Lord Freddie's First Love

by Patricia Bray

  “Mama, Mama!” Ian ran across the gravel drive. “Lord Freddie showed me how to jump. Ajax just ran and ran and then he lifted himself and flew right over the logs. And Lord Freddie said I was a regular trooper and would be a fine hunter one day.”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” Anne gave Freddie a look that promised retribution. Then she turned her attention to the child. “You can tell me all about it later. Now, in the house with you and wash up, or there will be no tea for you.”

  Ian dashed indoors, and the two of them were left alone.

  “How could you be so thoughtless? He’s barely learning to ride and you let him jump? Didn’t you stop to think of the harm that could happen? Or how I might feel? I spent the last hour imagining all sorts of dreadful things that might have happened to Ian.”

  He hadn’t realized that Anne would be worried. “I am sorry—”

  “Sorry is not good enough. I expected more of you.”

  He felt as if he were a small boy who had been caught misbehaving. “I apologize,” he said, and then spoiled the effect by smiling.

  “And wipe that smile off your face. The least you can do is look repentant.”

  “Forgive me,” he said. “It is just that for one moment you sounded so much like my mother I felt it was she and not you who was calling me to task.”

  Anne sighed and pushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face. “Now that I have responsibility for a child of my own, I find myself much more in sympathy with Lady Frederick. You must have frightened her half to death with your antics. And now you go teaching Ian your old tricks.”

  She appeared more resigned than angry. He took that as a good sign. “Truly I did not mean to worry you. I know I promised I would bring him straight here, but Ian seemed low in spirits and I wanted to cheer him up. The home farm was on our way here, so there seemed no harm in a slight delay. It was just a single set of crossed rails, not even two feet high.”

  Anne raised her eyebrows. “And do you think that will be the end of it? Now he will be after Samson to teach him how to jump on his own pony.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he confessed. He had known there was no risk of harm to the boy, as long as they were mounted on Ajax. But he should have realized that Ian was unlikely to be satisfied until he had repeated the experience. As a boy Freddie had been much the same way himself. “If you like, I will try to explain to Ian that he is too young to try jumping on his own.”

  “No, you can leave that task for me.”

  Ian chose this moment to reappear, dashing down the stairs and holding his hands out for Anne’s inspection.

  “Very good,” she said, nodding approvingly. She hesitated for a moment, then turned back to Freddie and said, “Will you join us? Cook has prepared a picnic, and I thought to take it down by the stream.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said. He led Ajax off to the stables and gave him over to the groom, then met up with Anne and Ian at the kitchen door. Anne held a basket in one hand and carried a blanket in the other. He took the basket in his left hand, then gave the blanket to young Ian. “A gentleman always carries things for his lady,” he said.

  The boy nodded and clutched the blanket to his chest.

  Freddie offered his right arm to Anne. She hesitated a moment, as if unused to such courtesies. Then she linked her arm in his. They strolled across the manicured lawn as it sloped gradually down to the stream that marked the eastern border of the estate. There, underneath an ancient oak tree, the site of so many past picnics, Freddie spread the blanket and Anne unpacked the picnic basket.

  Cook had outdone herself. There were sandwiches for Ian and lobster patties for the adults, not to mention biscuits, pastries and fruits fresh from the conservatory. But Freddie could not help feeling a pang of longing for the simpler times in years past when he and Anne had picnicked on this very spot. Then they had dined on whatever scraps they could wheedle from the kitchen, had drunk cold water from the stream, but he recalled the meals as having been fit for royalty. Or perhaps it had not been the food he had enjoyed so much as he had welcomed any chance to escape from his regimented life at Beechwood Park.

  No meal could ever compare to the memories of his childhood; still they managed to do justice to the fine meal Cook had provided. Ian, having eaten his fill, and being bored by the adult conversation, stood up and began to investigate the meadow.

  Freddie leaned back against the tree, stretching his legs out. He could not remember the last time he had felt this much at peace.

  “Be careful, love,” Anne called, seeing that Ian was making his way toward the stream. “Don’t go too near the edge.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Freddie said. The boy was scarce fifty feet away, and at midsummer the stream was so low that a man could easily wade across it. There was little risk of the child coming to harm, although Ian’s clothes were bound to become a trifle muddy.

  “I sound a fusspot, I know. But I do worry about him. And there is so little I can do to protect him.”

  She looked at Ian, her expression forlorn. Freddie’s throat tightened. He knew she was not talking about the ordinary trials and tribulations of childhood. Anne could not protect her son from the consequences of his birth.

  “He seems a fine lad. You have done a good job with him,” Freddie said, trying to comfort her.

  “He is a darling. But I should never have brought him here. And I never should have taken him to the village this morning. What happened was my fault.”

  Anger stirred in him as he remembered the events of that morning. “It was not your fault. What happened this morning was regrettable, but it was just one man. You mustn’t judge all of New Biddeford by Tom Sweet’s example.”

  Anne shook her head regretfully. “You are being kind, but we both know this is no place for me. As soon as my affairs are in order, Ian and I will be returning home.”

  “Home? To Canada?” But this was her home. She could not leave. Not now. Not after she’d just returned.

  “Nova Scotia, actually. In time Ian will forget all this”—she waved her hand to indicate the estate—“and it will be as it was before.”

  He reached his arm out as if he could make her stay, and then let it fall as he realized how foolish a gesture it was. Of course Anne wanted to return home. It was perfectly understandable. But a selfish part of him did not want to let her go.

  “Permit me to say that I will miss you. It has not been the same without you here. In your absence I have turned into a dreadfully dull fellow,” he said, trying to recapture the carefree mood that had vanished with the mention of her present circumstances.

  His words had their intended effect, for Anne’s face lost its forlorn look. “You? Dull? Surely you are mocking me.”

  He glanced over and saw that Ian was busy trying to skip stones across the stream. Reaching into the picnic basket, he withdrew the bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. He made a mental note to stop by the kitchen and thank the Websters’ cook for her foresight in including a bottle of wine along with the tamer lemonade.

  He handed her one of the newly filled glasses.

  “I will tell you the tale, but I warn you it is not a pretty one,” he said, his voice heavy with mock irony.

  “Pray, speak on,” Anne said with equal irony.

  Pleased to see that the shadows had left her eyes, he set out to amuse her.

  “In my first Season in London, I found myself a young man of no particular distinction. The gentlemen treated me as a younger brother, and the ladies constantly inquired if I should not still be in school somewhere. Since I was all of nineteen this did not distress me, but when I was one and twenty, it became a trifle tedious.”

  He paused to take a sip of his wine. It was not the time to tell her that he had spent those years secure in the knowledge that one day Anne would return home and that he would claim her. Only gradually had he come to the realization that Anne was not returning and that he would have to set a new course for his l
ife.

  “Realizing that I needed to be noticed, I set myself out to become one of the dandy set.”

  Here he was rewarded by a giggle. “You? A dandy? I can not imagine that.”

  “Oh, but you must. For years I was a slave to fashion. Patterned waistcoats? I have dozens, each more outrageous than the last. Embroidered silk stockings? I went through them in the hundreds. I spent hours each day contemplating the tying of my cravat, and when the task of keeping up my appearance proved too much for my valet, I hired him an assistant. Really, I can not bear to contemplate the depths of my follies,” Freddie said, shuddering in mock horror. He was exaggerating, of course. But only slightly.

  “And what happened?”

  “Nothing. For all my endeavors, I could not change the opinion of the ton. I was still Viscount Frederick, a dull, if worthy gentleman, with a title and income that inspired scheming mamas and fortune hunters. The young ladies themselves found me a convenient escort, but, alas, hardly a romantic figure. Eventually I realized the futility of trying to make myself something that I was not, and I renounced my claim as a dandy.” Even he could hear the note of self-pity in his voice. He had meant to amuse her, not make her feel sorry for him.

  “I can not believe it was as bad as all that,” Anne said.

  “But I have not told you the worst of it,” Freddie added, compelled to tell her the whole of it. “Did I mention my marriage proposals? For several years I have been seeking a wife. A woman of gentility to satisfy my family, and with a kind heart and affectionate nature to satisfy myself.”

  “And did you find her?”

  “Of course. Not once, but a dozen times.” He forced himself to smile, to cover the hurt that he still felt at the memory of those past rejections. “Each young lady declined the honor of becoming my wife. This season it was Miss Sommersby. An exceptional girl, modest to a fault. She had not even realized I was courting her. But in the end she refused my suit, telling me that she cared for me as a brother.”

  “Miss Sommersby is an idiot. Any woman would be lucky to have you for a husband,” Anne said hotly.

  “I appreciate your vote of confidence. Even if you and my mother are the only two females who seem to feel that way,” he said. Her ready defense helped ease the sting of his humiliation. “Still, if she hadn’t refused me, I might never have felt the urge to rusticate. And then I wouldn’t have found you again. So you see, things do work out for the best.”

  Anne, who had leaned closer while he told his tale, now drew back. “Er, indeed,” she said, seemingly flustered. She turned her face away and looked at the picnic basket as if it were an object of great fascination. “These past years, I have often thought of you and how you were faring,” she said softly.

  Then she lifted her head and forced a teasing smile to her lips. “But I never would have imagined you as a pink of the ton. I am sorry that I was not here to see it.”

  “I am sorry as well.” Regret stabbed through him, followed by sorrow over their lost chances, surprising him with a depth of emotion that he had not felt for a very long time.

  He could not help thinking how different their lives would have been if Anne had never made that fateful trip. Would they have been married, with children of their own? Or had their course been set even before Anne had left? Had her father banished her to Canada because of her disgrace? And if she had fallen into trouble, why hadn’t she confided in him? He would have done anything to help her. Anything. Surely she had known that.

  Ian gave a shriek, and Freddie looked over to see that the boy had fallen into the stream. He jumped up, but before he had taken more than a few steps, Ian was standing up in the midst of the stream. He was soaking wet, but he did not appear hurt. In fact he was positively beaming with excitement.

  “A giant fish, he’s here, I saw him, I did!” Ian shouted; then he bent over and peered closely at the running water. He showed no discomfort over his soaking-wet condition, no inclination to leave the stream.

  Mindless of his hessians, Freddie waded into the stream and grabbed the boy by the collar. With a heave he plucked Ian from the waters and deposited him on the bank where Anne stood waiting. She hugged Ian fiercely, then stepped back and looked at him with dismay. “Look at you. You’re completely soaked.”

  “I nearly had him,” Ian said. “If he hadn’t wiggled, I would have got him for sure.”

  “You know better than to jump into a stream like that,” Anne said. “You frightened me, not to mention Lord Frederick who went in after you.”

  Ian looked contrite. “I am sorry, Mama. And, Lord Frederick, I am sorry you got all wet. I didn’t mean to fall in. It just happened.”

  Freddie climbed up the bank. His boots were soaked, not to mention his breeches which were wet to the knees. He and Ian both made a sorry sight.

  “It is nothing. But next time, heed your mother and do what she tells you,” Freddie said. With a sense of disappointment, he realized that this mishap spelled the end to any chance of private conversation with Anne.

  “At least it is a warm day,” she observed. “Still, we must get you inside and out of those muddy clothes.”

  She took Ian back to the oak tree, then wrapped him up in the blanket.

  Freddie helped Anne repack the picnic basket, but the mood of intimacy was lost. It was clear that all of Anne’s attention was focused on her son. He escorted them back to the house, where Anne gave orders that a hot bath be drawn.

  “I will take my leave,” he said. “But say that I may call again.”

  “I would like that,” Anne responded with a smile.

  And with that he had to be content.

  Six

  The next morning, Freddie rose early, as was his custom when he was at Beechwood Park. He breakfasted alone, then left the house and headed for the stables. A groom saddled Ajax for him, and Freddie set off on his morning ride.

  The dew was still on the grass, and traces of mist lingered in the shade where the sun had not yet reached. The air was cool, but not chilly. This was his favorite time, when all was still and the day seemed full of endless possibilities.

  He had no particular destination in mind when he set out, but somehow after a half-hour’s riding he found himself on the lane that led to the Websters’ residence. On impulse, he decided to see if Anne could be coaxed for a ride.

  Anne’s butler raised his eyebrows as he realized the identity of the early morning caller, but eventually he agreed to send for his mistress.

  Freddie stood there in the entranceway, tapping his crop idly against his boots. He glanced out the window, to assure himself that the footman was indeed walking Ajax in circles so the horse would not cool off. After a brief delay, Anne appeared.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she asked. “Do you know it is not yet eight o’clock?”

  He hadn’t actually, but now it occurred to him that it was a trifle early for him to be calling. “I came to ask you to join me in a ride,” he explained.

  “Now?”

  “Now,” he said. “I know it is incredibly foolish for me to have called, but it is such a beautiful day. I was riding past, and I thought how much you would enjoy this. And then I thought, Why not? And here I am.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “But why not?”

  “I can not.”

  He shrugged his shoulders philosophically. “I should not have called without warning. But if not today, then perhaps tomorrow. At a civilized hour.”

  “I am afraid that will not be possible. Not tomorrow or any other day.”

  He had a sudden flash of understanding. He should have realized it sooner. After all, he had seen the empty stables for himself on his first visit.

  “If it is a suitable horse you are lacking, I would be happy to loan you one from my stables,” he said.

  “It is not that,” Anne said, biting her lip. “It is much simpler. I have no riding habit.”

  He blinked at her, nonplused. “But why n
ot wear one of your old ones? If it is out of fashion, what do you care? There is no one to see.”

  Her lips tightened. “You did not hear what I said. I said I have no riding habit. After he determined that neither I nor Sarah was returning, my late father apparently decided to rid himself of all our possessions. Nothing remains from before. Not a riding habit or gown, not even the books and toys from when we were children.”

  His cheerful mood was shattered by her revelation. “I am sorry,” he said, knowing how inadequate his words were.

  He thought for a moment. “I can lend you a horse, and send over one of my sister’s habits. You are closest in size to Elizabeth, I think.”

  “Freddie, you can not give away your sister’s garments. Nor can I accept them from you. It is not proper.”

  “Elizabeth would not mind. I know she would not.” When Elizabeth had remarried earlier in the year, she had left behind a substantial wardrobe at Beechwood. Surely there would be a riding habit or two. And if not in Elizabeth’s wardrobe, then Priscilla had dozens. He had paid the bills for them himself.

  “A lady does not accepts gifts of clothing. Not from a gentleman,” Anne repeated. “It is not proper.”

  He knew from the stubborn set of her jaw that she had made up her mind. But he did not like it. When had Anne developed this overwhelming concern with propriety? There had been a time when she had begged him for the loan of his outgrown breeches and shirt so she could practice riding astride.

  Of course that had been many years ago, when Anne had been a skinny girl with nary a curve to be seen. Nowadays, she would make quite a different picture should she appear in breeches and a shirt. Alas, with her newfound concern for propriety it was unlikely that he would have the chance to see her in such attire.

  “If you will not go riding, then will you agree to a drive? Tomorrow, perhaps.”

  She nodded. “I would like that. But please, pick a civilized hour.”

  “I will call for you after lunch, if that is agreeable.”

  “I look forward to it.”