A Sense of Purpose

by Soliman, Wendy

  ‘Would you prefer to go back to having leeches sucking your blood?’ Flora asked, feeling the countess’s forehead and tutting when she detected signs of a slight fever. She would go to the stillroom and make up a tincture to ease her discomfort.

  The countess pouted. ‘That would be preferable to those vile potions you keep forcing on me.’

  ‘No one can force you to do anything you would prefer not to.’

  Sandwell fussed with the countess’s blankets, piling them on top of the old lady until just her grey head covered by a bedcap was visible.

  ‘I shall be back directly,’ Flora told the countess. ‘Try to behave in my absence.’

  ‘Ha!’

  Flora worried when the countess didn’t bother with a pithy retort and her eyes fluttered to a close before she left the room. That was not at all like the contrary old lady, of whom she had become inordinately fond. Thinking about the best and swiftest cure for her malady, she made her way to the stillroom and reached for the white willow bark.

  As she heated water and mixed up the tincture, her thoughts dwelt upon her encounter with Luke that morning. In retrospect, she felt ashamed to have let her emotions get the better of her and desperately hoped that he hadn’t noticed her preoccupation. He required a confidante upon whose good sense he could depend, not a woman distracted by unattainable ambitions. Unless…until she found a way to curb her attraction towards the earl, she would be best advised to keep him at arm’s length, if only to avoid making an almighty fool of herself.

  Still her father’s daughter at heart, she was a little shocked by the scandalous turn her thoughts had taken so soon after escaping the rigid discipline maintained in Cathedral Close. But she simply couldn’t help it. Her independence and her femininity had been stifled for too long. Given free rein and being placed in daily contact with such a desirable gentleman she decided that her reaction, her temporary giddiness, wasn’t to be wondered at. She only had to walk into the same room as Luke to feel the atmosphere heat with expectancy and experience a deep sense of affinity with a man who could never be hers.

  Flora prided herself on her common sense, but when it came to Luke her emotions became a hopeless tangle and the ability to think rationally deserted her. Be that as it may, she had no intention of risking having her heart broken and if she didn’t find a way to stop her fantasies from dominating her waking thoughts, then she would leave her position and find something else.

  All well and good in daylight hours, she decided, stirring her potion, lifting the ladle to her nose and taking a cautionary sniff. When she was awake she could keep busy, remain cheerful and, kept on her toes by the countess’s eccentricities, push her private desires to the back of her mind. But at night, when sleep refused to claim her, it was entirely a different matter. Images of Luke’s warm brown gaze, quietly assessing her from the head of his dining table, recollections of that brief, forbidden moment a few weeks previously when she had invaded his bedchamber to save him from Miss Carlton and he had pulled her into his arms…

  Enough!

  She would beat this thing and remain as the countess’s companion. And when the time came for Luke to bring his bride to Beranger Court, she would welcome her and smile until her face broke.

  She absolutely would.

  Thus resolved, she allowed her tincture to cool and then took it back to the countess’s room. Against Sandwell’s protests she woke her charge, helped her to sit and held the back of her head while she drank the potion, complaining about the taste the entire time.

  ‘Now sleep. You will feel a great deal better when you wake,’ Flora promised, helping her to lay down again.

  ‘If that vile liquid doesn’t finish me off.’

  Once the countess’s eyelids had closed again, Flora took Sandwell aside. ‘I know you believe in warmth and no fresh air in the sickroom, Miss Sandwell,’ Flora said persuasively, ‘but I beg you to follow my advice. Allow the fire to burn low and open the window in the sitting room to allow a little fresh air to sweep away the germs.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Sandwell worried her lower lip between her teeth. ‘It goes against everything that—’

  ‘Please. It’s a warm day and I promise you it will make a difference.’ She smiled at the woman who had looked after the countess for twenty years and who still resented the fact that she enjoyed Flora’s company above her own. ‘We both have the countess’s best interests at heart and she trusts me. Nothing would have made her drink that tincture if she did not.’

  Sandwell conceded the point with a reluctant nod. ‘That much is true.’

  ‘I will strike a bargain with you. If she has not improved by this evening, we will go back to your methods.’

  Sandwell sighed. ‘Very well, but if your ways make her worse then I shall never listen to a word you say ever again.’

  Flora and Sandwell were both servants, but since Flora was treated as a member of the family, she could claim seniority over Sandwell and insist upon dictating terms for the countess’s care. Aware that would create more resentments, she had worked patiently to gain Sandwell’s approval. Flora opened the sitting room window half way and greedily breathed in the clean country air, such a welcome change from the fetid atmosphere of the sickroom.

  ‘I will come and take over from you in an hour. She shouldn’t be left.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Sandwell replied. ‘You go and sit with their ladyships. I dare say there’s a lot more to be done to prepare for the wedding.’

  ‘Very well, if you’re sure. I will check back later.’

  With unexpected time on her hands, Flora left the countess’s rooms without looking where she was going. At the last minute she realised someone was walking towards her, heading for Emma’s rooms, and she almost collided with Miranda.

  ‘Oh, excuse me.’ She smiled at the dashing young woman in a vibrant red habit. ‘I was deep in thought and not minding where I was going. Good morning, Miranda, how nice to see you again.’

  ‘Good morning, Flora. I hope I have not come too early.’

  ‘If you are here to see Emma, then no you have not. I saw her an hour ago, anguishing over invitations.’

  Miranda smiled. ‘That’s what I imagined. Emma always did like to pay attention to every little detail. Nothing has changed in that regard. Anyway, I told Woodley not to trouble to show me up. I always used to have the run of the house before I went away, and I don’t see why I should stand on ceremony and put the servants to extra work now that we are no longer children.’

  ‘Quite right, too. You are planning to ride?’

  Colour touched her cheeks. ‘Charlie mentioned something about a mare that’s too spirited for Mary.’

  ‘Ah yes, the Arabian. The sweetest creature on God’s earth, until someone puts a saddle on her back, then she turns into a holy terror.’

  Miranda looked a little distressed and Flora wondered if she should have said anything. There again, she didn’t suppose that Charlie would have mentioned the horse if he didn’t think she could handle her tantrums.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Are you a competent rider?’

  ‘I like to think so. I certainly have no fear and ride whenever I can.’ Miranda smiled. ‘I rode every type of horse in every country we visited without mishap.’

  ‘Well then, I expect it will be all right. Mary, by her own admission, prefers a steady plodder. Charlie says that Evita simply needs to learn who’s boss.’

  ‘Evita. Is that her name?’ Flora nodded. ‘How pretty. I dare say we will get along well enough, but there’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘I will walk with you, if you like,’ Flora offered. ‘The countess is feeling unwell today and her maid is sitting with her, so I might as well make myself useful to Emma.’

  ‘How is Grandmamma?’ Mary asked, looking up from her drawing when the two girls entered Emma’s sitting room.

  ‘Sleeping. Sandwell is with her. She won’t let me call a doctor, but I really don’t th
ink there is any need. She’s had a tincture and is now sleeping, which is the best cure.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Emma said, hugging Miranda. ‘Good morning, my dear. How fetching you look in that habit. I wish I was more of a horsewoman. There is nothing like a tight-fitting habit to show off one’s figure.’

  Miranda laughed, waving the suggestion aside, but Flora suspected that she knew just what the habit did for her. She possessed a shapely figure, so why shouldn’t she make the best of it? Charlie, Flora was sure, would appreciate the effort.

  ‘It seems you managed to attract Mr Watson without needing to go that far,’ Miranda said, seating herself at the table. ‘Now, what are you doing and how can I help?’

  Flora watched the three girls, heads together as they discussed Mary’s design for the tables at the wedding breakfast. It was evident that there would be no opportunity for her to quiz Miranda about the Coopers, as Luke had asked her to, so she settled down to addressing invitations instead, thinking it just as well. If she had nothing to report then she had no justification for seeking Luke out. Besides, if gambling was not a sin then she’d wager that Charlie would get a great deal more out of her.

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda followed Flora’s example and set about addressing an endless pile of invitations.

  ‘Just how many guests are you inviting?’ she asked, smiling and shaking her head. ‘We are all in danger of developing writer’s cramp.’

  ‘It’s got rather out of hand, I suppose,’ Emma admitted with an impish smile. ‘But Luke said we were not to give offence by omitting anyone of consequence. I am the first of the six of us to marry and Luke insists that the occasion must be marked in style. Alvin has distant relations scattered all over the country and, well…’

  ‘And Emma wants to be the centre of attention,’ Mary added, grinning at her sister.

  ‘As every bride has a duty to be,’ Flora pointed out.

  ‘Well, I can see that you have taken the earl at his word.’ Miranda had reached the end of her pile of cards and leaned back in her chair, flexing the fingers of her right hand. ‘What would you like me to do now?’

  ‘Let’s see.’

  Emma picked up her master list but before she could allocate more tasks, Flora spoke.

  ‘I declare that list grows longer every day.’ She gave an indulgent smile. ‘Have you actually crossed anything off it, Emma?’

  ‘It does look that way, I suppose, but…’ Emma looked up when the door opened. ‘Oh, hello, Charlie. Have you come to steal Miranda away?’

  ‘Good morning, ladies.’ He smiled at them all but his gaze remained focused on Miranda for long enough to make her blush. ‘If you can spare her. I promised to let her try Evita. Besides, it’s too nice a day to remain indoors.’

  ‘You are speaking to a bride-to-be who has no leisure time available to her,’ Flora said, smiling. ‘Everything must be absolutely perfect, you see, as I am sure it will be.’

  Charlie grinned and tugged at one of Emma’s curls. ‘With my sister at the helm, nothing would dare to go wrong.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Emma said distractedly, scowling at something that concerned her on her list.

  ‘Be careful,’ Mary advised, addressing Miranda. ‘That mare looks as innocent as a baby, but she’s a demon with a saddle on her.’

  ‘So Flora warned me, but don’t concern yourself on my account. Forewarned is forearmed. I shall be ready for her.’ She stood. ‘If you will excuse me.’

  ‘Gladly,’ Emma replied, tutting about something on her list that had been overlooked. ‘But don’t forget that we need you here again tomorrow morning for a dress fitting.’

  ‘I shall be here.’

  ‘Enjoy your ride,’ Emma said absently, ‘but take care. Look after her, Charlie. I cannot have bridesmaids with broken limbs.’

  ‘Emma!’ Flora and Mary cried together.

  ‘Sorry.’ Emma looked up with a sheepish smile. ‘If anyone can get the better of that contrary mare it’s you, Miranda.’

  ‘And I am hardly going to let her put herself at risk,’ Charlie added.

  He opened the door for Miranda and she walked through it ahead of him. Neither of them spoke until they reached the ground floor and let themselves out of the side door that led to the stables. Miranda was acutely aware of Charlie’s physical presence. He was tall, as all the Beranger men were, and Miranda’s head barely reached his shoulder. The sensation of raw power that emanated from his muscular physique stole her breath away, making her feel maladroit, a child again. But she took courage from the approving sideways glances that Charlie kept sending her; a reminder that she was no longer a child and that he didn’t look upon her as one.

  At last he had noticed her.

  But how to retain his interest? She moistened her lips as she glanced up at him, his brown hair lifting in the breeze as they walked towards the yard, his rugged features a physical manifestation of so many of her recent dreams. She tried hard to think of something to say that would ease the expectant silence between them. It didn’t feel like an uncomfortable silence to her, simply because there was no one else’s company she would prefer to share. Even so, she worried that he might look upon making conversation as too much effort. Perhaps all he really wanted was to sell his wretched mare.

  No! She was confusing Charlie’s behaviour with Matthew’s, who tended to treat her as an irrelevance. Charlie was a gentleman and didn’t allow uncomfortable silences. Ergo, he must find it comfortable, too.

  ‘I hear tell that this mare is hard to handle,’ she remarked, ‘so I am pleased you think I might be able to master her. I rode several young Arabians while in Egypt and had no trouble with any of them.’

  ‘I would not have mentioned Evita to you if I thought you would find her too challenging.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I assume that was intended as a compliment.’

  ‘Absolutely. You ride as well as any man I know.’

  Miranda beamed. ‘Better, since I am obliged to balance on a sidesaddle.’

  Charlie laughed. ‘Well, there is that.’

  ‘One day I shall wear breeches, ride astride and challenge you to a race. Then we shall see which of us is the better rider.’

  ‘I look upon it as a fixed engagement,’ he replied, his voice soft yet resonating with carnal implications that made her feel warm all over. ‘And look forward to it for reasons that have nothing to do with horsemanship.’

  Miranda blushed and looked away from him without responding.

  They stepped onto the yard and Miranda gasped when she espied a beautiful Palomino mare with a long blonde mane and tail tethered outside her stall. A groom energetically strapped her quarters, bringing out a golden shine to her coat.

  ‘That must be her.’

  Without waiting for a response, she walked up to the mare and stroked her soft muzzle. Evita responded with a soft whinny and pushed her nose into Miranda’s hand, scooping up the carrot that she had produced from her pocket.

  ‘I am in love,’ Miranda said, looking up at Charlie and laughing. ‘I have never seen a creature half so beautiful.’

  ‘That’s what I thought when I saw her in the sale ring.’ Charlie patted Evita’s neck. ‘When she was sold to me so cheaply, I should have realised there was a catch.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Horses have more intelligence than we give them credit for. Mary is not a natural horsewoman. Evita probably sensed it and decided to have some fun with her.’

  Charlie conceded the point with a tilt of his head. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘She is a lady’s mount, and unless Flora is an expert horsewoman there is no one here strong enough to win a battle of wills with her.’ Charlie leaned one broad shoulder against the stable wall, casually and distractingly posed as he listened to Miranda’s thoughts on the matter. Now that she had embarked upon a subject she possessed a thorough understanding of, her nervousness fell away. This was the real Miranda. Hopefully, Charlie would like wh
at he saw. If he did not, it would be better for her to know it now. ‘It’s not just a question of dominance.’

  ‘Perish the thought.’ Charlie’s lips twitched.

  ‘Evita and I will understand one another very well, I feel absolutely sure of it. We have already formed a bond.’ She held up a hand when a groom appeared with her bridle and side-saddle. ‘No, let me.’

  At a nod from Charlie, the groom handed the saddle to Miranda. She spoke softly to Evita the entire time as she placed the saddle cloth and then the saddle itself on her back. The mare flinched and swung her quarters when Miranda tried to tighten the girth.

  ‘I thought as much. She has a sensitive stomach,’ Miranda said, ‘and doesn’t like the strap too tight too soon.’

  She left the saddle attached on its loosest buckle and replaced Evita’s halter with a bridle. The horse accepted the bit without demur.

  ‘You see, she’s telling us something.’

  ‘I myself have never tacked the mare up, so it is you who is telling me something.’

  Charlie snapped his fingers and a groom ran to bring out his grey gelding, Apollo, who had already been saddled.

  ‘Come along then, Evita.’ Miranda asked a groom to lead the mare to the mounting block and hold her head. ‘Let’s see why everyone’s so afraid of you.’

  As she walked along beside the mare, Miranda very gently eased the girth strap up by another notch. Just enough for her to be able to mount without the saddle slipping. But mounting under her own steam proved to be unnecessary, as she discovered when a large pair of hands descended upon her waist and swept her from the ground, depositing her gently in the saddle.

  ‘Oh!’ She felt suddenly very hot and flustered. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Charlie replied, watching carefully, ready to catch her if she fell.

  Much as she would like to be caught in those strong arms, Miranda had a point to prove, and had no intention of allowing Evita to misbehave. She spoke soothingly to the agitated mare, who kept swinging her quarters from side to side, fighting the groom’s hold on her head. ‘Hush now,’ Miranda said calmly, sitting perfectly still and smoothing the mare’s neck as she waited for her to settle. As she hoped would be the case, her calmness communicated itself and Evita gradually became less agitated. Miranda settled in the saddle and adjusted the single stirrup’s length. She then, with infinite care, tightened the girth by another notch.