by Brenda Hiatt
“Thank you, Lord Killerby. I would appreciate that very much,” she said with as much grace as she could manage.
Over supper, Lord Rushford devoted his attention almost exclusively to Mary, seemingly oblivious to all the other debutantes striving to catch his eye. Not once did Violet notice him glancing her way—though to be fair, she did her best to avoid looking at him.
Given her scathing words on leaving him this morning, she should not be surprised if he now ignored her, but it rankled nonetheless. Not that she wanted him to pay attention to her—she was still too angry with him for that. She simply preferred to be the one to do any snubbing.
As they rose from the tables some time later, Lady Simpson remarked to Violet, “It is well that the weather today has been so fine. I trust it ensured your aunt a safe journey to Brighton.”
Lord Rushford, overhearing, said, “Ah, yes, Lady Puttercroft told me that Miss Turpin would be residing with you for the next fortnight or so.”
“Yes, ’twas my Mary’s idea. Very clever of her, for this arrangement will be more comfortable for us all, in addition to allowing Lady Puttercroft to visit her sister, as she had originally planned to do.”
“Very clever indeed.” Lord Rushford glanced toward Violet with an enigmatic expression before turning back to Lady Simpson. “This will also allow you to better regulate Miss Turpin’s activities, which is no bad thing. Though Lady Puttercroft quite properly endorses strict adherence to convention, she is perhaps not the most…observant of chaperones.”
It was all Violet could do to conceal her outrage at this new betrayal by his lordship. He had wholeheartedly agreed when Aunt Philomena cautioned against mentioning Violet’s earlier lapses. Why, then, should he imply that she would bear watching, before she spent a single night under Lady Simpson’s roof?
“Your concern for my welfare is admirable, my lord,” she told him in icy tones.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, one brow raised in amusement. “I promised your brother no less, Miss Turpin.”
The reminder did nothing to mollify her. Rather the reverse. At next opportunity, she would tell him—again—just what she thought of his interference in her affairs.
“Are you certain this is the horse your sister-in-law meant?” Rush asked doubtfully, eyeing the rangy red-and-white skewbald gelding a wary groom had just led out from Lord Marcus Northrup’s stables.
Lord Marcus shrugged. “Lady Anthony’s letter was quite specific. She assured me that Miss Turpin could manage him, having seen her ride to the hunt. I’ll leave it to you whether to let her risk it, however. My grooms—and my wife—have made enough headway in winning his trust that he’s not quite so bad-tempered as he was originally, but he’s still skittish…and an ugly brute, besides.”
Rush could not disagree with that addendum. The gelding was one of the least attractive horses he’d ever seen, with its patchy blotches, lop ears and irregular lines. Perhaps Miss Turpin would regard the animal as a project of sorts. He hoped so, for he considered it a matter of some urgency to provide her with a better pastime than seeking mischief.
“Assuming you can get a sidesaddle on him, we may as well send him ‘round to Cavendish Square and see what Miss Turpin thinks,” he told Lord Marcus. “If she finds him too temperamental—or ugly—to ride, I’ll send him back directly and seek another mount for her.”
That was agreed to, after which Rush went to collect Killer and proceeded to the Simpson house to invite the young ladies out for a ride.
Lady Simpson, as always, was delighted to see him. “I told Mary you would likely call today, my lord,” she said with a triumphant smile toward her daughter as he and Killer bowed in greeting. “Have a seat, do, and I will ring for some refreshment.”
Miss Simpson and Miss Turpin, who had risen to curtsey at their entrance, both kept their gazes averted—Miss Simpson no doubt from shyness, while Miss Turpin was likely still piqued about his interference with Bigsby in the park yesterday.
“Actually, my lady, we had hoped to persuade Miss Simpson and Miss Turpin to accompany us to Hyde Park, as it is remarkably fine weather for riding.”
“Oh!” Lady Simpson glanced uncertainly at the two younger ladies. “I suppose that will be acceptable. Indeed, as it is Sunday, most of the fashionable world is likely to be there just now. I am not certain, however, that our stable has a mount suitable for Miss Turpin. Perhaps Lady Puttercroft’s—?”
Grimacing, Miss Turpin shook her head. “I fear my aunt has only carriage horses, my lady. I…can bide here while the others go riding.” There was no mistaking her disappointment. Fortunately, Rush had means to alleviate it.
“Not to worry, Miss Turpin,” he said. “I encountered Lord Marcus Northrup a short while ago and he told me that his sister-in-law had suggested you have use of a particular horse she rode when she was last in Town. When I told him you were staying here, he arranged to have it sent round at once. Though perhaps I should have asked first whether your stables are able to accommodate it, Lady Simpson?”
His hostess swelled slightly with indignation. “Our stables can easily house an extra horse, my lord. I am surprised, however, that you would take it upon yourself to arrange such a favor on Miss Turpin’s behalf.”
“I, for one, am glad he did,” Killer exclaimed before Rush could answer the implied rebuke. “Given how well Miss Turpin rides, she has surely missed it since leaving the Shires. Now she may delight everyone in Hyde Park the way she delighted those of us on the hunting field last month.”
Lady Simpson sniffed. “Very well. If you will take it upon yourself to be Miss Turpin’s escort, Lord Killerby, I’ve no objection to the girls riding out with the two of you. I will ring for some tea while they change into their habits.”
During the quarter hour’s conversation that followed, Lady Simpson hinted that her daughter’s being seen riding with Lord Rushford would serve to publicize their engagement nearly as well as a announcement in the papers. She also made it clear she had no fault to find with Lord Killerby’s outspoken admiration of Miss Turpin…so long as it was not shared by Rush.
He would need to tread carefully, he realized, if he was to avoid bringing Lady Simpson’s wrath down upon Miss Turpin’s head for the crime of diverting any fraction of his attention from her daughter. When the young ladies rejoined them, he was therefore effusive in his compliments on Miss Simpson’s appearance.
Not until she finished blushing and stammering in reply did he turn to her companion, as though it were simply a polite afterthought. Unfortunately, seeing Miss Turpin in the same sky-blue habit she’d worn in the Cottesmore stirred up unexpectedly powerful feelings. He had to struggle to steel both voice and face to disinterestedness.
“You are quite creditably turned out as well, Miss Turpin. Shall we all repair to the mews?”
“The mews!” exclaimed Lady Simpson in surprise. “Certainly not. It would be most unseemly for the young ladies to visit there. We shall have the horses brought round to the front, as is proper.”
Despite some misgivings about the ability of a stablehand to control Lord Marcus’s gelding, Rush made no protest. Lady Simpson sent word to the stables, then accompanied the four younger people to the front door.
A groom already held the reins of his and Killer’s mounts and a moment later two stable boys came around the corner leading two more horses—a placid little mare that was clearly Miss Simpson’s, and the skewbald gelding.
Lady Simpson and her daughter both gasped at the sight of the odd-looking horse, while Killer laughed outright.
“You are jesting, Rush, are you not? Surely Lord Marcus does not mean for Miss Turpin to be seen on that monstrosity?”
Though also clearly startled, Miss Turpin moved toward the horse after only the slightest hesitation. “Lady Anthony did warn me he was not an attractive beast. I thought she might have exaggerated, but it would seem not.”
“Not attractive?” Lady Simpson echoed, clearly aghast. “That is
the ugliest horse I have ever beheld. I believe you would do better to bide here, Miss Turpin, than to be seen riding it in public.”
Miss Turpin merely smiled, reaching one hand out to the gelding. He shied at her approach, his ears angling backward menacingly.
“It would appear Lady Anthony did not exaggerate about your temper, either,” she told the horse. “I am determined we shall become friends, however, for I’ve no doubt we can do each other a great deal of good. Now, then.” She took a small step forward.
“Careful, miss,” cautioned the lad holding the skewbald’s reins. “He already tried to have a bite out of me as I led him round.”
That drew another gasp from the Simpson ladies. “Oh, Violet, do stay back!” Miss Simpson cried out. “He looks exceedingly dangerous.”
“Miss Turpin, I must protest as well,” Lady Simpson exclaimed. “Pray keep in mind that should you be injured by that beast, I will have to answer to Lady Puttercroft for allowing you to ride it.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Turpin assured them both. “I have handled worse, as these two gentlemen can attest. I simply need to earn his trust.”
The older groom now held the horse steady while Miss Turpin stroked its neck, murmuring soothingly to it as she did so. Gradually its ears swiveled forward, though it still eyed the rest of them warily. Finally taking the reins, she nodded to the groom and he tossed her into the saddle.
Predictably, the horse shied and attempted to rear. Ignoring Miss Simpson’s frightened squeak, Miss Turpin expertly pulled the gelding’s head down the instant its forefeet left the ground, bringing it under control remarkably quickly.
“Well done, Miss Turpin,” Killer cried.
“Indeed,” Rush agreed. She might not have Lady Anthony’s near-magical touch with horses, but she certainly exhibited more skill than any other woman he could name. More than most men, in fact. “Shall we go, then?”
Rush turned to help Miss Simpson onto her mare and discovered her groom had already done so. Ah, well.
Leaping into his own saddle, he bade Lady Simpson farewell and led the party toward Hyde Park. Both Miss Simpson and Killer, he noted, were careful to keep their own mounts well away from the skewbald gelding. More than once the spirited horse attempted to take the lead, only to be reined in by its rider. No question, she was an excellent horsewoman.
On reaching the park, Rush scanned the crowded bridle paths. “Hm. That lane leading toward the northern boundary should allow for a canter, if we are careful.”
He hoped that might settle Miss Turpin’s mount somewhat, since the short ride to the park had by no means done so. Unfortunately, Miss Simpson appeared absolutely terrified by his suggestion.
“Do you not canter, Miss Simpson?” he asked. When she shook her head, he strove to conceal his incredulity. “You can trot, however?”
“I…I have, my lord.” She blushed scarlet. “Not…recently, however.”
Rush stifled a sigh. Already the gelding was dancing sideways, clearly impatient to be moving again. It seemed cruel to limit the horse—or its rider—to the sedate walk that appeared to be all Miss Simpson could safely manage.
Killer apparently thought the same. “Suppose you and Miss Turpin go on ahead,” he suggested. “Her mount is clearly spoiling to run. I can accompany Miss Simpson on a slower circuit of the park.”
The diminutive blonde looked up at him gratefully. “You don’t mind?”
Cheerfully, he shook his head. “Not a bit of it. Wasn’t so very long ago I had to keep to that pace myself, and happy to do so, after a month and more of being unable to ride at all. Truth be told, I’ve far less desire than formerly to push my limits on horseback.”
“Learned your lesson, did you?” Rush grinned at his friend. If so, it was all to the good, for the smaller man could easily have been killed while attempting to ride Nimbus last autumn.
Killer responded with a shrug, returning Rush’s grin somewhat sheepishly. “For the present, at any rate.”
“In that case, I’ll take you up on your offer, for I would not mind cantering a bit. Haven’t had a chance since getting to Town.”
Accordingly, he and Miss Turpin set off along the least crowded path, quickly progressing from a quick trot to a hand-canter.
“That is better, is it not?” Miss Turpin said to her mount, patting its neck with a gloved hand. “I know you’d like to go even faster, but as I’ve already caught trouble once for galloping in the park, we must content ourselves with this. As you see, Lord Killerby was quite right,” she added to Rush.
She looked so fetching—so desirable—with her dark curls streaming behind her that he had to swallow before he could reply. “That is why I made no objection to his offer.”
“Even though you are promised to Mary?” She glanced sideways at him with an expression he could not decipher.
He cleared his throat. “Er…yes.” What else could he say?
She startled him then by asking, “Are you certain that was a good idea? I have always believed a marriage is more apt to be happy when the couple shares at least a few interests. Given how much you enjoy horses and riding…” She trailed off.
“I’m unlikely to find a woman as horse-mad as myself, so I could scarcely make that my prime consideration when choosing a bride.” Even as he spoke, he realized Miss Turpin came closer than any woman he’d met, save perhaps Lady Anthony.
“I suppose not.” Did he detect regret in her tone? Her head was turned away, preventing him from reading her expression. “I imagine if someone is so much in love as to propose marriage, a lack of shared interests scarcely matters.”
He started. Love? Surely he had done nothing to imply he was in love with Miss Simpson? Perhaps that simply seemed self-evident to someone who held primarily romantic views on matrimony—as Violet Turpin clearly did. There was no real reason for him to disabuse her of such an idealistic assumption, but he attempted it nonetheless.
“A man in my position must take far more than a few shared interests—or love—into account when choosing a bride,” he explained. “Family background, fortune and overall suitability for the position she will hold are greater considerations.” Enumerating them aloud, those criteria now struck him as not only heartless, but mercenary.
She seemed similarly struck. “Then…your feelings toward the lady matter not at all, so long as she meets those other requirements? To me it seems sad, almost tragic, to sacrifice both your future happiness and hers upon the altar of suitability. But…I suppose you know your business best.”
So saying, she urged her mount a bit ahead so that they no longer rode side by side.
Just as well, he supposed, for he had no idea how to answer her charge. Especially when he felt more trapped than ever into a course he was likely to regret for the rest of his life.
Chapter Eleven
Violet was careful to stay a full length ahead of Lord Rushford for the remainder of their circuit so that he could have no further opportunity to speak with her—or to see her face. She had little doubt her feelings about his revelation were visible upon it.
Yesterday she had been guiltily relieved to learn that Mary was not in love with Lord Rushford. She had assumed that he must love her, however. How else to explain his wishing to marry her, or his attentiveness at last night’s musicale?
He had exhibited none of the classic symptoms of love when around Mary, but Violet had credited that to his general air of reserve of late. Instead, by Lord Rushford’s own admission, it was because his offer was motivated by purely practical concerns, in which affection played no role whatever.
Now Violet felt even more strongly than she had last night that she must intervene somehow. Lord Rushford might be within his rights to doom himself to a bleak, loveless future, but he must not be allowed to do the same to poor Mary. If this was how things really stood between them, Violet no longer had any qualms about doing whatever she could to prevent their marriage.
By the time she drew up behind Mary an
d Lord Killerby, who had made but little progress, Violet was once again tolerably composed. Summoning a smile, she reined her horse to a walk.
“And here we are again,” she exclaimed brightly as Lord Rushford joined them. “I trust the two of you have spent your time together agreeably?”
Lord Killerby, she decided, would be a far better match for Mary. She did not seem nearly so intimidated by him, perhaps because he was so much less starchy than Lord Rushford.
“Indeed we have.” He smiled across at Mary, who smiled back. “We have been discussing music, after discovering last night that we share a passion for it.”
Catching Lord Rushford’s eye, Lord Killerby’s smile abruptly dimmed. Immediately, he fell back to allow the earl to take his place next to Mary.
“Appreciate you keeping Miss Simpson amused in my absence,” Lord Rushford told his friend. “Perhaps you and Miss Turpin would like to take another circuit while we continue on?”
Violet glanced at Mary, who was no longer smiling. Instead she looked both wary and a bit tired, though she’d ridden little more than a mile since leaving the house, and all of that at a walk.
“Perhaps we should turn back,” she suggested to the others. “The path is becoming rather too crowded for cantering. Nor should Mary remain on horseback for too long, as unused to riding as she is. I should hate for her to be sore tomorrow.”
Though Lord Rushford frowned at her words, Mary sent her a look of thanks. No one voiced an objection, so they turned their horses to make their way back to the park gates and thence to Cavendish Square. As Violet’s mount again took exception to such a slow pace, she was careful to keep him well away from Mary’s horse. Lord Killerby now rode ahead with Violet, while Lord Rushford followed more slowly by Mary’s side.
Observing this, as well as the byplay between them after they all returned to the Simpsons’ drawing room for tea and sandwiches, Violet regretfully abandoned her new scheme to throw Mary and Lord Killerby together. Though better suited in disposition and interests, it was clear he would never attempt to advance a suit with his friend’s intended bride.
