She almost stamped her foot. ‘You are impossible. I think I preferred you in your cups.’
Allowing him no time to reply she flounced out, back straight, her skirts swinging, revealing far more of her ankles than was proper. She barely refrained from banging the door behind her.
*
Jack rubbed his scar, his head thumping in time with his heart. God - he needed a drink! Sparring with Miss Carstairs was exhausting. He grinned as he recalled how her eyes had sparkled and her bosom heaved with indignation. She had almost tricked him into admitting he had responsibility for her and the brats. Never! He had vowed, when Sophia had rejected him, he would take no further part in the world, would never marry or produce offspring of his own.
Why should he raise someone else’s children? He glared round the book lined room. Why was there no decanter on the octagonal marquetry side table? Meltham was slacking. His brandy had better be waiting for him in his own apartments or there would be hell to pay. He slammed out of the room and strode down the corridor. His sudden arrival scattered Miss Carstairs, two footmen and the butler.
Ignoring them he vanished into his lair. The pungent aroma and semi-darkness eased his agitation. Yes, this was where he belonged. Not dressed up like a popinjay bandying words with a schoolgirl.
*
Charlotte recovered first. ‘As I was saying, Meltham, how far is it to the vicarage? Would it be possible for me to walk there and back before noon?’
‘You could, miss, but it would be a wasted journey. The vicar died a year ago and his lordship has not seen fit to reappoint.’
‘Do you mean I cannot attend service on a Sunday? That is scandalous!’ She eyed the closed door, but decided one session with the duke was enough for that morning. ‘Well, what about Dr Andrews? Does he reside nearby?’
‘He does, miss, about two miles from here. He has a snug mansion with a small estate; I believe it was left him by his uncle.’
Charlotte smiled and waited for him to continue. The old man shook his head. ‘But you cannot visit him either, miss, as he is not a married gentlemen.’
‘No matter; I shall request that he calls on me instead.’ She turned to the footmen, lurking in the shadows, watching the drawing-room door in case their master emerged again. She addressed the younger of the two. ‘Jenkins, you shall take a message to Dr Andrews for me. Come to the library in one quarter of an hour to collect it.’ The young man bowed and Charlotte hurried off to compose her note. As she was sealing it with a wafer the significance of the butler’s casual comment about the doctor’s marital status hit her like a thunderbolt.
She felt her earlier breakfast threaten to return and swallowed vigorously. Her eyes blurred and she groped in her reticule for her handkerchief. Why had neither Annie nor Betty mentioned it? How could she have been so naive, so stupid? How long had she been resident at Thurston Hall? Almost a week now- a whole week unchaperoned - living under the roof of a bachelor of uncertain habits and a careless attitude to proprietary. She was ruined, her reputation gone, compromised beyond redemption. She doubted the fact the duke was her legal guardian would be enough to mitigate the scandal.
She sniffed and blew her nose loudly. Well, too late to repine. She hadn’t had any alternative; the choice had been Thurston Hall or the poor house. She wondered if the duke realized he had, albeit through no fault of his own, compromised her? Good grief! Her hands flew to her mouth in shock. What if he felt obliged to offer for her? She shivered, not sure if antipathy or anticipation coursed through her.
She stood up, the folded sheet in her, and walked slowly to the grimy window. Idly she rubbed a circle clean with a fingertip and gazed, unfocused, into the garden. Her mouth curved as she spotted Beth running around amongst the trees. The children were playing hide and go seek. Harry was a master at secreting himself.
A tap on the door turned her attention away from the garden. ‘Come in, Jenkins. I have the note for Dr Andrews here.’ She handed it to the waiting young man. ‘If the doctor is at home, then wait for reply. If he is not, leave the note and return.’
Jenkins took the letter and retreated. Charlotte returned to her pad. What was first on her list? If she kept herself fully occupied maybe she would have no time to consider the awful implications of her discovery. She was a ruined woman and only nineteen years of age!
She giggled; at least she need no longer bother with proprieties—far too late for that. From now on, if she wished to walk alone, then she would do so. She could not damage what was already gone. She would ride astride a she had as a child, she had no habit anyway. Many years had passed since she had had the opportunity to ride for they had kept no horses in Romford.
Harry had said there were four carriage horses, as well as the two stallions that the duke rode. Perhaps one of those beasts would do. She had been an accomplished rider; Papa had often told her she had a natural seat on a horse. Although five years had gone by since she had ridden but she was certain this was a skill you never forgot.
She left the Hall by a side door she had discovered in the corridor which led to the kitchen and servants’ rooms. Outside the warm sunshine restored her optimism. She stared up into a cloudless blue sky; the weather was more like summer than autumn. The dry, green leaves rustled overhead as she strolled down the path that led, she hoped, to the stables, which were situated somewhere to the rear of the building.
Ahead was an archway and there was the welcome sound of hoofs on cobbles. Pleased to find she was heading in the correct direction she increased her pace, eager to discover for her herself what kind of horseflesh the duke kept.
On emerging into a large yard she looked around with delight; the ground was swept, no piles of horse dung to negotiate. There were individual loose boxes and inquisitive equines peered over the doors. Grandfather had not stinted on his stables, they were obviously of recent construction and housed every convenience.
She spotted a pump in the corner, so there was obviously a stable well. The sound of shovelling came from an open door and, raising her skirt, she went over to investigate. A young groom appeared, shirt sleeves rolled, cord britches tucked neatly into stout boots.
‘Good mornin’, Miss Carstairs. Have you come to look over the nags?’
She nodded. ‘You must be Jim, for I understand Jethro is an older man.’
‘That’s right, miss. He’s head groom, but has taken Othello to be shod, down at the smithy in the village.’
‘I’m sure you can answer my questions just as well as he, Jim.’ She glanced into the box. ‘This is Othello’s stable?’
He grinned. ‘It is, ma’am. The only time it can be mucked out is when he’s absent. All teeth and flying hoofs is that young man.’
Charlotte turned and walked up to the first of four grey-heads, all appearing eager to make her acquaintance. ‘These are the carriage horses? The animals that pull the curricle or phaeton? Do any of them go under saddle as well?’
‘Yes, Star, the mare you’re stroking now, she’s fine, but not side saddle mind, she wouldn’t be happy with that.’
The soft lips of the horse nipped playfully up her arm. She reached out and scratched the horse between the ears and the huge animal instantly lowered her head, resting it trustingly against Charlotte’s shoulder. ‘I wish to ride Star myself, Jim. I am perfectly comfortable astride for it is how I learnt to ride many years ago.’
‘In that case, Miss Carstairs, there’s no problem. She’s taken to you already, and she don’t like many people.’
‘Excellent! I shall return in twenty minutes; can you have her ready for me then?’
‘That I can, miss. Will you be wanting me to come with you?’ He made it clear from his tone he would rather not accompany her.
‘No, Jim, I’m quite happy to ride alone. I don’t intend to go out of the park. It’s some years since I last rode, so I don’t wish to overdo things on my first outing.’
He beamed. ‘If you follow that path over there, it leads round the
park, about a mile or so, and it goes through a pretty beech wood. Easy going and no ditches or hedges to jump.’
‘I am relieved to hear that. I am sure that jumping anything would be beyond my abilities today.’
In her room she ferreted about in her trunk, sure her old breeches, shirt and waistcoat were in there somewhere. She held the garment up. They looked smaller than she remembered, but they were all she had and would have to do. Glad Annie was occupied elsewhere, for she knew exactly what her maid’s opinion would be on the matter of riding astride in boy’s apparel.
Charlotte carefully draped her discarded gown over a chair back, one of the two that had been found from somewhere. The shirt was loose and easily accommodated her ample curves - the waistcoat also - but the inexpressibles were a different matter.
It took all her strength to pull them up and when she had finally wriggled her way in, and buttoned up the front, they felt decidedly snug. In fact, if she bent down, she feared they would split down the rear. She tugged the waistcoat, hoping to drag it down over her bottom but this was too short. Finally she decided to untuck her shirt-tails and leave them flapping at the rear. It looked untidy, but at least that way she was decently covered.
Next she needed a head covering of some sort. She believed there had been a hat to go with her outfit. She delved further into the depths of the trunk and emerged triumphant with a flat cap. Hastily she crammed it on, bundling any stray curls inside.
She stepped up to the mirror, the only one she had discovered so far. Satisfied she was ready she left the room and almost ran back through the house, down the ornate carved oak stairs and across the hall.
She did not hear the drawing-room door open or hear Lord Thurston’s loud exclamation of surprise as she whisked past, the contours of her pert derriere clearly visible beneath the floating shirt-tails. Neither did she know that, with a predatory gleam in his eye, he was following close behind.
Chapter Five
Charlotte had come barely half the distance to the stables when she realized that not only her breeches were too small; her boots were also. By the time she reached the archway she was hobbling, her toes horribly pinched.
Star was tacked and standing ready in the yard. She tried to ignore the groom’s grin but felt her cheeks redden. Perhaps she should have waited until she had had time to let out seams and order new boots. She patted the horse’s neck and gathered up the reins, glad the mare went in a snaffle bit which required only one pair; juggling with two sets of reins on her first venture might have proved too much for her.
She turned her back and bent her leg. Jim, his eyes carefully averted, hoisted her into the saddle. She adjusted the leathers and tightened the girth and then gave her horse the office to move. Less than two minutes after her arrival in the yard she was away down the path at a brisk trot, eager to distance herself from the sniggering groom.
The path soon meandered under a canopy of leaves and she lowered her hands and sat back in the saddle. Instantly the mare responded and dropped down to walk.
‘Good girl, Star; well done - you are a wonderful horse,’ she crooned, patting the smooth muscled neck beneath her gloved hand. The horse shook her head as if agreeing with the praise.
In the cool darkness beneath the trees she relaxed pleased her equestrian skills had not deserted her. She could hear the soft cooing of the pigeons and the harsh call of a pheasant or two. She looked around with interest, seeing further signs of neglect and mismanagement. The wood had not been coppiced and a tangle of undergrowth and nettles grew where there should have been clear space
Star’s ears pricked and the mare skittered sideways, almost unseating her. Quickly she regained her seat and stared around. She could see nothing untoward. Then the horse whinnied loudly. The animal’s muscles bunched under her. Something was definitely wrong, but what was it?
She recalled the moment when she had felt that someone malevolent was watching her outside the Hall. Nervously she glanced from side to side but still could see nothing out of the ordinary. She could hear the birds singing - surely that was a good sign? Then she knew what had disturbed Star. In the distance she could hear the sound of galloping hoofs approaching.
She had to escape. She wasn’t safe in the woods. She shortened her reins and dug in her heels. The agitated mare needed no further urging, but took hold of the bit and bolted. Charlotte was being run away with but could do nothing. The path was too narrow to attempt to circle the horse; all she could do was concentrate on ducking branches and praying the animal would slow of its own accord before she was unseated.
Fully occupied she forgot why she had wanted to gallop in the first place. She crouched over the horse’s withers, taking a handful of flying grey and white mane in with the reins for added security. She found she was beginning to enjoy the experience.
Ahead was lighter, they were coming to a clearing, or maybe an open expanse of grass where she could attempt to turn the mare. No longer in danger of falling, all she needed was to remain calm.
‘Steady girl, steady. There is nothing to scare you.’
She tried easing back on the reins, transferring her weight to the rear of the saddle. To her astonishment Star appeared to listen, the ears flicked back and the wild gallop slowed to an extended canter.
All might have been well if the duke had not chosen that precise moment to thunder alongside and reach across to take Star’s bit. Neither Charlotte, nor her horse, had realized that they were about to be overtaken, their flight had masked the approaching hoof beats.
The mare, panicked by the sudden appearance of the hand by her head, shied violently, sideways into the trees. Charlotte was swept from the saddle by a jutting branch and deposited headfirst, but unhurt, into a large patch of undergrowth and nettles. She forgot the precarious state of her britches and launched herself backwards. There was an ominous ripping sound and, to her horror, she felt the rear seam give way completely.
The duke, having vaulted from his saddle, arrived by her side at the precise moment the material parted exposing her bottom to his appreciative eye. Trying not to laugh out loud he reached down and hauled her upright.
‘Are you hurt, Miss Carstairs?’ His enquiry was polite enough, but she could his sense his suppressed amusement.
‘No, I am not,’ she snapped, scarlet with mortification. ‘If you want to make yourself useful go and catch my mount.’ She could hear him chuckling as he swung himself back onto the second of his fiery stallions.
As soon as she was sure he had left the vicinity she peered over her shoulder to assess the damage. She had guessed from the draught things were bad, but it was far worse than she had imagined. The seam had ripped from top to bottom and all that was holding the garment up was the waistband. Hastily she tucked her shirt inside; there was plenty of room for it now.
She rather thought the tail was long enough to pull right between her legs and then she could secure it by pushing it into the buttonholes on the front flap. She managed to poke the slippery fabric down to hide her bottom, but soon realized she would have to grope down the front in order to complete her manoeuvre.
Her hand would not fit between her britches and waist. She dare not tug too hard or she would be in an even worse predicament. There was nothing for it, she would have to undo the buttons and pull the recalcitrant shirt through that way. She stared up the narrow path, no sign of him returning, so she was safe for a few moments.
Hastily she unbuttoned herself and reached down between her legs; triumphantly she grasped the material and yanked it hard. At this point in her activities she distinctly heard the sound of jingling bits and the unmistakable sound of horses returning. Frantically she spread the shirt across and was safely restored just as the two horses cantered into view.
Lord Thurston dismounted his expression bland. ‘Are we ready to return, Miss Carstairs? Err… have you completed your repairs?’
She felt heat travel from her soles to the tips of her ears. How dare he mention her
dilemma! Rigid with embarrassment her answer was forced from between clenched teeth. ‘I am quite ready, thank you, my lord.’ She stepped up to him and held out an imperious hand for Star’s reins. Silently he handed them over, his mirth barely under control.
‘Would you like a leg up, Miss Carstairs?’
She was about to present her boot for him to toss her into the saddle when something occurred to her. What if her makeshift repairs came adrift as he did so- her bare behind would be inches from his face. She would not risk that happening.
‘I don’t intend to ride back. I shall walk.’
‘As you wish, my dear; permit me to walk alongside. It is such a lovely day and I shall enjoy the stroll.’
‘You shall not—’ she burst out. ‘I beg your pardon. I mean to say that I would not dream of imposing upon you any longer, my lord. Please feel free to continue your ride.’
He bowed and a lock of dark hair fell across his face obscuring his scar. She caught her breath. He must have been a veritable Adonis before his injury.
‘Then I shall bid you good day, Miss Carstairs. It is only a mile or two back to the Hall. You should be safely home in less than an hour.’
He vaulted into his saddle and the huge horse stamped and shook his head, eager to be off. Charlotte remained where she was until all was quiet again. She looped Star’s reins over her arm and rubbed the mare’s velvety nose.
‘Come along, you bad girl, we had better get on.’
Her face still burned unpleasantly from the nettles stings, but apart from that and a few bruises, she had come through the experience remarkably well.
She hoped she would be able to return to her chamber undetected. As she pictured the spectacle she must have made, face down - naked bottom up - laughter bubbled inside. Did this make her a fallen woman as well as a ruined one? She laughed at the absurdity and the noise startled her horse afresh. The animal half reared, lifting Charlotte off her feet.
The Duke's Challenge Page 5
