*
By the time the sun had risen above the trees in the orchard, Ravina had washed and dressed in her favourite blue riding habit.
She brushed aside Gibbs’s anxious offer of breakfast and stopping only to take an apple from a bowl, she headed for the stables.
Sweetie was being groomed and whickered in delight at the sight of Ravina, knowing she would have sugar lumps in her pocket.
She had inherited her love of horses from her father and knew that for all her enjoyment of the hectic life in London, the parties and fetes, fun and gaiety, she was never happier than in the country among her ponies and horses.
As she turned to go back to the yard, she realised a buckle was loose on her boot and bent to fix it.
Suddenly she realised that there were two grooms in the stall next to her, dealing with Sir Richard’s horse.
“Eee, Jacob, this is a fine animal.”
“You’re right there, Tom. Best stallion I’ve seen for many a year.”
“How’s his old leg, then?”
There came the distinct noise of Jacob’s wheezing laugh.
“Naught wrong with his leg. Never was. Little scratch on the hock, that’s all it was. I did be telling Sir Richard that, but he just said, “yes, yes, let’s keep him quiet for a couple of days.” None so odd as the aristocracy!”
“Ah, you’re right there, Jacob. But we’d better get this beast saddled up. Sir Richard’ll be here soon.”
Ravina moved silently down the central passageway out into the cobbled courtyard where all was bustle and noise.
Sweetie was ready for her and she mounted, hardly capable of thanking her groom, her mind was in such a spin.
Sir Richard strode into the yard just as Jacob walked his horse out into the sunlight.
Within seconds he had swung into the saddle and with a brief “good morning’ to Ravina, he turned the horse’s head and trotted out of the yard.
Automatically, she urged Sweetie forward and followed him.
She still could not believe what she had overheard. There had been nothing wrong with the grey stallion! It was all lies.
But why? What purpose had been achieved by his staying at Curbishley Hall for a few days?
She remembered the way she had met him at the ball in London and the very odd encounter at the hotel on the way to Dorset.
Was he following her?
A cold chill ran across her body. Could it be that he was not the English gentleman he said he was?
She knew her father kept all sorts of secrets and private papers in his study. Had this Sir Richard wanted access to the house to spy, explore, discover?
She stared at his broad back as they trotted swiftly down the drive and turned onto a path that led into the hills.
A spy? No, she could never believe that. Whatever this man was, he was surely honest. There must be some other explanation.
Then she recalled Bobby’s words. She had been alone in the woods with Sir Richard.
Was that the danger Bobby had meant?
The track up the steep hillside was too narrow to ride two abreast. Sir Richard rode on first, occasionally shouting back comments about the state of the path, holding back a bramble with his whip, or advising on a different direction for her to follow as Sweetie’s hooves slipped on the chalky ground.
They crested the ridge and reined to a halt, gazing down at the sweeping slopes that ran green and gold towards the sea, which was a kaleidoscope of blue and green and turquoise as the wind skimmed the surface.
Ravina felt the salt wind bringing colour into her face and laughed with the sheer delight of being out on such a glorious day.
A lark was singing unseen high in the sky above them and Sweetie bent her head to crop the turf studded with tiny blue and yellow flowers.
Sir Richard turned in his saddle and smiled at Ravina.
He thought he had never seen anything as beautiful as she looked at that moment. Her gold curls in tangles, her eyes bright and shining, a smattering of freckles across her nose.
“What a wonderful place England is on a day such as today,” she exulted. “How beautiful the sea appears from up here. So smooth and peaceful. I love Curbishley Hall with all my heart, but sometimes I wish Papa had a home right on the beach.”
Sir Richard stood in his stirrups and pointed with his riding crop to where a fold in the hills sheltered a honey-stoned mansion whose gardens ran down to the cliff top.
“That is our destination, Lady Ravina. Mitcham Manor. It stands empty as its owner recently emigrated to the New World where he has large estates – in Carolina, I believe.”
“You are thinking of purchasing it?” Ravina asked as they walked the horses towards the house.
“Indeed so. As you can see, it has very fine stabling and ample pasture for the animals I intend to breed. And that long stretch of sandy beach where I will be able to exercise them every day.”
Ravina fell silent. Surely a spy would not be planning on buying a home such as this and planning a life when he would need to be on hand all the time to oversee such an ambitious undertaking?
“Can we see inside the Manor?” she asked as they trotted through a wide entrance between two stone pillars and along the soft turf by the drive.
Sir Richard nodded.
“Yes, indeed. I understand the rooms are large and airy with magnificent views of the sea from all the upstairs apartments. And I would be glad of your opinion. Obviously it is not as old as the Priory, but perhaps you will find some parts of it agreeable.”
Ravina cast him a surprised glance. For a second, Sir Richard’s voice had sounded almost sarcastic.
She supposed he was about to lecture her again on the suitability of her friendship with Sir Michael. Well, she would not listen. She would choose her own friends, as she had always done.
They had arrived at the bottom of the fine double stone stairway that led to the front door.
Ravina began to dismount, only to find Sir Richard was on hand to help.
For a second she was all too aware of how close they were standing, his grip on her arms, the way his shirt clung to his body under his jacket.
She knew if she raised her eyes, she would find that her face was only inches from his and she felt her heart give a slight quiver at the thought.
She could feel his breath warm on her cheek before they parted as her riding boots touched the ground.
Sir Richard did not speak, but produced a large key and swung open the front door.
Ravina followed him into a hallway that was beautifully proportioned, with a double staircase mirroring the steps outside, rising in graceful curves to the balcony above.
Ravina exclaimed with delight as they moved from room to room, her admiration growing with every minute.
The manor house was indeed lovely. A warm welcoming home with rooms that were big enough to entertain in, but not so large that a family might feel lost in their vastness.
Upstairs was a selection of bedrooms, all individual in size and shape, good servants’ quarters and a marvellous nursery wing with an old piebald rocking horse still in proud possession of the schoolroom.
“How sad. They have quite forgotten to take Dobbin with them,” Ravina cried, smoothing back the wiry hair from his wooden painted head.
“I expect the children grew up and decided he was too big to ship out to America,” Sir Richard commented.
“So, Lady Ravina, do you like the Manor? Do you think that with a little decoration and suitable furniture it would make me a comfortable home?”
Ravina walked across to the barred nursery window and stared out across the gardens and orchards to where she could just see the edge of the cliff that protected the house from the sea.
“Indeed, Sir Richard, I think the Manor would make a lovely home, but even with servants, you might find it a little large living here on your own.”
He placed his hand on the rocking horse and gave it a gentle push, watching the curved runners m
aking little marks on the dusty floor.
“I am hoping that I will not be alone. There is a lady whom I would like to ask to be my wife and then – ”
“Ouch!” Ravina winced. She had clutched the iron bars at the window so hard that a little sliver of metal had sliced into her finger.
Sir Richard intended to marry! This house was being prepared for his wife.
She felt a surge of anger and despair. He had no right to bring her here, to ask her opinion of its suitability. That was the prerogative of the lady to whom he would be offering his hand and his heart.
She had no idea why she should feel so upset. After all, this man was a stranger, he meant nothing to her!
Nothing at all.
“You are hurt, Lady Ravina?” Sir Richard enquired, moving to take her hand to inspect the blood that was swelling into a ruby drop on her pale flesh.
Ravina snatched her hand away.
“It is nothing, I assure you. Goodness, it is getting late. I must go home at once. Dulcie will be wondering where I am. And I have to make plans to visit the Priory tomorrow.”
Sir Richard’s face darkened.
“The Priory?”
“Indeed,” Ravina replied brightly, clutching her handkerchief against the cut and trying to control the quaver in her voice.
“And if you live here in the Manor, Sir Richard, we may well be neighbours because I have every reason to believe that Sir Michael will shortly ask me to be his wife and I intend to say yes!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
When she looked back in the days that followed, Ravina could remember very little about her dreadful journey home from Mitcham Manor.
She had left the nursery, rushed downstairs, mounted her horse and with a silent and grim-faced Sir Richard trotting behind her, had ridden quickly back to Curbishley Hall along the roads, forgoing the hillside tracks.
So he was to marry – and soon. Mitcham Manor was to be this unknown woman’s home.
Well, she wished the lady joy. To live with a man with so little sensitivity would be a great hardship.
Sweetie skittered as Ravina’s fingers tugged on her reins as she forced her anguish to the back of her mind.
She was determined not to give Sir Richard the opportunity of thinking that his actions were of any concern to her.
“Are your plans now determined, sir?” she asked as they reached Rosbourne and trotted through the village.
“Yes. I fear I must impose on your hospitality for just one more night before I head for Dorchester. I have business there that will no longer wait.”
Ravina paid lip service to the formalities, wondering bitterly if that was where the lady lived who one day would be his wife.
The woman who would be Mistress of Mitcham Manor, watch her children grow up in the nursery, run through the orchards and paddocks, gallop their ponies on the beach and –
With a great effort of will, she stopped the painful progression of her thoughts and thankfully saw the gates of Curbishley Hall appear.
Then, at last, they were safely inside the stable yard and she was kicking her feet free of the stirrups. But before one of the grooms could help her, Sir Richard was at her side.
Ravina slid from the saddle and for a brief moment felt the strength of the arms holding her. But even as she murmured her thanks, she refused to glance up into those dark penetrating eyes.
“Lady Ravina – ” his voice sounded strangely unsure. She could have even imagined that there was a touch of bewilderment in his tone.
But no matter. The last thing she wanted was for Sir Richard to guess her attachment towards him.
How embarrassing that would be.
She had no wish to see a sudden gleam of understanding in his eyes, no wish to see any sign of pity cross his face.
That would be unbearable!
Ravina hugged her anger and despair to herself, as she bade him a curt farewell and fled upstairs to the sanctuary of her room.
Here she threw herself full-length on her bed and beat at the pillows with clenched fists.
“How dare he take me to look at that beautiful house when all along he has been planning on bringing his bride.
Tears trickled down her face as her anger gave way to grief.
But why was she so upset?
Sir Richard had never given her any inclination that his feelings towards her were anything but those of a censorious stranger.
Had she fallen in love without even realising it was happening?
Was it possible?
This turmoil, this upheaval.
Was this love?
“And I am so pleased I told him I am to marry Sir Michael!” she thought. “He will never know that my affections had turned in his direction.”
But she knew in her heart of hearts that she was not pleased at all.
Ravina stayed in her room until dinnertime that evening. She told a concerned Dulcie that she had caught a little too much sun and had a slight headache but that it would soon pass.
Her cousin pulled the curtains across the window and produced a little pillow stuffed with camomile.
“Rest on this for a while,” she fussed. “Really, Ravina, what would your dear Mama say? Riding without a hat in this weather! She would not be happy that I let you leave the house like that.”
Ravina turned her head to one side, glad that the gloom in the room hid her tear–streaked face from view.
“Yes, I am sorry, I have been very stupid,” she said softly. “But I will learn my lesson well, Dulcie dear.”
Dulcie sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the wild gold curls back from Ravina’s temple.
“Will you dine downstairs or shall I arrange for a tray to be served here in your room?”
Ravina hesitated.
She had no wish to face Sir Richard, but she was no coward. She refused to run away from him. This was her home and she would not skulk in her room like some naughty schoolgirl.
“Yes, indeed, I will be at dinner as usual, Dulcie. I am feeling better already. Perhaps you can ask cook for some asparagus soup, fish and a plain soufflé”. I do not feel I can face a heavy meal.”
“Certainly. By the way, we will be dining alone tonight. Sir Richard has told me that he will not be with us as he has to meet a friend in Lyme and will be dining out.”
“I see.”
Ravina slid off the bed as Charity came into the room.
The lady’s maid helped her out of her riding clothes and boots and as Ravina sat at her dressing table, she found the tension in her shoulders easing as Charity began to brush her long blonde hair into a silky gleaming swathe.
So, that was that.
This unhappy episode in her life was now over.
Ravina would not see Sir Richard Crawford again, unless she was unlucky and happened to be present when he came to call on her parents to introduce his new wife.
“I thought Sir Richard was leaving us today. I fear we are in danger of becoming a hotel, Dulcie dear. Surely he must have other friends who would happily give him shelter while he looks for his new home.”
Dulcie gave her cousin a concerned look. In all the time she had known Ravina, she had never heard her sound like this before. Perhaps the sun had really made her ill.
“Tomorrow I must ride out and visit the tenants,” Ravina said brightly, leaning forward away from Charity’s ministrations to pinch her cheeks until they glowed pink against her pale face.
“Papa will be annoyed if I do not show a regular interest. He always checks most punctiliously to take note of any problems they may be having.”
She could see Dulcie standing behind her, reflected in the mirror. Her cousin was frowning.
“But Ravina, do you not already have a prior luncheon appointment with Sir Michael at the Priory?”
Ravina looked blankly back at her for a few moments and then recalled that she had, indeed, promised to return to the Priory to talk about Sir Michael’s house-warming plans.
“Oh, yes,
I had quite forgotten,” she admitted drearily.
Dulcie turned away to pick up and fold a few garments that Ravina had left scattered across her bed.
How could Ravina forget Sir Michael? She was ashamed of her cousin. Sir Michael was such a kind and understanding man.
Her heart gave a little flip as she recalled the day she had spent with him discussing curtains. They had walked in the grounds of the Priory and she had admired the tidy layout of his gardens.
They had sat in a little gazebo away from the house and a footman had brought chilled lemonade and little macaroons.
For an hour they had talked and laughed and discussed the renovations. She had forgotten her lowly position in life, forgotten that she had no right to this man’s attentions.
But only too soon it had been time to return to her duties.
Dulcie’s hand went once more to the pocket of her apron and tightened round the crisp linen square that had belonged to Sir Michael.
It was all she had to remind herself of that day. All she would ever have.
And as she left Ravina’s room and walked downstairs to oversee the dinner arrangements, she wondered unhappily how she would cope if Ravina married Sir Michael and became Mistress of the Priory.
*
Upstairs, Ravina finally dismissed Charity and walked to the window, gazing out at the familiar woods and fields, the hills that led towards the sea and Charlford –
Dinner passed quietly.
Ravina had no appetite but made an effort to eat her meal. She did not want Dulcie to start asking more detailed questions about her well–being.
But for some reason, Dulcie seemed distracted as well this evening. Neither had much to say and the conversation limped along.
“How did you know I was to visit the Priory again?” Ravina finally asked her cousin, trying to bring her mind back to everyday life, away from the dreams she was exploring so helplessly.
Dulcie’s face went a bright shade of pink and she dropped her fork.
“Oh, Sir Michael called in for a moment this afternoon when he was passing. He mentioned your appointment and indeed, I agreed to go over to the Priory myself in the afternoon to help his housekeeper with a minor problem that has developed in the new servants’ quarters.”
An Unexpected Love Page 9
