As their laughter receded, Eveline released the breath searing her throat. She put the letter into her lap desk and edged out from around the bookcases.
She hurried up the stairs and knocked on the door of Vanessa’s bedchamber. When Leale opened it, Eveline said, “I must speak with Vanessa.”
“My lady has retired.”
“Leale, please!”
The abigail hesitated, then stepped back. Eveline rushed in as Vanessa rose from a chair. Seeing her friend hold a sheet of paper, Eveline wondered if Vanessa had been writing a letter, too.
“Eveline, whatever is amiss?” Vanessa asked, staring at the pallor of her friend’s face.
“Forgive me for querying you about what may be none of my bread and butter, but do you have a true tendre for Mr. Swinton?”
Vanessa put Corey’s letter in the pocket of her dressing gown. Curiosity pierced her. If Mr. Swinton had spoken of his prejudices to Eveline … She took the lap desk her friend was carrying. Setting it on a rosewood bookcase, she clasped Eveline’s hands in hers.
“My dear Eveline,” she said as she drew her friend, who was trembling, to sit, “you have yourself in quite a state over something that is of the least significance.”
Eveline’s green eyes were flooded with tears. “Do you have a cupboard love for him? I saw how earnestly he spoke to you tonight.”
Vanessa sank to a chair. Noting Leale in the shadows, she guarded her words. Eveline must never guess how Vanessa had struggled to be pleasant to their host after his crude words this afternoon. Only the fact that the other men seemed to accept Mr. Swinton’s claim on her attentions had kept her from sending him from her side at the evening’s beginning. She did not want to have to deflate their interest in her as well. “Do not confuse friendship for more.”
“But he said—”
“He spoke to you of this?” Vanessa gasped, shocked that Mr. Swinton would speak of a personal matter to Eveline, when he had professed such a strong dislike for the Clarkes. Her composure splintered as she wondered if she was the only one truly strung on by her tactic of pretending to accept Mr. Swinton’s attentions.
“No, but I overheard him speaking to Captain Hudson.”
“And he told the captain he wished to have more than friendship with me?”
Eveline lowered her eyes. “Not in so many words. He said—oh, thunder! I wish I could recall his exact words.”
“No need.” Vanessa rose and hugged her friend. “Mr. Swinton and I have spoken only this afternoon. You must have misunderstood our host.”
“But, Vanessa, I am sure I heard him say he wishes to take you as his wife.”
“Eavesdropping is a deplorable habit,” she answered, then winced. She had said the same to Lord Brickendon by the duck pond. “I am sure you misheard Mr. Swinton.”
“Perhaps,” Eveline said reluctantly. She stood and gripped Vanessa’s hands. “Forgive me for disturbing you. Good night.”
“There is nothing you need to be forgiven for.” She hugged Eveline again. “Will you change your mind and join us for the hunt in the morning?”
Eveline picked up her lap desk and smiled. “I think not. I have a letter I must finish.”
“Then I shall see you at nuncheon.” Vanessa smiled wryly as her friend left.
Leale came forward. “My lady, perhaps you should give Miss Clarke’s words more credence.”
“Why?”
“There is talk belowstairs of what the house will be like when you are overseeing it. They are very eager to speak to me, because I know you well.”
Vanessa opened her mouth, then closed it. If the servants were speaking openly of Mr. Swinton’s plans to marry her, they must see them as a fait accompli. Bother! Mr. Swinton had been honest with her … hadn’t he? Bother again! She could not be sure of anything any longer.
A yawn flowed into her mouth. Freeing it, she slid her dressing gown off, then took Corey’s letter from the pocket. Putting the note in her bodice, she vowed to confront Mr. Swinton during the hunt and demand him to be honest with her. Then the matter of these rumors, which were as discomforting for her friends as for her, would be put to rest. She had too much to concern herself with to be embroiled in such silly intrigues.
“On the morrow, you shall see how mistaken Eveline was.”
Leale said nothing, but her frown proclaimed she did not share Vanessa’s expectations.
Clouds hung low over the stone house as Vanessa emerged into the eager crowd waiting for the hunt to begin. The wind brushed her face, offering an invitation to ride at ventre-à-terre across the meadow, which was still drenched with morning dew. Holding the skirt of her new crimson riding habit over her arm, Vanessa saw the other women glancing enviously at the bobbish scarlet plume in her cocked hat. With a smile, she recalled Madam deBerg’s delight when she first had shown the feather to Vanessa and suggested it would complement her new habit.
Hearing her name, she smiled as she went to where her aunt was waiting by a gray russet mount. Vanessa was not astonished to see Captain Hudson next to Aunt Carolyn.
“Good morning,” he said with a tip of his beaver. Without his uniform, he was not as imposing, but he still was an undeniably handsome man.
Aunt Carolyn smiled as she left his side to take Vanessa’s hands. “My dear, you look lovely. I swear your color is nearly as rich as the shade of your habit. How long has it been since we have ridden together to the hunt?”
“Since the week before Corey’s seventeenth birthday,” she answered, then wished she had remained silent when she saw sorrow in her aunt’s expressive eyes. She had not intended to ruin Aunt Carolyn’s day. Forcing a smile, she added, “I agree that another ride together is long overdue, and we shall rectify that today.”
“Are you enjoying your visit to Swinton Park?” the captain asked as he took the reins of the brown horse a stable boy brought to him.
“It is always pleasant to feel a cushion of dirt beneath one’s boots,” Vanessa replied.
“But not inside the house.” Aunt Carolyn’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “This house needs the light touch of a feminine hand. Think of the fun it would be to put it in apple-pie order, Vanessa.”
“You know you have more skills in that direction than I do.”
“You need not be shy with me. Mr. Swinton follows you like a shadow. He is undoubtedly taken with you.”
“I think we shall be friends for a long time,” Vanessa answered carefully. She did not want to disabuse Aunt Carolyn of her misapprehensions now.
When Captain Hudson offered to throw Aunt Carolyn up in the saddle, Vanessa excused herself to find her mount. She grimaced as the hem of her habit dropped to the ground. The accursed thing was the proper length for riding, but not for walking halfway to the stables to find a lazy stable boy.
A shout pierced the morning. She whirled to see a horse rearing, its ironclad hoofs inches from her head. A woman screamed. Something struck Vanessa. She crashed to the soft ground, a weight over her knocking the breath out of her. She cringed as hoofs hit the earth, spraying her with dirt.
The frightened shouts surrounded her when she heard, much closer to her ear, “Are you hurt, my lady?”
She opened her eyes to see Lord Brickendon’s face only a shadow’s breadth away. His kohl-colored eyes were filled with fear, and gray tinged his healthy coloring. Feeling her cheeks burning as she realized how intimately they lay amid Mr. Swinton’s fearful guests, she whispered, “I am unharmed.”
Standing, he easily drew her to her feet. He was about to release her hand when she wobbled. His arm encircled her waist, and she rested her head against his chest. Contentment, unlike any she had ever known, sent warmth through her useless limbs.
“I fear you were being overly optimistic,” Lord Brickendon murmured, and she was fascinated by the resonance of his words beneath her ear. To someone else, he added, “She can barely stand.”
Vanessa grudgingly raised her head when she heard Aunt Carolyn’s sob. She e
dged away. As Lord Brickendon drew his arm from her waist, he kept his hands out to catch her if she collapsed.
“I am fine,” Vanessa asserted with more strength. Putting her arms around her quivering aunt, she realized her words were true. “Hush, Aunt Carolyn. Lord Brickendon saved me.”
Looking past her aunt, she again saw the unfamiliar, somber expression on the viscount’s face. Even as she watched, his smile returned. She whispered her thanks, but he dismissed her words with a wave of his hand.
“Nothing any dashing knight would not have hesitated to do.” He bent to collect the dirty hem of her skirt and hand it to her.
Mr. Swinton pushed past his guests. “Oh, my lady, that fat-pated stable boy will be turned off before day’s end.”
“It was an accident.” Hearing the echo of her words to Sir Wilbur, she pasted a smile on her lips. “The hounds must be eager to be on their way. Shall we take to the chase?”
Aunt Carolyn murmured, “Vanessa, I think it would be wise if you returned to your chamber and rested until your head is settled upon your shoulders.”
“I am unhurt,” she repeated, offering her aunt a smile. “Let’s ride after the fox.”
Mr. Swinton said, “Lady Mansfield, fear not. I shall not allow your niece out of my sight during the hunt.”
“Kind of you,” Captain Hudson replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Vanessa was sure she heard a muffled laugh behind her, but Lord Brickendon was busy talking with a stable boy, who held the reins of a black horse. She frowned. Someone had laughed, but who?
A lad came forward, leading a chestnut horse. Vanessa smiled. “Mr. Swinton, this is an excellent mount.”
“I had thought you would appreciate him, my lady.” Mr. Swinton stepped between her and Lord Brickendon. “If you are certain you feel strong enough to ride—”
“I do.”
“—allow me to assist you into the saddle.”
Vanessa accepted his help. Settling herself comfortably in the saddle, she waited for the others to mount. Bafflement threaded her forehead when she realized Lord Brickendon had not mounted his horse.
“You aren’t joining us, my lord?” she asked. Dismay struck her. “Are you hurt?”
He put his hand over hers. The motion—which should have been friendly—consumed her in succulent warmth. “Your consideration is as entrancing as you are, my lady. The truth is that just before that horse went wild, I learned Maestro had picked up a stone. I must remain to be sure it is tended to properly.” His gaze led hers to where his fingertip grazed her longest finger, then touched the next as lightly. “Perhaps we can ride together another time.”
“In Town?” she asked before her good sense could silence her words.
“Perhaps.” The yapping of the hounds halted his next words. He stepped back and nodded to her.
Vanessa urged her horse forward, reminding herself that she could not ask Lord Brickendon for his help to find Corey until she was sure he could help her. She had no chance to look back, because Mr. Swinton was riding toward her. He clearly intended to keep the pledge he had made to her aunt. She vowed not to slow him, so he could follow close on the heels of his prized hounds.
With a shrill call of the master of the hunt’s horn, the dogs raced from the hole in the hedgerow to chase down the fleeing fox. Vanessa slapped the reins and let the horse have its head. She glanced back to see Mr. Swinton’s surprise, but he sent his horse at top speed after hers.
The bumpy ride revealed aches Vanessa had not noticed before, but she gamely continued. Her discomfort must have been visible because Mr. Swinton signaled to her to slow her horse. With regret, she watched the other riders race past.
“Perhaps we might be wise to take this hunt at an egg-trot,” Mr. Swinton said when he maneuvered his horse closer.
“I cannot tolerate riding at a snail’s gallop. I would as lief follow the hunt.”
“If you will not pause for your own good, then pause while I express words that demand to be spoken.”
“Mr. Swinton,” she said, torn between exasperation at being left behind and gratitude for his concern, “nothing needs to be said between us. The horse’s actions were not your doing.”
“There is much to be said.”
“If this is about Eveline—”
“No!”
His vehemence astounded her. “Mr. Swinton, we must ride if we wish to catch up with the others.”
His hand on hers halted her from slapping the reins on the horse’s neck. She jerked her hands back when she saw the glitter in his eyes. Once again Sir Wilbur Franklin sprang to mind along with Eveline’s cautions the night before.
“My lady … Vanessa, if I may be bold—”
“I wish you would not.”
He blinked at her stiff words. “It is such a small indulgence for someone who would give you his heart in return.”
“Mr. Swinton, you said—”
“Bruce,” he interrupted with a smile.
Vanessa could not return it. If she had had any idea she would have to suffer this discomfort, she would have remained at the house. She heard the excited baying of the dogs and looked past him.
“We must hurry,” she said. “I do not want to miss the fox’s capture.”
“I have just the jolly. If I can prove to you that—”
“You need prove nothing to me, sir.”
“On the contrary,” he said with another grin showing his good humour, “I wish to prove to you that I am worthy of your heartfelt affection. How better than to bring you, like a cavalier of old, a token of my admiration!”
She laughed. Perhaps she could defuse his ardor with mirth. She must put an end to this before she was smothered by his solicitousness. “You wish to bring me the carcass of the fox to show the affection of friends? You have a peculiar sense of what a lady finds a proper gift.”
“I realize the beast is nothing but the lowest vermin, my lady. Nor is it mere friendship I—”
Again Vanessa interrupted him. “Mr. Swinton, ’tis not the creature I find offensive, but the idea you think I cannot play a part in running the fox to earth myself.”
“My lady, I never meant to suggest such a thing.”
“Then leave off!” She touched her horse’s flank with her whip.
The mount leapt forward. Vanessa turned the horse to take a shortcut through the field to reach the other riders. Hearing hoofbeats, she knew Mr. Swinton was riding after her. Abruptly she had sympathy for the fox.
When a horse cut in front of hers, Vanessa choked back a scream. She reined in. Her horse pranced on its hind feet, frightened. She steadied him and aimed a scowl at Mr. Swinton as he drew his horse next to hers again.
“Are you bereft of the sense God gave a goose?” she snapped.
“I want for wits whenever you are near, Vanessa.”
“Mr. Swinton, I asked you not to—”
He gripped her elbows and tugged her toward him. In disbelief and horror, she realized he intended to kiss her. Her small whip struck him soundly on the shoulders. He pulled back in shock.
“Leave off!” Vanessa said icily. “If this is your conception of friendship, it does not gibe with mine.”
“We can be friends even after we are wed.”
“You are wrong. We cannot remain friends, and we never shall be wed.”
He sneered, “You wish to be a thornback forever waiting on a shelf.”
“What I wish is not your concern.”
“You need to marry. Your father’s fortune—”
“Belongs to my brother.”
“Your dead brother has no claim on it.” He edged his horse nearer again. “Vanessa, my dear, such talk will lead people to believe you are unsettled in your head. Can’t you see that you need someone to guard you from your own impulsive behavior? Someone who will watch over you so you bring no dishonor to your family’s legacy with your jobbernowl ideas?”
“Like believing my brother is alive?”
“Exactly!” He grinned triumphantly.
“And being loyal to my bosom-bow?”
His lip curled into a caricature of a smile. “You know I do not approve of your unfortunate friendship with Miss Clarke.”
“You are right. I do need to guard myself against my impulsive behavior.” She swallowed her fury as his grin widened. “I should be flogged for ever believing one of your bigoted bashers.”
“Vanessa—”
She gave him no chance to finish. Turning her steed toward the house, she laid the small whip to its flank. It raced at top speed across the meadow.
At a shout, she turned to see Mr. Swinton riding neck-or-nothing after her. All thoughts of the scoundrel vanished when she saw a brambled hedgerow in front of her. There was no time to turn.
She held her breath as the horse gathered its feet beneath it. They rose from the earth. Flying, the wind screeching in her ears and scoring her face, she gripped the reins. The beast’s muscles contracted in the moment before they struck the ground on the far side of the briars. The jolt sent new agony along her bruised body.
Behind her, Mr. Swinton shouted to his horse to follow. The horse balked. He screeched as he flew over its head to land squarely in the middle of the briars.
“Mr. Swinton!” Her fears for his life vanished when he pushed his way out of the copse and glared at her as he plucked a pricker from the back of his riding breeches.
“Are you mad?” he demanded. He shook his head, and small sticks fell from his hair. “No wonder your aunt is so eager to get you wed before anyone discovers you are all about in your head.”
“Haven’t you said that I suffer from impulsive behaviors?” she fired back. Any sympathy she might have had for this pig-sconce was smothered beneath contempt. “Perhaps you should think again. You were the one who put your horse to a hedge it could not take.”
“Forget the damned horse!” He rubbed his hip. “You are more worried about the beast than about me.”
“You worry enough about yourself, Mr. Swinton.” She tilted her hat back. “You clearly wish to think only of yourself, so let me inform you that you needn’t worry about me any longer. I thank you for your hospitality, but, as soon as I collect my aunt and my friend, we shall infringe on you no more.”
The Wolfe Wager Page 12
