by Brenda Hiatt
Refusing to dwell on her diminished prospects, Violet dipped him a smiling curtsey. She knew better than to take his flattery seriously, however, for Sir Charles had made it perfectly clear at Christmas that he was by no means hanging out for a wife.
“Indeed,” echoed Lord Uppingwood, another member of the Seven Saints Hunt Club—and another inveterate flirt. “Miss Turpin, I declare, you are a very vision of spring. A most welcome relief from the gray February weather we’ve had of late.”
Violet glanced down at her pink-and-green sprigged cambric gown. “I confess, I do prefer cheerful colors to the bland shades so many ladies seem to favor.”
“No wonder, as they become you so well,” exclaimed little Lord Killerby, stepping forward with a bow. “I noted it when I was at Plumrose last month. It’s a shame Society tries to limit debutantes to insipid white whether they look well in it or not. Though you, of course, would be enchanting in anything.”
She murmured her thanks, reflecting that it was a shame she felt no particular attraction to the viscount, as he seemed less averse to matrimony than most of the others. Indeed, he had been most solicitous when he and his mother were last at Plumrose. They and Lord Rushford had escorted her home after Violet’s near-kidnapping on Boxing Day—but while the Killerbys then remained at Plumrose through the first week of January, Lord Rushford had stayed but a day.
Alas, though she knew such externals should not matter, Violet could not quite overlook the fact that Lord Killerby was no taller than herself, in addition to being somewhat plump.
Lord Rushford entered the room just then, as if to heighten the contrast between the two men. “Ah, Mrs. Turpin, welcome. I am delighted to see you again. You as well, Miss Turpin.” He gave them each a perfunctory bow, then went to sit near the fire, where he shook open a newspaper and began to read.
Her pride again pricked by his clear indifference, Violet turned away to direct a brilliant smile at Mr. Littleton. He instantly came forward to greet her, with a much more satisfactory outpouring of admiration.
Dinner was a lively affair, between the animated discussion of the day’s hunt and the lively banter directed toward Violet and Dina. Though Lord Rushford still held himself somewhat aloof, Violet found it easier to ignore while surrounded by so many agreeable—and undeniably handsome—gentlemen.
Perhaps she focused rather too closely on the earl’s words as he described that morning’s running of the Quorn to Grant, but it was, after all, a topic that greatly interested her. When Lord Uppingwood asked Violet about her day’s journey, she attempted to draw Lord Rushford into the conversation.
“Though rather chilly, the drive was quite uneventful,” Violet replied. “In truth, I wish I could have ridden alongside as Lord Rushford did much of the way when he escorted me to Plumrose two months since. I’d have enjoyed it far more, I’m certain.”
As she’d hoped, that drew the elusive earl’s attention. “It would be a long way for a lady to ride, Miss Turpin,” he said gravely, though with a trace of amusement in his gray eyes.
Lifting her chin, she met his gaze directly. “I can ride as far and as fast as any man, I assure you, my lord.”
“Oh, come, Violet,” said Grant, overhearing. “What is the farthest you’ve ever ridden at a stretch?”
She was vexed to see that Lord Rushford also seemed skeptical. “Fifteen miles, I suppose,” she replied, “but only because I’ve never had opportunity to go farther. I should like such a chance, however. Think you the weather will be fine enough for the Cottesmore to ride tomorrow?”
“I certainly hope so,” Grant replied. “I mean to fit as many hunts in as possible before we leave for London.”
“Yes, with so little of the season left, I imagine you all wish to make the most of what remains.” Violet directed her comment at Lord Rushford, hoping to keep him engaged.
All he said, however, was, “Always,” before turning his attention entirely to his dinner.
Disgruntled, Violet did the same, wondering when Lord Rushford had grown so stodgy. He had not been so when visiting Plumrose with Grant when she was a girl. Then, he had often indulged her with exciting stories of Oxford and of fox hunting, sparking her own enthusiasm for the sport with his tales. Perhaps inheriting a title had induced him to trade fun for responsibility. A pity, if so.
Setting down his glass, Sir Charles leaned forward. “Did I hear you discussing the hunt, Miss Turpin? Thor mentioned you were an enthusiast.”
Thor was the nickname all the Seven Saints gave her brother, no doubt due to his imposing size—and perhaps the fact that he would one day be Lord Rumble.
“I am indeed,” she replied, “though I’ve not yet had opportunity to truly participate. Do convince my brother to allow me to ride in the Cottesmore tomorrow, for I am quite longing to do so.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Grant from his place at the table. “Ladies don’t ride to the hunt, as I’ve told you numerous times.” He shot a warning glance at Sir Charles.
He apparently did not notice. “Unless one counts Lady Anthony, of course,” he said cheerfully. Grant’s grimace told Violet this was precisely what he’d hoped to prevent his friend from saying.
“Lady Anthony?” she repeated, her interest quickening. “Then another woman does ride to the local hunts?”
“She does indeed,” Sir Charles enthusiastically exclaimed. “She—” Belatedly noticing Grant’s frown, he broke off. “Er, but as to you doing the same, Miss Turpin, I suppose that must be up to Thor, here.”
Grant snorted. “What Anthony allows his wife to do is his own business. You, however, are currently my responsibility, so—”
“Would you forbid Dina riding if she asked?” she challenged him.
“She won’t ask,” he said curtly, clearly signaling that he wished the topic dropped. Unfortunately, Dina did not contradict him.
Violet was not so easily dissuaded, however. Turning a shoulder to her brother, she smiled sweetly across at Sir Charles. “Do tell me more of this Lady Anthony, for I find myself quite fascinated.”
“Can’t believe Thor never told you about her. She first joined the hunt this past autumn, when she was still Miss Seaton, and she astounded us all. Never knew a female could ride like that. Why, I’d give my left hand for a seat like hers. That is—” He broke off, flustered. “Er, no one tell Anthony I put it that way, eh? Didn’t mean—”
“Do stifle it, Stormy,” Grant advised him. Then, to Violet, “I never mentioned her to you because I knew you would immediately demand to do the same. I’ll grant Lady Anthony acquits herself amazingly well, but she is an anomaly. Riding to the hounds is dangerous. Mother would never forgive me if I allowed you to attempt it.”
Nettled by his praise of Lady Anthony on top of his refusal, Violet glared at her brother. “I’m quite competent on horseback myself, you know.”
Sir Charles appeared alarmed at realizing he had helped precipitate the argument. “That may be, Miss Turpin, but fox hunting is nothing like riding along country lanes. There are hedges, fences, rabbit holes. Can’t blame your brother a bit for not wanting to risk your pretty neck.”
Violet coughed delicately. “My dear brother seems to have forgotten how much experience I have riding over rough terrain—something we used to do together in the past, and at which I frequently bested him.” Then, to Grant, “I appreciate your desire to protect my neck, but you know full well I ride as well as many gentlemen who hunt, so would be at very little risk. May I at least come along to observe tomorrow’s hunt?”
Grant regarded her suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose that is safe enough, so long as you are adequately chaperoned.”
“No worries there.” Sir Charles was clearly pleased to see the sticky matter settled. “Lady Killerby generally drives out with Sir George Seaton and will surely not object to Miss Turpin joining them.”
At Lady Killerby’s assent, Violet’s spirits rose. Once on the hunting field, she could surely
find a way to prove she was worthy of joining the hunt after all, despite her brother’s disapproval. Maybe one of the other gentlemen could be persuaded to petition the Master of the Hunt on her behalf if Grant would not.
“How perfectly lovely.” She flashed a brilliant smile at Sir Charles to allay her brother’s concerns before turning the conversation to less controversial topics.
Ryan Dean, Earl of Rushford—better known to his intimates as Rush—breathed a silent sigh of relief when the ladies finally removed to the parlor at the close of the meal. Not because he was particularly fond of the port or cigars being handed round, but because of the totally inappropriate attraction he felt for Miss Violet Turpin.
When he’d arrived at Plumrose just before Christmas, he’d been thoroughly blindsided by his first encounter with Miss Turpin in nearly six years. No longer was she the gawky, tomboyish girl he remembered, mad for riding and stories of the hunt. Quite the contrary. The intervening years had miraculously transformed her into a remarkably pretty young lady, with clouds of dark curls in place of her former braids. She had also filled out, rather too satisfactorily.
His sudden awareness of Violet Turpin as a desirable woman had been as alarming as it was unexpected. That awareness was the reason he’d kept his visit to Plumrose brief, despite his original intention of staying through the entire Yuletide season. He’d had less than a day’s respite, however, for Thor had shown up with her at Ivy Lodge late on Boxing Day, after foiling a kidnapping attempt by Dina Turpin’s dastardly brother.
Once that was all sorted and Silas Moore banished to America, Rush had reluctantly acceded to Thor’s request to assist in escorting his sister back to Plumrose. However, as she’d pointed out over dinner, he’d ridden alongside the carriage much of the way—and had left Plumrose the day after arriving.
He’d hoped that two months away from Miss Turpin’s uncomfortably intoxicating influence would quash any errant feelings in that direction, but he unfortunately found himself as attracted as ever.
A throat-clearing from Thor interrupted his reverie. He turned to see his friend rise to his feet, glass in hand.
“As my sister miraculously managed to hold her tongue during dinner, I should like to take this opportunity to share with you, my closest friends, the news that Dina and I are expecting a child.”
A chorus of congratulations broke out, some getting up to pummel Thor on the back and pump his hand.
“Well done, old chap, well done,” Rush exclaimed, joining the celebration. “No wonder she seemed to have an extra sparkle in those green eyes of hers.”
Over Christmas he’d enjoyed tweaking Thor with pretended admiration for his wife, as his friend had been pretending indifference toward her at the time. Clearly, that was no longer the case.
Thor accepted everyone’s felicitations amid several more toasts, but once most of the men left the dining room to make their way back to the parlor, he turned more serious.
“I did not say so earlier, but in light of this news, I feel it would be unwise to expose Dina to the rigors of a London Season, especially as it would be her first visit to Town,” he told Rush, who had lingered behind with him. “I’ve decided to let our aunt play chaperone to my sister again, instead.”
Rush raised an eyebrow. “That did not turn out particularly well last year, as I recall. Didn’t your aunt pack her off back home after only a fortnight after your sister created a scandal or two?”
Thor nodded. “In addition to being rather nearsighted, my Aunt Philomena is not the most quick-witted of women. I fear she may not be fully equal to the task, given Violet’s, er, less than compliant nature. It would therefore ease my mind greatly if I knew you were about to keep an eye on her. After all, you and Killer were able to keep her out of trouble on her journey back to Plumrose two months since.”
“It was but one day’s drive,” Rush reminded him. “After that, your mother was able to take over the task. Would she not be a better choice to go to London, if your aunt is not up to the job?”
Thor gave a small snort. “Of course, if I thought she could be persuaded. Mother refuses to leave my father, however, and he—”
“Not to worry, Thor.” Killer, overhearing his name, had come back into the dining room. “I’ll be honored to do my part toward safeguarding Miss Turpin’s reputation while in London. Particularly as Rush may find the assignment tricky, what with him being betrothed and all.”
Rush glared at the smaller man. “Never should have told you about that. You know it’s not for public consumption until either her father or his consent arrives from India, and that likely won’t be for months.”
“What’s this?” Thor exclaimed. “Never tell me you got yourself engaged with nary a word to any of us?”
“Except me,” Killer said proudly.
Frowning him down, Rush turned back to Thor. “He called shortly after I made the offer and I unwisely confided in him. There are no firm plans yet, however, given her father’s absence.”
“That explains why it wasn’t in the papers,” Thor allowed. “Still, you could have let a few of us in on the secret. Tell me about her. Who is she? How did you come to offer for her?”
“You knew my mother passed away early last year?” Rush asked. Thor nodded. “Not till she was gone did I realize what a large role she played in managing both the estate and her extensive charitable concerns. Champion of women’s rights that she was, she left her jointure to the next Countess of Rushford, whoever she might be. Given that the charities, in particular, are dependent upon that money, both my man of business and my steward urged me to find a wife as quickly as possible.”
Thor’s brows rose. “And who was it you found?”
“A Miss Mary Simpson, daughter to Sir Clarence Simpson, a respectably wealthy baronet. Impeccable lineage, and his lands run along one of my smaller estates. She also seemed the least presuming of the debutantes I encountered in London, most of whom were blatantly hanging out for a title. I’ve no doubt she’ll make a creditable Lady Rushford when the time comes.”
“I…see.” Thor glanced at Killer, who shrugged, before turning back to Rush. “Do you…like her?”
Rush lifted a shoulder. “I scarcely know her yet. She’s pretty enough, however, with a quiet, unassuming manner. Were her father not currently overseeing his India holdings, we’d likely be married already. At least this way we’ll have time to get acquainted before the knot is tied.”
“I suppose the delay is all to the good, then.” Thor still looked somewhat dubious—no doubt because he was lucky enough to enjoy a love match, albeit after a somewhat rocky start. “Of course I can’t ask you to dance attendance on Vi under the circumstances.”
“I’ll do it,” Killer stoutly declared. “The more challenging the task, the greater the honor.”
The smaller man’s enthusiasm did not appear to relieve his large friend as much as he no doubt intended. Not that Rush could blame Thor for that, given Killer’s penchant for taking on challenges beyond his scope. Miss Turpin, he suspected, would pose an even greater one than the horse that caused Killer’s injury last autumn, for she had a definite penchant for leaping before looking.
A quality Rush told himself he did not find alluring in the least. Just as well that forming an attachment there was out of the question, given his engagement to Miss Simpson.
Chapter Two
When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the parlor, it was clear that Grant had shared his and Dina’s news with them. Several of them immediately came forward to congratulate her while Lady Killerby looked on in bemusement.
“Well, this is news, indeed! Did you know of this, Miss Turpin?”
“Not until an hour before dinner,” Violet confessed. “Is it not grand?”
Dina smiled apologetically at the older lady. “I am sorry not to have told you myself, Lady Killerby. I was not certain whether my husband wished it known outside the family as yet, but it seems he was unable to keep the news to himself.”<
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Grant entered then, accompanied by Lord Rushford and Lord Killerby. “Aye, I’d thought to write to Mother before telling anyone else, but…” He shrugged.
“And now, Mrs. Turpin, what would you like with your tea?” Sir Charles asked. “Ivy Lodge’s kitchens are at your disposal. Biscuits? Pastries? A rice pudding, perhaps?”
As he spoke, Mr. Littleton seized pillows from the divan to tuck around Dina while Lord Uppingwood fetched her a footstool.
“No more coddling, please,” she protested. “’Tis bad enough to be treated as though I am made of glass merely due to my lack of inches. I absolutely refuse to be regarded as an invalid for the better part of a year. Women have been having babies since time out of mind without the sort of pampering that seems to be in vogue these days.”
Thor smiled down at her, the love in his eyes bringing a slight lump to Violet’s throat. “I insist you allow me an occasional bit of pampering, my dear, though I promise not to treat you like an invalid.”
“Very well,” Dina agreed, “so long as it really is occasional.”
Despite her words, less than an hour later Dina concealed a yawn with her hand. “Will any of you be offended if I turn in for the night? I find myself unusually tired this evening.”
“And no wonder.” Lady Killerby smiled understandingly. “Traveling always fags me to death, even without the added excuse you have just now. Run along, do, and get yourself a good night’s sleep. You can let me know in the morning whether you feel like riding out in my phaeton to follow the Cottesmore.”
With an apologetic glance, Dina bade them all good night but Grant instantly moved to her side.
“You should have told me you were fatigued, my dear. I’ll help you up the stairs and ring for your maid.
Dina laughed. “Don’t be absurd. I can manage the stairs perfectly well on my own—though if you wish to come along, I’ll not gainsay you.”
