Jane had never seen so much clutter in her life. A true deluge of bad taste. Gilded, overstuffed sofas, an untold number of mirrors and pictures with elaborate frames, black lacquered cabinets, statues, every sort of gewgaw imaginable ...
“Weren’t the birds outside enough?” Granny rested on her cane and gazed with amusement at the large assortment of stuffed birds, each under its own glass dome.
“With a bit of cleaning and sorting out, it will be fine.” Jane fought to keep a note of optimism in her voice.
Mama sniffed in disgust. “A bit of sorting out? We shall need a lot more than that. This place is a wreck, and you know it.”
Jane silently agreed. A closer look brought even more small calamities to light—pieces of the fleur-de-lis moldings had fallen and littered the floor, ugly water stains marred the pale lilac walls. Heaven only knew what else was wrong.
Mama, who tended toward the dramatic at times, pressed a forearm against a faded lilac wall, leaned her forehead against it and wailed, “This is horrible! We cannot live like this.” She turned and faced Jane with imploring eyes. “You must be expecting. You must.”
Jane didn’t have the heart to smile at her mother’s desperate words, laughable though they were. Nor could she bring herself to point out yet again the utter impossibility that she might be carrying the earl’s heir. She patted her mother’s arm. “We shall cope. As for me expecting, we will just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
When they returned to Chatfield Court, Jane found Griggs waiting for her in the entry hall. The usually stony-faced butler had an unusual gleam in his eye.
“What is it, Griggs?”
“Timothy, the stableman, was here.” Jane detected repressed excitement in his voice. “He requests your presence at the stables.”
She had not visited the stables for ages, not since ... “Do you know why he wants me?”
“It’s best if Timothy explains.”
“Very well, then.” Mildly curious, she left the house by the back entrance and headed down the path that led to the stables. Always a pleasant walk. She would never tire of the sight of Chatfield Court, a gem among country homes, dark and gloomy though it was. It sat atop a low-slung hill, its ancient stone walls and English Gothic chimneys nestled amidst tall oak and elm trees. A vast expanse of beautifully manicured lawn edged by rhododendrons, camellias and magnolias stretched from the rear portico, down a gentle slope, to the banks of the River Hulm. On both sides, thick growths of woods spread in either direction, all of them his lordship’s special preserve where only he could hunt. Out of sight beyond the woods and higher up stood Lancaster Hall, Lord Rennie’s estate.
The path led Jane to the stables, built close to the river around a bend and hidden from the house. Timothy O’Leary stood in the cobblestone courtyard in front.
“Hello, Timothy. How are you this fine day?” Jane meant her greeting sincerely. A sturdy Irishman somewhere in his sixties, the head stableman had a pleasant way about him, as well as a deep love of the horses he cared for.
He removed his battered hat and smiled. “‘Fine, Your Ladyship. It’s been a while since you visited the stables. Since Beauty left, I believe.”
The thought of her lost horse brought a sudden lump to her throat. Swallowing with some difficulty, she replied, “Yes, it has been a while. Griggs said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Timothy inclined his head toward the low-roofed wooden building that housed the estate’s horses. “There’s something for you inside.”
“What?”
The stableman grinned. “You had best go in and see for yourself.”
Jane stepped inside and paused, adjusting her eyes to the dim light. She drew in a deep breath, savoring the old, familiar odors of hay, alfalfa and fresh manure that brought back memories of happier times. Oh, what a beautiful smell! Only a true lover of horses could love such a smell. She started walking down the aisle between the stalls. Most were empty, the plow horses and the earl’s stallion and carriage horses having been turned out to pasture. Farther along the walkway, she saw a horse’s head poking out of the furthermost stall. Then she heard a whinny.
That whinny ... something about it ... Her hand flew to her heart. “Beauty?”
The answering whinny told her what she needed to know. With a glad cry, she picked up her skirts, ran the remaining distance to the stall and gazed for a joyous moment at the noble brown head, a perfect white star on its brow. She was looking into the soft brown eyes of her beloved horse. “I can’t believe you’re back!” She threw open the half door, flung her arms around Beauty’s neck and buried her face in her silken crest. The horse whinnied in response, causing tears to well in her eyes. She was wiping them away when Timothy appeared.
“She’s in good shape, mum. She’s been over at Lord Gamfield’s stables on the other side of the village. From the looks of her, she’s been well-treated. Lord Gamfield has the best pasture around.”
Jane patted Beauty’s sleek, well-groomed flank. “I can see that, but I thought ...” The shocking truth dawned. Arthur told her he took Beauty to London and sold her at Tattersall’s. That liar! She had assumed she would never see her horse again. All those tears shed! “She has been not five miles from here the whole time?”
“It would seem so, mum.”
She bit back angry words and remembered her manners. “How can I ever thank you? Surely money was involved and I will happily pay you—”
“Oh, no, mum. ’Twas not me what brought her back.”
“Then who?”
“’Twas that guest of Lord Rennie’s. He brought Beauty back this morning and sent me up to the house to fetch you.”
Could it be? “Do you recall his name?” She held her breath.
“Mister Douglas Cartland, I believe he said his name was. He’s the one who is building the canal for Lord Rennie.”
“How could he possibly have known where Beauty was?”
From behind came a familiar male voice. “Simple. Rennie told me. Seems he was with the earl when he made the sale to Gamfield.”
She looked over her shoulder. Him. Simply dressed in a white shirt open at the throat and dark breeches, he stood behind her, a crooked grin on his deeply bronzed face. “Well. Did I get it right? I would hate to think I brought the wrong horse back.”
“Yes, you did.” She withdrew her arms from around Beauty’s neck and whirled around, resisting the wild impulse to fling her arms around Douglas Cartland instead. “It’s Beauty, all right. I am overwhelmed, sir. I cannot thank you enough for bringing her back.” A horrible thought struck her. “She’s not just borrowed, is she? Tell me you don’t have to return her to Lord Gamfield.”
His hearty laugh instantly relieved her mind. “She’s here to stay. Let’s take her outside, shall we?”
“Of course.” Nothing would give her more pleasure than to see her beloved horse in the sunlight, in all her glory. Jane noted Beauty wore the same leather-tooled harness she’d bought for her years earlier, back in the days when she thought her happiness would go on forever. She clipped a lead to the harness and led her horse outside, Cartland close behind. In the courtyard, she checked Beauty over, growing more pleased by the minute as she noted the horse’s hooves were well cared for, her mane and tail free of dust and dirt. She picked up a brush and began stroking Beauty’s shining flanks. “You don’t know how much I worried about her, how I imagined all sorts of horrible ways she could have been mistreated. How can I thank you?”
Cartland stood watching her, a glow of satisfaction in his deep brown eyes. “No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.”
She cocked her head. “You hardly know me. I can’t understand why you would go out of your way to do such a great kindness.”
An ironic smile played on his lips. “Neither can I. A moment of madness, perhaps?”
“At least allow me to reimburse you.”
He shook his head. “If you must pay me back, come riding with me. Have you ridde
n the trail by the river? It’s quite spectacular.”
“I would love to.” Her heart lifted at the thought of riding Beauty again. She called to Timothy, “Do you still have my saddle?”
“Yes, mum.” The stableman beamed. He disappeared inside.
“I took the river trail once but didn’t get far. It will be so lovely to—” Oh, no! What was she thinking of? Beatrice’s words came back to her. Despicable ... a depraved individual ... Sir Archibald’s words followed. You must be the soul of discretion.
She should not even be talking to Douglas Cartland, let alone riding with him.
She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “I cannot.” How to explain? She could easily think of a dozen white lies, but instinct told her not to lie to this man.
A flash of humor crossed his face. “Ah, but, of course, you cannot ride with me, especially now. No doubt Sir Archibald has warned you of the perils involved in so much as speaking to a man during your ... shall we say, period of waiting? Aside from all that, your reputation would be in tatters. You could never hold your head up again. Mama might be so horrified she’d go into a decline. All because you chose to ride along the river with that scoundrel, Douglas Cartland.”
Despite his sarcasm, she felt relieved she didn’t have to lie. “I’m glad you understand.”
“I understand all right.” His shrewd eyes drilled into her. “I feel sorry for you.”
She bristled. “I may be recently widowed, but I am in no way an object of pity.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He crossed his arms and assessed her with a critical squint. “You, my dear countess, represent everything that’s wrong with our society.”
“That’s a rather grandiose statement. Would you care to explain?”
“Gladly. You have been born into a society that keeps its women virtual slaves.”
“Are you daft?”
“Let me count the ways.” He brought up his fingers and began to count. “One. You were forced into a marriage with a heartless sod who hadn’t the faintest notion how to treat a woman.”
“I suppose you do?”
“Yes, I do, but that’s beside the point. Two.” He ticked off another finger. “Look at you, all dressed in dreary black on a lovely summer day. You wouldn’t dare wear anything else, would you? All to mourn a man who treated you badly, an old letch you never loved in the first place. You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’re glad he is gone.”
Now he had definitely gone too far. “How dare you, sir? I refuse to listen to more of your outrageous remarks. I will have you know—”
“Don’t bother.” He paused, then shook his head as if genuinely concerned. “Don’t you ever get tired of living a lie? Doing what you’re told to do and not what you want to do?”
“We must all do our duty.” After the words left her mouth, she silently cringed, aware of how priggish they sounded.
“Duty be damned.” He ticked another finger. “Three. You would like to ride along the river with me, but you won’t because Mama, sister-in-law Beatrice, and a whole slew of self-righteous ladies of the Ton would not approve. Therefore, you must forego all pleasure in your life and do as they say.”
The whole time he’d been talking, she knew she should turn her back and walk away. First, of course, she should thank him again for bringing Beauty back and insist upon reimbursing him for whatever he paid Lord Gamfield. Then she should inform him his remarks were unacceptable and she would never again engage in conversation with a man so vile.
She opened her mouth to speak but could not get the words out. She had to admit that he was absolutely correct in every respect. She had been forced to marry the earl. She was not sorry he was dead. She hated wearing black, and most of all, she very much wanted to take Beauty for a ride along the river with Douglas Cartland. Why, she didn’t know, because Beatrice was right. The man was despicable, a totally depraved individual.
Timothy emerged from the stables carrying a blanket and her hand-tooled lady’s saddle, a treasured gift from Papa long ago. Before she could say a word, he walked to Beauty, set down the saddle and laid the blanket over the horse’s back. He picked up the saddle and with one easy motion slung it over the blanket.
“Never mind. I am not going riding after all.”
“That’s too bad, mum.” Timothy’s broad Irish face reflected his disappointment. He reached for the saddle.
“No!” The word escaped her mouth before she could stop it. Why couldn’t she go riding with whomever she pleased? Just once. No one would see them on the secluded river trail. “Leave the saddle. I have changed my mind.”
“What is this?” Cartland’s eyes squinted in mock surprise. “A change of heart?”
She lifted her chin. “Not that I was in the least bit influenced by,” she held up her hands and ticked off an exaggerated one-two-three with her fingers, “your so-called persuasive arguments, of which there is absolutely no truth, by the way. I simply changed my mind, that’s all.”
“Then let’s go riding, shall we?”
“How wonderful to have Beauty back again!” Jane called to Douglas Cartland who rode beside her on his own horse, Thunder, a beautiful thoroughbred with a shiny black coat. “I love this trail.” There could not be a more beautiful spot on earth than the riding path that followed the lazy current of the River Hulm upstream. At times they rode not more than a few feet away from the blue ribbon of water. Other times the path cut away and led them through dense woods where pine and poplars grew, where green moss and lichen made a soft, silent carpet on the forest floor. Time and again Jane reached for Beauty’s withers and stroked her long, silken hair. In return, Beauty would give a nod and a snort, as if she knew her beloved mistress was riding her again. At times Jane and Cartland brought their horses to a gallop. She would laugh from sheer joy, every care forgotten as she tore up the path, her beloved horse beneath her, the sun in her face, her loose auburn hair streaming behind her in the breeze.
After they had ridden for at least an hour, they came to a shady forest glade that overlooked the river. Such a beautiful spot.
Douglas called, “Here’s where we stop. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” She wondered what he meant. There was no food around here. They were in the middle of nowhere.
He swung off his horse and came to assist her. “I don’t know how you women put up with these ridiculous side saddles.” She was about to inform him that she could easily dismount by herself, but before she could, he gripped her waist and swung her down. Other than that one dance years ago, it was the very first time he touched her. She laughed to herself, amused that such an irrelevant fact should enter her head. Perhaps it had to do with her liking the feel of his strong hands and sure grip around her waist.
“Tie your horse. We will sit under that tree over there.” He pointed to a large oak that grew on a grassy knoll overlooking the river.
She tethered Beauty to the sturdy branch of a small pine tree and stood waiting while Douglas reached into his saddle bags. He pulled out a small blanket, which he proceeded to spread under the tree. He gave an exaggerated bow and broad sweep of his arm. “Do have a seat, Your Ladyship.” Amused, she settled herself upon the blanket and watched while he returned to his horse and pulled a large packet from his saddle bag. He brought it back and set it in the middle of the blanket. Pulling out items one by one, he announced, “We have bread, cheese, fruit and chicken, all prepared by Rennie’s cook, Mrs. Groton, who happens to be one of the best cooks in the world. And,” he held up a sterling silver hip flask “a bit of brandy to keep us warm in case a storm should strike.”
“It’s July.”
“This is England. You never know.” With a flourish he unfolded two linen napkins and placed one in front of her. “The table is set. Let’s eat.”
Famished, she dug in, soon concluding that she had dined on many a fancy meal in her life but nothing as good as this simple picnic by the river.
“Mmm, it
all tastes wonderful. The chicken, everything.” She popped a bit of cheese into her mouth.
Sitting across from her, he uncapped the flask and poured brandy into a small sterling silver cup. “Wash it down with this.”
She accepted the cup and gazed at it uncertainly. “Brandy in the middle of the afternoon? Mama would be scandalized. I’m not sure I—”
“If ever there was someone who could use a bit of fortification, it’s you. Drink up. It won’t kill you. In fact, it will doubtless do you some good.”
She didn’t feel like arguing. She brought the cup to her lips and took a generous sip. Umm ... the fiery liquid slid down her throat, leaving behind a delicious trail of warmth and comfort. She took another sip, which felt even better than the first. “It’s good, although I mustn’t make a habit of it.”
“I doubt you will end up a drunken doxy lying in some gutter,” he said with some amusement.
“How very kind of you to say.”
After the meal, she leaned back against the oak tree, totally content. “I’m reminded of when I was a little girl and my father used to take us on picnics. It was such a happy time.”
Looking as contented as she, Douglas stretched his lean body full out and propped himself up on one elbow. Even at rest, he looks powerful. Her gaze locked upon the rich outline of his strong shoulders straining against the fabric of his open shirt. “Tell me about your father.”
His request opened a floodgate of memories. While the birds chirped, the lazy river flowed by and a warm, gentle breeze ruffled her hair, she recalled her childhood. “My sister and I had a governess, but even so, our parents spent a lot of time with us, not like other parents you hear about who hardly know their children exist.” She paused and smiled. “Papa gave me a pony when I was six, then Beauty when I was twelve. My mother and sister didn’t care to ride, but Papa and I used to ride together all the time—every trail on our estate and then some. What fun we had! That’s why I’m so reminded of him today ... all the good times.” A sudden heaviness settled in her chest. “The good times don’t last, do they?”
The Last of Lady Lansdown Page 6
