by Joan Smith
There was little Belle would prefer to a ride on any day, and having spent some part of her morning viewing a church, she was not eager to see another quite so soon. Playing loo and drinking ratafia with Lady Dempster and the old biddies was a fate to be avoided like the plague. Arnold had said nothing.
“You’ll like Kay’s mount, I think. A nice bay mare.”
“She wouldn’t have anything worth riding, at her age."
“You don’t know the family. Her mother was still taking part in the hunt when she died at seventy-five years a few years ago. They tied her to the saddle. Kay has a very frisky bay mare. A little too frisky for you to handle, perhaps,” he added cunningly.
“I can handle anything she can!” she answered at once, rising to the bait nicely.
“So it’s set, then? We’ll go for a ride after lunch?”
“Very well,” she answered brusquely, and went on into the house.
Lady Dempster kept a sharp eye peeled on the romantic trio over lunch, but was hard pressed to make anything of what she saw. Henderson never took his eyes off his mutton, Belle didn’t glance at either one of the gentlemen, and Avondale seemed more interested in Henderson than in his wife. La Travalli came to the table in what had to be a dressing gown, a strange, floating affair in Italian silk with yellow and rose flowers worked all over it by hand. She wondered where she had stolen it, for the vixen had certainly been all through her own jewelry box, and if anything was found missing, she would prosecute her when they got back to London. When the meal was over, she tried to lure Belle into the game of loo, which would provide an excellent chance of pumping her for news, but she said she was going riding.
“I didn’t realize that you and Mr. Henderson brought mounts with you. I didn’t see them as we drove up, did I?”
“No, Kay is providing a mount for me.”
“Who is lending Mr. Henderson one?” Not Avondale, she smiled to herself, unless it is a wild nag that will kill him.
“Mr. Henderson is not riding,” she said, and turned to flee from the room, before her partner could be discovered.
It was then necessary for Lady Dempster to linger about the front hall examining the paintings till Belle descended in her blue riding habit, and Avondale came to meet her. The loo game was late getting started as a result, but lively with this piece of news to be discussed, in all its possible lights.
Kay, she felt sure, knew everything that was going on, and had very likely engineered the reconciliation, but her closest questioning revealed nothing. She was an oyster, and surely if anyone knew the Avondales were to be rejoined, she couldn’t keep it to herself. Really, she was half inclined to believe their being here together was an accident. How fortunate she had come, for she very nearly had gone to Brighton instead, except that the Croziers hadn’t asked her.
Belle placed little reliance on Oliver’s word that a fifty-five-year old lady would have a mount worth riding, but she was mistaken. Juno was a sweet goer—a large mare, as her name signified, but silk-mouthed and easily led. She was herself a stranger to Ashbourne but for one short visit, so it was for him to choose the path they would take. They went at a trot down past the home garden and into the meadows, at whose back a forest loomed. There was a bridle path through it, not a narrow little snake of a thing that required a trot, but a good wide galloping path, for Lady Hathaway didn’t keep such a mount as this for nothing.
Oliver was in the lead, setting a good pace with his own Barb that he had brought with him, and Belle was close behind, disliking very much being in the rear at all, but the path was not wide enough for two horses to gallop. Two might canter, but a little more leeway was required for a gallop. It was a few miles long, and as they approached a clearing ahead, Oliver slowed down and finally stopped.
“How is she?” he asked, glancing at Juno.
“She’s great. I’ve been holding her back or we’d have overtaken you.”
“Let her out, then. Shall we go to the right or left? Quite a good run to the right, but a few fences and a ditch to the left.”
“Can she jump?”
“Can a fish swim? I picked her out for Kay myself. Come on.” And they set off together to the left, flying through the grass and disturbing the grazing sheep, who pranced away, strange-looking sheep with black eyes and ears, some with their new lambs grazing beside them. The two mounts flew along, side by side, at too hot a pace for conversation. Over a fence, another fence and then a ditch without breaking stride. The Avondales had not often ridden together, but it was a sport enjoyed by each. The walks on horseback through Hyde Park were not considered riding at all by them, and other than the two house parties to which they had taken their own mounts, this was their first ride together, and the best. After a good long gallop they came to the border of the next farm, where a meandering river too wide for jumping stopped them.
“Do you want to wade across, or shall we go back?” he asked. “That’s Dufferin’s place, but they don’t mind if you trespass. Kay does.”
“Let’s cross.”
Oliver took the lead, but the river was swollen with the spring rains, and when his boots began to hit water, he turned back. “I think it’s too deep for you.”
She disliked the inference that it was herself holding them back, but on the other hand had no desire to wet her habit either, and turned reluctantly around.
“Let’s dismount and walk a little,” he suggested. ‘‘It’s awfully pretty here.”
He hopped down and hastened to her side to help her descend, but she was on the ground before he got to her.
“Lack of polish again, Oliver,” she said, laughing. He had often chided her for this hoydenish trick in their courting days.
“I didn’t say so,” he pointed out, unhappy to have his strictures thrown back in his face at this auspicious moment when he had her alone. And she was in a good mood too, pleased with her ride.
“No, I beat you to it this time. I wish we could drink that water. I’m parched,” she said, panting, for the pace had been fast. She took off her riding hat and fanned herself with its brim, while Oliver cursed himself for not having brought along champagne. Today she would have welcomed it.
“Are you not used to riding?”
“Yes, but not such a good gallop as this. I think it’s time to retire my old Buttles. He is getting on. Really, riding Juno has decided me to get a better hack.”
Oliver was surprised to hear she still rode her aging Buttles, but happy as he had plans along those lines to present to her. “There is excellent riding at Belwood,” he said nonchalantly.
“I believe you mentioned it in the past.”
“I’ve improved it since then. I have had a course set up back in the pasture, with fences and ditches.”
Belle turned with interest to hear the details of this venture, and was aware of a strong desire to try his course, which he intimated was too rigorous for a lady. “With your new mount you might manage it, though,” he finished up.
“The one I spoke of getting, you mean?”
“I refer to the bay mare I have for you at Belwood.” Having received a few slurs on his many gifts, he was unsure he did right to mention it, but as she had said herself she needed a new one, it seemed an appropriate gift.
“What bay mare?”
“One I picked up at Tatt’s after you left. That is, after you were gone to visit your father, and before I learned you didn’t intend to return. She’s a lovely thing, Belle. I got her the same time as I picked out Juno for Kay, and of course I chose the best one for you. A white star on her forehead and two white stockings on the forelegs. I’ve put her over the course myself a few times. She’s big, like Juno, and can carry my weight, but is not hard to handle. I think she is one gift you would not dislike.”
Belle had the same feeling, and like any horse lover, was dying to see her. “What do you call her?” She felt some little spasm of guilt that while she had been planning to leave Oliver forever, he had in all innocence been
shopping for a present for her. He had had no idea at all that she never meant to return.
“As my own favorite hack is called Lancelot, I named her tentatively Guinevere, but you may call her whatever you like, of course. I hope you will accept her. I mean—whether you come back to me or not. You mentioned needing a new mount. I got her for you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep buying things for me,” she said a little curtly, but it was the guilt lending a sharp edge to her words. And really, of all gifts a new mount was the most acceptable, the most likely to please. Oliver had mentioned too at Crockett that she needed a new mount, so this time he must have been thinking of her own wants and likes.
“I know you dislike my taste, but I think in choosing a horse I am a fair judge. Will you look at her anyway—try her out?”
This sounded simple, but in order to try her out, she must either go to Belwood, or have the horse sent to Easthill, and she doubted very much the mount would come without the donor. She turned and began walking slowly toward the bank of the river, without giving an answer.
“Well, will you try her?” he asked, following after her.
“How—where should I try her?” she asked. It had occurred to her that London was a good neutral territory where the gift might be given without any long visits being involved.
“At home on the course I mentioned. Where else?” he answered immediately, shattering her hopes.
“No, no, that’s impossible,” she said at once.
His hopes had soared at her interest, and were sent dashing downward again. This disappointment was accompanied with a stab of anger. He grabbed her arms roughly and turned her to face him. “Can’t you at least look at me when we’re talking? Why is it impossible? Why is it impossible for you to come and at least look at your own home? How can you say I have nothing you want, when you haven’t even deigned to look at what I have?”
“I wasn’t talking about things, Oliver! I have seen pictures of your home, and read about it in the books. I know you have a fine home, and I’m sure the mount is the best—what else would you buy, for yourself or for me? I didn’t mean that.”
“Then what in God’s name did you mean? Is it myself you object to? I haven’t changed. You liked me well enough to marry me, less than a year ago. Have I been transmogrified into a monster since that time?”
She pulled away and hurried on to the river, but he was right behind her. “Belle, talk to me. Look at me,” he said, turning her around bodily to face him, and to force her to look at his face, hovering eight inches above her, with a hurt look of incomprehension in his eyes. And certainly he was no physical monster, but a handsome young man, one she had loved very much, and still couldn’t hate, much as she wanted to. In fact, one she found herself loving again, or still, with all his renewed attentions. He really seemed to have changed in some ways. He was no longer cool, distant. In fact, he had changed too much. He was too violent, too impatient and urgent in his demands. “No," she answered in a confused, small voice.
“Come back to me then,” he said, and crushed her against him so hard she thought her ribs would break. She knew he was going to kiss her. Maybe she had known from the start of the ride he would try to, but Oliver had never been pressing in his physical demands on her, and she had thought she could put him off. She pushed him away now, or tried to, but every effort caused him to tighten his hold. There was a strength she couldn’t hope to match in his arms, holding her, and he was soon kissing her, angrily at first, as if he meant to show her he was the stronger, but when she stopped struggling he subsided into a more tender embrace.
After a prolonged interval he let her go. “I don’t understand,” he said, staring at her face, still only inches from his. “Why do you not come home when you love me? You do, Belle, and you know I love you.”
“No, I don’t know it!”
“I’m telling you I do. What is it you want from me? I’ve married you. My motives cannot be in doubt. Marriage may not be the best institution in the world, but it’s the best a man can do. Give it another try, darling. We’ll go to Belwood—be alone there,” he urged eagerly.
“I don’t know. I can’t think here. I’ll—I’ll think about it, Oliver.” But her thoughts were tending to think she would go back to him. Between all his pleas and urgings, her guilt over the mount he had bought while she had run away, and the fact that she really did love him still, she thought she would go back.
“Is it Henderson? Is that it? Did he get after you when you went home? There must be another man.”
“No, of course not,” she said quickly, fearing a duel or at the very least a good beating from this newly violent husband.
"Is there someone else, someone I don’t know about?”
“No, it has nothing to do with anyone else. It’s you. Us,” she modified.
“If that’s true, if you’re telling me the truth—”
“I’m not a liar!”
“Well then,” he said firmly, “we can work it out. Come on, we’d better get back.” Already in his mind he was working it out. Into the empty room beside Belle’s. She loved him. She did. She might not like him, but she loved him. And to think, only last night she had looked at him with unveiled hatred, but he had turned her around, as he always knew he could if he only could get to her.
They rode back to Ashbourne at a slower pace, side by side at a canter through the forest on the bridle path. Oliver felt he had taken a giant step, and spoke temptingly of Guinevere and the course at Belwood, of the saloon waiting for a woman’s touch. He omitted any mention of London, sensing that danger lurked in that quarter. Belle asked a few questions, enough to signify some interest at least, and when they entered Ashbourne, Lady Dempster saw through her lorgnette what looked very much like a happy couple.
Belle went abovestairs immediately to bathe and change, but Oliver first went after Kay.
“How did it go?” she asked.
His smiled encouraged her. “We’re getting there,” he replied. “Kay, I think it’s time you let me change rooms.”
“Did she say so?” Kay checked.
“I didn’t mention it, but I don’t think she’ll mind.”
“Oh no, you don’t pull that trick on me, Master Jackanapes.”
“I tell you it’s all right. We’re practically reunited.”
“What did the trick?”
“Juno proved more efficacious than books. She’s a bruising rider, by the way.”
“No, Oliver, it would be too shabby for me to slip you in there behind her back.”
“Dammit there’s a lock in both rooms. She can barricade herself in if she doesn’t like my being there. Please, old girl.”
Kay wavered. “I wash my hands of it,” she said with an arch smile. “But if you go and do it behind my back, of course, how should I know? But I shall claim total ignorance of the whole if she asks me, and so I warn you.”
“Thanks, cuz,” he said, shouldering the whole responsibility with the lightest heart in the world. He went off to inform his valet to change his gear while everyone was at dinner, and not to bother changing the names on the door, thinking by this simple ruse to pull the wool over Dempster’s eyes, and she with her dresser on the alert for any such goings-on. His valet nodded solemnly, his face a perfect mask of indifference. “Yes, your grace,” he said, as though the matter of his master being rejoined to his wife were a matter of not the slightest interest to him, and every servant at Belwood waiting for his first letter from London, to hear if she was there. Even before making the change, he slipped down to the stables to let the groom in on the secret.
Chapter Eight
To indicate that Oliver was half reinstated with his wife, he was allowed to sit nearer to her at the table. Not beside her so that they must converse, but across from her, so that he could overhear every word she said, and with his ears turned her way, she didn’t say much.
For the pleasure of having a view of his wife, Avondale had to endure Signora Travalli at
his side as his own partner. She was pretty and voluble, two assets that were generally appreciated in one’s dinner partner, but as her every word was unintelligible, conversation with her was naturally trying.
Mr. Henderson was shrunk to a very shadow of a man, hiding away well below the salt and hardly uttering a word except when spoken to. His mind was riveted on forming an excuse to leave the house party early. He wished his mama would drop him a line, so that he might twist it into an excuse to go home at once. His hopes were high that on the morrow he would hear from her. It would be his third day away from home, providing ample time for her first missive to reach him. He didn’t doubt she would have written him the afternoon of the day he left.
It became more difficult to hide after the ladies had left the table. He would no sooner get himself installed behind a wide back than the owner of it would stroll to the sideboard for a glass of wine, and expose him to Avondale’s gaze. Every time he glanced toward the duke, those gray eyes were raking him. He became so rattled that he bolted from the room not fifteen minutes after the ladies’ departure. He had decided to blow his cloud outside in the garden, but as he moved so swiftly, Avondale could not discover which way he had gone, and went off to the saloon to keep an eye on him.
The ladies were surprised to be joined so soon, and by only one gentleman. Every eye was on him as he entered, observing how he scanned the room as though looking for someone. It wasn’t Belle, either. His eyes slid right over her and kept going. Lady Dempster trained her lorgnette on him, her lips parted in a watching smile. She thought it must be Kay he was looking for. Perhaps the port had run out, or been bad, or more cigars were required.
There was suddenly a motion behind him, someone being shown in at the front door. Lady Dempster had to arise from her seat to see who it was, but she begrudged no exertion in her pursuit of news. She had got a chair beside Belle for the purpose of quizzing her about the afternoon’s ride. She turned to her now, holding back a hearty laugh.
