whole scheme when Lynette first tried on her brother’s shirt and pants. “Our heights are not that different, Gareth, but our widths…”

  “Never mind,” said her aunt, through a mouthful of pins. “We’ll manage. We have a few hours yet.”

  Somehow they did manage. They tucked and pinned and hemmed and finally put together something that fit. Not very fashionably, but at least Lynette no longer had to hold her pants up with her hands.

  “We can’t do anything with the jacket, though, Gareth,” said his mother.

  “Mrs. Couts’s stable lad looked about Lynnie’s size,” said Kate.

  Gareth went out and came back with a navy blue wool jacket.

  “I had to buy it, and he thought me very strange to be paying good money for something that won’t fit me, but here it is. And his cap, too.”

  It fit almost perfectly. And when Lynette tucked her hair up, she looked enough like a boy to get by, as long as she was quiet and stayed by her father and brother.

  The three of them left at around ten. Lynette felt as excited as she had when she went pretending as a child. To her this was more exciting than going to any London soiree, and she swaggered along between her father and brother, feeling freer than she had in years.

  The pub was crowded and the tables had been pushed back to clear space in the middle. There were two old men with accordions and three drummers, and shortly after the Richmonds’ arrival, the music began. It was clear that the musicians were just warming up, for the barkeep was still serving rounds of ale. Lynette was looking delightedly around her when she saw two men come down the back stairs and grasped her brother’s arm.

  “Gareth, isn’t that Lord Sidmouth and Lord Clitheroe? What on earth would they be doing here?”

  “Why, so it is! I am sure I don’t know. On second thought, maybe I do,” replied Gareth, looking soulfully at his sister.

  “But James never said anything to me.”

  “Perhaps he meant to surprise you. I suppose he didn’t want to be separated from you for so long.”

  Lynette was turning hot and then cold. The fact that James had followed her here, had been interested enough in her and her work, was very satisfying. But here she was, disgracefully dressed in man’s clothes, in a pub late at night. Whatever would an Otley think!

  * * * *

  James and Harry were disoriented for a few minutes. They had retired early and had both awakened at the same time to the sound of the music.

  “Oh God, I suppose this is what the landlord meant when he said we wouldn’t sleep well,” groaned Harry.

  They had tried to ignore the noise, but that proved impossible.

  “We might as well give up and go down, Harry,” said James. “This must be the beginning of the whole celebration,” and so they had dressed and made their way down, wondering about the open space in the middle of the pub. They had only time for one ale before the barkeep closed up the bar.

  “Look, Harry. Isn’t tha
t Thorne? And his father?”

  “Yes, so it is. Whatever is going on must have something to do with the ritual, for Richmond is no late-night carouser, I would wager.”

  The two men squeezed their way through the crowd and greeted Gareth and his father. They ignored Lynette, or rather, made no connection at first, between them and the slight lad standing nearby.

  “What is going on, Mr. Richmond?” asked Harry.

  “There is usually some good dancing the night before,” he replied.

  “Like Morris dancing?”

  “I don’t think so. The men will be practicing being under the ‘oss.”

  At that moment the drums began a rhythmic tattoo, and people started singing and two young men took the floor.

  It was dancing unlike they had ever seen. There was an initial pattern of a prancing step with a waving of arms, and then, when the music changed and got slower, the two young men were down on the floor, approaching and nuzzling one another, as though they were indeed horses. And then the drums would beat faster, and they were up again in the original dance.

  It went on and on, and the beat of the drums and repetitive melody and movement were mesmerizing. James, who was standing next to Lynette, felt all the years of being a dutiful Otley melt away, and it was only himself, James, who was standing there. Not the viscount, not the good son, but the original human being he was born to be.

  Lynette was equally moved. At first her scholar’s mind had been trying to keep mental notes, memorizing the movements, analyzing the words of the song. But after a few minutes she too was one with what was being enacted before her. It seemed to her that the pub disappeared, that all vestiges of civilization were gone, and they were on some hillside watching the original dancers. Without thinking, she reached out for James and whispered, “Isn’t it amazing, James?”

  Her touch burned right through him. He knew her immediately, and looked down at her face, which was lifted up to his. Her eyes were wide with apprehension as she realized that she’d inadvertently revealed herself. James smiled at the sight of the “faerie queen” dressed as a common village lad. She was real; she was, for the first time, reachable and touchable and without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. Lynette felt herself open for him. There was no fear, no memory flashing in front of her eyes. Just James, who was looking at her with both tenderness and passion. She felt released, as though all the energy she had been holding back for years was now hers again. She wanted to dance. She wanted to be out there with James, moving low on the ground and nuzzling each other. She wanted him, and it was such a new and wonderful feeling that she felt like tossing her hair back like a mane and…