by Anne O'Brien
It was three weeks since Lord Nicholas Faringdon had made his perfunctory excuses to his family, closed up Faringdon House and returned to Burford Hall. He had obviously made no attempt to see Theodora.
‘I know.’ Thea managed a smile as she reduced the warm roll to crumbs on her plate. ‘You will note that I am making every attempt to fulfil your wishes for me. Frederick is becoming quite hopeful.’
‘Unless he is driven away by your fading looks! I think you need a change of air, my dear. To leave London.’
‘Will you let me accompany you to St Petersburg?’ Thea looked up hopefully from the crumby disaster. At least in Russia I would be as far from Nicholas as it would be possible to be!
‘No!’
‘But why should I leave London now? In the middle of the Season?’
‘Only for a short time. A few days. Until you have regained your looks. And I anticipate that the Earl will miss you—and be even keener to fix his interest with you on your return.’
‘Or take up with another débutante in my absence. A sad case of out of sight, out of mind.’ Not that she cared! ‘Miss Walworth is very pretty, do you not think?’
‘You need some colour in your cheeks.’ Lady Drusilla recognised the diversionary tactics and refused to co-operate. ‘And I think that you have lost weight. Furthermore, there are distinct shadows under your eyes this morning. It really will not do, Thea.’
Thea sighed and gave in, even as she took herself to task for lack of spirit. ‘So, where are you sending me?’ Perhaps a change of scene would restore her energies. She was simply not used to feeling so down.
Since Lord Nicholas’s departure, Thea’s errant behaviour had been transformed almost overnight, the unfortunate hitches forgotten, her social solecisms glossed over. Judith had apparently forgiven her, although she still expressed disquiet over her treatment of poor Nicholas. Lady Beatrice frowned and was inclined to refer to that incident in St James’s Street, but was prepared to accept that perhaps Theodora had not realised the enormity of her transgression. Frederick was attentive. Smitten, Judith suggested with a suppressed chuckle. So all was comfortable again.
The only problem was with Thea’s heart, which refused to return to its previously unawakened state and its normal steady rhythm.
‘I have had an idea,’ Lady Drusilla announced. ‘I have an ancient cousin, Jennifer Hatton. She is mostly housebound and very deaf, but she is my only close relative. I have no wish to visit her in her rural solitude, but should enquire after her before we leave for St Petersburg. You could go, instead. With Agnes, of course. It would be the perfect solution. You will enjoy the freedom from London restrictions and a visit into the country will do you good.’
‘Very well.’ Thea abandoned her attempt at breakfast. She felt no great enthusiasm, but perhaps it would be better than allowing her eyes to search every soirée, every ballroom, every street, for a glimpse of Nicholas, when she knew for certain that he was no longer in town. And certainly better than suffering a severe attack of the nerves when she saw a dark-haired, broad shouldered gentleman. It was hopeless! She never suffered from nerves!
‘There is one problem.’
She tuned her mind back into her mother’s words.
‘Cousin Jennifer lives in Tenbury Wells. In Herefordshire.’
‘Oh!’ Burford Hall is in Herefordshire!
Lady Drusilla caught the interested gleam in Thea’s eyes. ‘I expect you to be sensible, Theodora,’ she declaimed in firm accents. ‘On no account are you to make contact with Lord Nicholas. Not after all your hard work to distance yourself from him—it would be foolish in the extreme to put yourself in his way. It is an advantage that you will not be called upon to socialise while you are there in Tenbury Wells. My cousin is too elderly to visit or to keep open house.’ She surveyed her daughter and wondered if her suggestion had been quite wise. There was a distinct return of colour to Thea’s pale cheeks. ‘You will do nothing to draw attention to yourself. You will go nowhere near Burford Hall. Fresh air, new surroundings, and back here at the end of the week. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Mama. Very clear.’ Thea smiled in perfect serenity. ‘I will do just as you say.’
‘You do not visit Burford Hall!’
‘Of course not, Mama.’ Of course she would go nowhere near Burford Hall.
But Aymestry Manor, Nicholas’s own property, which her mama appeared to have overlooked, was not so very far from Tenbury Wells. Would she be able to resist going to see Nicholas’s own home? If she were sensible, she would remain as distant as possible from it. How foolish it would be to even risk a chance meeting. But the temptation to see his home for herself was well-nigh irresistible …
Her spirits lifted as she left the breakfast parlour, informing her mama that she would go and supervise the packing for a visit into the country. She could not quite quell the little surge of—what? Hope? Anticipation? How foolish she was, but energy once more sang in her blood.
Lady Drusilla frowned at her daughter. ‘Are you humming, Theodora?’ she asked, her suspicions aroused, as the lady walked to the door with a lively flounce to her skirts?
‘Humming? Certainly not, Mama. I never hum!’
And with that Lady Drusilla had to be content.
Chapter Seven
Thea discovered her mother’s brief description of Cousin Jennifer to be exact to a point. Of advanced age, she lived retired from society, profoundly deaf and intolerant of those around her except for the equally elderly servants who ministered to her needs. Her days were spent in reading, tending her beloved garden and drinking a quantity of vintage port. She made Thea welcome in a casual manner, but, although friendly enough, made no alteration in her own itinerary beyond giving instructions for Thea’s comfort in the house as long as she cared to remain there. She had clearly expected no visit from Lady Drusilla. Thea decided that it had all been a ruse on her mother’s part to remove her from town for a little while, but accepted the cunning but obvious subterfuge with equanimity. She had enjoyed the journey in the company of Mistress Drew and her groom of long standing, Edward Dacre. Sir Hector had also insisted that a servant accompany her to handle her luggage, arrange her accommodation at hotels and inns en route. So they had made quite an entourage and Thea had found nothing demanded of her but to relax and enjoy the experience. Sir Hector had provided a light travelling coach for her comfort so she travelled in style and also had her grey Arab mare, The Zephyr, with her.
At Tenbury House, on the outskirts of the little town, Thea settled in. Nothing was required of her by her hostess, which gave Thea the opportunity to enjoy as much fresh air and freedom as her mother had recommended. She explored the little town, a minor spa graced with a parade of shops, an ancient church and a swiftly flowing river with swans and ducks. But, attractive as it was, its pleasures were soon exhausted.
So, now what should she do with her time? Thea discovered a little pamphlet describing the local sights worthy of admiration. She riffled through the pages with eyes that did not quite focus on the words and illustrations on the page. Because in the back of Thea’s mind lurked the prospect of Aymestry Manor. It glowed like a jewel on black velvet. It lured her, enticed her, wearing down her good intentions. It was so close, after all. Surely a brief visit, just to look—from a distance, of course—would be acceptable? Conscience and common sense warned her of the dangers of such an escapade. Her own inclination was reluctant to listen. Her common sense took on the tone and accents of Lady Drusilla at her most imposing.
You must not go there, Theodora!
But why not?
What good would it do to meet Nicholas again? You know all the arguments, all the dangers, only too well.
He would not be there!
It would be wrong to see him. You care for him too much.
I have no intention of seeing him!
So what is the point of going?
Because … because I want to see the house that is his very own, which
he cares for, which is close to his heart.
And what good would that do, pray?
I don’t know. I simply want to see something that matters to him. There is no danger in that, is there?
So you are merely inquisitive? Really, Theodora!
Yes! And what is wrong with that?
Her common sense (and Lady Drusilla) gave up and lost the argument.
As a result, on a bright morning, the lady took Agnes Drew, Edward Dacre and their servant on a mounted expedition to Aymestry, a journey that could easily be managed in a day. A pleasant journey where they were free to admire the gentle rounded hills, wooded valleys, the flash of the deep and secret River Teme as it emerged from the undergrowth. Wild flowers cloaked verges with buttercups and ox-eye daisies. The apple trees were laden with blossom, promise of a good harvest.
Asking directions, they turned on to a little track that wound between high grass and old hedgerows. And there it was, in an open valley, surrounded by pasture and stands of oak and beech. Thea reined in The Zephyr on a rounded knoll to get a better view. Nicholas had spoken of Aymestry Manor often, not in any great detail, but with deep affection. Now she understood why, knowing that it had been willed to him from the family estate, originally part of a dowry from his mother’s family.
The first impression to strike her was that it was not classically beautiful. No clean lines or porticoes, no symmetrical windows, no pillars or imposing steps. It was a hotchpotch of old construction over the centuries, with the addition of more recent wings and storeys. A mellow stone wing from the seventeenth century butted against wood and plaster half-timbered walls and gables. A carved entrance porch led to an arched doorway that smacked of medieval origins. One recent addition with a little tower rose above a double-hipped roof-line. Beside it, around a paved central courtyard, were half-timbered barns, a red-brick dove cote, a pair of oast houses with their tilted stone roofs and a range of stone and plaster stabling. It was not classical, but it was charming, offering an immediate warmth and welcome.
It was, she thought, on a sudden impulse, a home. But she knew that Nicholas, by necessity, spent little time there.
Around the house she could see evidence of gardens, both informal and formal, a ha-ha protecting them from the predations of animals that grazed in the open pastures beyond. Thea sighed and tried to ignore the little tug at her heart as the sun encouraged the roses along one gable-end to unfurl their petals and the doves flew in a flurry of white wings, to settle once more on their perches.
Yes. It looked like home. And had been over the centuries. A settled place, something of which she had no experience in her short life.
Agnes, seated beside her on a stolid gelding, interrupted her reverie. ‘I think we should go back, Miss Thea.’
‘No. I want to go closer.’
‘It is not wise. His lordship might be here. And then where shall we be?’
‘No.’ Thea was certain. ‘He visits only rarely, when business permits.’
Before Agnes could object further, she kicked the little mare into a descent from their vantage spot. All she wanted was to see what lay so close to Nicholas’s heart. To know a little more about him, even if it would increase the pain, even if they were destined to live apart. She nodded in quick decision. It was worth the risk.
At close quarters the house was just as entrancing. Gardens carefully tended without being fussy, perhaps lacking the hand of a woman, Thea found herself thinking before she stopped herself. Voices from the further side of the house drew her to approach a small paddock where two mares with their new foals grazed, watched by a pair of grooms who leaned on the fence. But no sign of Nicholas.
Well, she was here. She would see what enthralled him about this place. She walked The Zephyr up to the paddock, leaving Agnes and their escort some way behind, and brought her to a halt.
An elderly man with grizzled hair and weatherbeaten face, with some authority on his shoulders, emerged from one of the barns at her approach. Touched his hand to his hat as he took in the quality of the visitors, and, more importantly, their horseflesh. Thea dismounted.
‘Good day, miss.’ He came over to hold her reins, a little bent with age. ‘Can I be of help?’ His voice held the soft Marches’ burr.
‘No. I was passing … visiting in the area … a cousin lives near Tenbury. I am a little acquainted with Lord Nicholas Faringdon. Is he perhaps here?’
‘No. Expect he’s over at Burford. I’m Furness, his lordship’s head groom ‘ere at Aymestry.’
A curious mix of relief and disappointment flooded through her. Deciding that relief was the more apt of the two, she smiled at the groom. ‘It is lovely here, Master Furness.’
‘It is that.’
‘Lord Nicholas has spoken often of his horses.’
‘Prime beasts, miss.’ He turned back to admire his charges, pride clear on his lined face. ‘We hope to do well on the turf. Good lines in this breeding, y’see. These little ‘uns are both thoroughbred. Much in demand in the hunting field too.’
‘I can see.’ She smiled at his enthusiasm and stretched out her fingers to scratch the forehead of an inquisitive mare.
‘His lordship—he doesn’t get enough time to concentrate on ‘em. Not as much as he’d like. Too much business over at the big house and estate.’
‘It takes a lot of his time?’ The mare pushed at her hand, perhaps hoping for an apple. She laughed and shook her head.
‘Too much, I’d say. His’re the only shoulders to bear it, y’see—the Marquis being only a little lad and in foreign parts an’ all.’ Furness searched his pockets to find a wizened fruit, which the mare promptly crunched.
‘Yes. I see. He is a conscientious landlord?’ Thea discovered that she had no pride when it came to questioning the groom about his master. She flushed a little at the realisation. Thank God her mama was not within hearing distance!
‘Aye. No hard feelings round here. Or none to speak of.’
‘No. I suppose not. Is there much unrest?’
‘Some. We hear rumour of it on Lord Westbourne’s estates, which run between here and Tenbury. And in Leominster, o’ course. But not at Aymestry. Or Burford. Even when we’ve had hard times—harvest bad and famine at hand—he cares for his own, does Lord Nicholas. Puts money from his own pocket back into the land. Keeps rents down, d’you see. Not like some I could name round ‘ere. Lord Westbourne, for one. Them as thinks of nothing but their own comfort and pleasures.’ Furness spat on the ground. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, miss.’
‘You are fortunate indeed, Master Furness.’
He nodded. ‘Not all agree. The markets are bad, but we do well enough. The cattle and sheep are sturdy breeds. Ryelands over there—see.’ He pointed with gnarled fingers. ‘And Here-fords in the far pasture. New blood brought in to improve the stock. Lord Nicholas keeps up with the trends—always reading some pamphlet or other. Different from in my dad’s day—when he was groom ‘ere.’ The old groom, it seemed, needed no encouragement from Thea to express his admiration. ‘His lordship now—he’s done it since he was nobbut a young lad, as well, his brother dying so young and Lord Henry being in New York.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Thea found words difficult. Her heart swelled within her breast and emotion tightened its hold on her throat, surprising her with its intensity. To hear such praise from Master Furness. And she had to admit to the sly finger of guilt that touched her spine. She had been more than ready to condemn Nicholas as a frivolous, self-serving landlord with no thought for his tenants. And living on his nephew’s inheritance too! How far, it seemed, she had been from the truth.
‘I must go,’ she decided eventually, giving the mare a final caress on her soft nose. ‘I have enjoyed our meeting, Master Furness.’
‘A nice horse you have there, miss.’ He cast his eye over the grey, then leaned down to run his hands down her forelegs. ‘His lordship could make good use of some swift Arab blood in the breeding. I reckon she runs well.’
‘I must go,’ she repeated.
‘Who shall I say that called, miss?’
‘No matter. Goodbye, Master Furness.’ She turned to go, suddenly aware of a hiss of expression from Agnes Drew.
And there he was.
On his return from London, Nicholas had found himself seamlessly absorbed into estate matters. It was not difficult. Lambing and calving continued apace at Burford and he was readily involved. Riding the family acres, a small glow of satisfaction touched him that he had thwarted Beatrice’s less than subtle plans. He fervently hoped that she was feeling put out that he had escaped her clutches. Without doubt, he had enjoyed the pace and glamour of the London scene, but he was not sorry to be back. The stern lines of his face relaxed into a smile as he watched a pair of swans with their fluffy if unmanageable brood take to the water on the mere.
But the smile faded.
Theodora.
He would not think of her! She meant nothing to him. He looked down, a line developing between his brows as he rubbed at the skin on his hand where the mark of her whip had just faded to the slightest discoloration. A woman who was volatile and unreliable, spoilt, privileged and indulged from childhood. A lucky escape indeed to see her in her true colours when he might have been in danger of allowing himself to enjoy her company too much.
So why did the thought of her, the memory of her laughter, the sparkle in her magnificent eyes, still heat his blood? And trouble his sleep? Unwise enough to recall the softness of her mouth against his in those few stolen kisses in Vauxhall Gardens, the muscles in his loins tightened uncomfortably. Desire ran hot through his veins. He bared his teeth and kicked his horse into a canter. But the speed of the animal did nothing to distance him from the apparent hold Miss Wooton-Devereux continued to exert over his very masculine reaction to her. Against all logic, all good sense, he continued to be driven by the thought of taking Theodora to his bed, of claiming her lips in a furious possession that did not include gentleness. Igniting all that fire and energy in his arms. If only she hadn’t been so irresponsible and wayward. Frustration made him groan and set his teeth. It could, he decided, be the death of him!
