The Major and the Country Miss

by Dorothy Elbury

  ‘There does seem to be something of the dandy about the man,’ agreed Georgianne, with a soft chuckle. ‘Although, oddly enough, Steffi looks to be rather taken with him.’

  ‘Merely the novelty of a new face, I’ll be bound,’ returned the viscount sagely. ‘Having the same old admirers falling at her feet day after day must get pretty wearisome after a time, I would imagine. What surprises me, though, is that she didn’t instantly make a dead set for Will—him being the conquering hero and all!’

  ‘Don’t be so beastly, Eddie!’ she admonished him. ‘These visits to Gresham Hall are practically the only opportunities that Steffi ever gets to exercise a little freedom—so it’s hardly surprising that her behaviour is sometimes a little—er—extravagant, shall we say? As you well know, Lady Highsmith keeps her on such a tight leash in the normal way that the poor girl is more or less bound to want to kick over the traces when she gets the chance.’

  Catford glanced down at her fondly. ‘Whatever the young lady’s faults, dearest Georgie,’ he smiled, ‘it is clear that she has a good friend in you. I just hope that she knows what she is doing.’

  ‘Oh, you may be sure that, no matter how flirtatious she appears to be to the average onlooker, our Miss Highsmith has her head screwed on most securely,’ stated Georgianne with conviction. ‘Having had to endure her grandmother’s constant homilies regarding the devious mentality of the predatory male, as well as having been obliged to have the sad effects of dozens of other girls’ misfortunes thrust under her nose day after day for most of her life, it is hard to imagine how she could not!’

  ‘One would have thought that getting the poor girl married off would have been in Lady Highsmith’s best interests,’ mused the viscount. ‘Yet, if what Steffi says is true, it seems that her grandmother goes out of her way to positively discourage all such relationships.’

  ‘From the little that I have been able to gather,’ replied Georgianne, shaking her head, ‘it would appear that Lord Highsmith was not the most pleasant of husbands, which would, perhaps, go a long way towards explaining her ladyship’s attitude to marriage. And, since Steffi never talks about her parents, it has been impossible for me to reach any conclusion about them.’

  She paused, as her cousin squeezed her hand encouragingly. ‘Not that I am in the habit of discussing my own forebears, of course,’ she went on hurriedly. ‘But, since it has often occurred to me that Steffi’s parents’ circumstances might well have been similar to those of my own, I can well understand her reluctance to enter into any discussion about them.’

  Catford gave a thoughtful nod. ‘If your assumption is correct,’ he said, ‘it would certainly explain Lady Highsmith’s rather obvious antipathy towards the opposite sex—once bitten, twice shy, as the saying goes.’

  ‘Precisely!’ returned Georgianne, in a somewhat abrasive tone.

  He pulled up short and swung her round to face him, his expression full of concern. ‘Good God, Georgie!’ he exclaimed. ‘You must not suppose that that foolish remark was directed at you! Your case is entirely different and, if I could just lay my hands on that blackguard who so insulted you, I swear that he would be lucky to escape with his life—regardless of how much you still care for him!’

  The wry smile that had been forming on her lips was replaced with a look of startled bewilderment. ‘Care for him?’ she repeated, in astonishment. ‘My dearest Cat! It is years since I gave him a second thought! And, in view of your somewhat belligerent attitude towards the poor fellow—whilst I have to admit that your championing of my cause is greatly appreciated—it is, perhaps, just as well that my uncle refused to divulge the gentleman’s name to you!’

  At these words, the viscount blinked several times and took a deep breath. ‘But, if you are not still carrying a torch for the man, why have you gone to so much trouble to keep all the other fellows at bay since he cried craven?’

  Georgianne was silent for a moment or two. Then, with a brief shrug of her shoulders, she said diffidently, ‘Because I am not prepared to face the prospect of further mortification, I suppose. Apart from which, how can I be sure that any other prospective suitor would prove to be as accommodating as the first, as regards the keeping of secrets? Being part of such a close-knit neighbourhood as we are, surely the fewer people who are privy to such knowledge, the better?’

  Catford frowned and shook his head. ‘You appear to have taken it for granted that every fellow is bound to pull out as soon as my father acquainted him with your history!’ he protested.

  ‘I am simply not prepared to take the chance that he might not,’ replied Georgianne, casting him a rueful smile, before adding hastily, ‘Not that I have been sufficiently enamoured of any one of them to put the matter to the test.’

  ‘I refuse to believe that any man who truly loved you would concern himself with such a piddling topic as your ancestry—I know that I, for one, would not give a fig about such a thing!’

  Smiling, she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘For which I thank you, dearest Eddie,’ she said gently. ‘But, since we have always been as brother and sister, I fear that you have a somewhat blinkered attitude towards me. Sadly, not all men are as open-minded as you are.’

  At that moment, for some unknown reason, a sudden vision of Will Maitland’s laughing visage presented itself to her, causing her to catch her breath in confusion. All the way back from the vicarage, she had done her best to put her cousin’s friend out of her mind, by trying to concentrate on such matters as the best disposition of the guests at tonight’s dinner table—arranging for the ongoing care of the injured kitchen-maid—the acquisition of fresh flowers for the drawing-room—anything, in fact, to stop herself dwelling on the highly disconcerting feelings that had swept through her in that one brief moment in the spinney.

  From the first moment that Maitland had stepped up into Catford’s landaulet, Georgianne had felt herself curiously drawn to him but, having witnessed his immediate capitulation to her friend’s loveliness, she had done her best to quash her own interest—a practice with which she was now well nigh perfect, having had more than three years in which to refine the procedure.

  Unfortunately, despite her best endeavours, she had been unable to prevent the sudden jolt that had hit her when he had unexpectedly appeared on the terrace that morning. Nor had she seemed to have a great deal of control over the breathless tingles of excitement that had coursed through her body when he had stepped up to join her in the summerhouse. Biting her lip in mortification, as she recalled what had followed, she mentally chastised herself for having allowed her carefully constructed guard to slip. But, even as she pledged to redouble her efforts, she could not help feeling that it was going to take a good deal more than mere dogged determination to banish all thoughts of the highly personable Will Maitland from her daydreams!

  As a soft sigh escaped his cousin’s lips, Catford looked down at her in concern. ‘Overdoing things as usual, Georgie?’ he asked, as they climbed the terrace steps. ‘Mother tells me that you never seem to stop.’

  ‘I like to keep busy,’ she murmured. ‘It helps to pass the time.’

  ‘But, are you happy, Georgie?’

  She stared up at him in surprise. ‘Happy? Well, yes. Of course I am happy. What an odd question, Cat!’

  Pursing his lips, he shook his head and ushered her into the drawing-room.

  Chapter Seven

  Having spent the whole of Sunday and Monday engaged in a fruitless search for some proof of his cousin Melandra’s death all those years ago, it was not until shortly before seven o’clock on the Tuesday morning that Maitland was eventually able to carry out his intention to join Georgianne and Catford on their morning ride. He found himself tingling with anticipation, as he cantered into the stableyard at Gresham Hall, in full expectation of finding the pair still in the process of collecting their gear. To his surprise, the groom who ran out to take his horse’s head informed him that his lordship and Miss Venables had left some ten m
inutes earlier.

  Hurriedly ascertaining the riders’ direction and urging Pegasus into a swift gallop, the somewhat putout Maitland set off in pursuit of the couple. Doing his best to dismiss the uncomfortable thought that one or other of the pair might not want his company, he could only surmise that his suggestion that he might be allowed to join them on their morning ride must have slipped Georgianne’s mind.

  Upon his return from the vicarage on the previous afternoon, he had been immediately commandeered by his lordship, the earl, who had, very naturally, desired to make the acquaintance of the young officer who had saved his son’s life. Following this somewhat embarrassing interlude, it had then taken Maitland quite some time to track down and persuade Fenton to extract himself from the charms of the fair Miss Highsmith, on the grounds that neither he nor his cousin were suitably dressed for the dinner invitation that had been pressed upon them. All of which had left him very little time to speak with either Georgianne or Catford again, other than to offer his friend sincere thanks for their kind hospitality, along with a promise that he would see them again soon.

  This last Maitland could remember quite clearly. ‘See you soon!’ he had called over his shoulder, as Fenton had driven his carriage away from the front steps where Stephanie and the viscount, along with several of the other guests, had chosen to congregate to wave the two of them farewell. Georgianne, as he had been chagrined to observe, had not been amongst their number.

  Having then been obliged to spend the remainder of the evening listening to his cousin’s over-fulsome praise of Stephanie Highsmith’s now rather obvious attributes, it had been with a certain amount of relief that Maitland had, eventually, managed to excuse himself and retire to his bed. Unfortunately, his plans for a relatively early night, in order to meet this morning’s early appointment, were destined to come to naught as, toss and turn though he might, sleep persisted in eluding him, his mind being fully engaged in trying to disentangle the perplexities of the day’s events.

  His lips curved in appreciation as he recalled the spirited conversation between Georgianne and himself and it was not long before it came to him that his inability to get to sleep was due, in part, to a rather curious desire to renew his acquaintance with his friend’s somewhat enigmatic young cousin.

  Thus, to learn that Georgianne had paid scant attention to his request to ride with her was somewhat belittling and, when he did, at last, managed to catch up with the errant pair, Maitland was not in the best of tempers.

  ‘What the devil do you mean by going off without me?’ he panted, as he reined in alongside the startled viscount.

  ‘I beg your pardon, old boy!’ returned his friend, with a puzzled frown. ‘I was not aware that you intended to join us.’

  ‘Then it is clear that Miss Venables must have omitted to inform you of our arrangement!’ said Maitland, casting a darkling look towards Georgianne, whose sudden high colour, he was gratified to note, was a reasonable indication that she did, at least, acknowledge her culpability.

  ‘Oh, I would hardly call it an arrangement, Mr Maitland,’ she flashed back at him. ‘As I recall, you merely expressed a desire to join us—“one morning”, if my memory serves me right. I could hardly be expected to know to which morning you were referring!’

  ‘No matter,’ interposed Catford in haste, for he had spotted the instantly recognisable gleam of fury that had appeared in his friend’s eyes. ‘You are here now and that’s all that counts. Let us not spoil such a lovely morning by arguing the toss—speaking of which,’ he then added, with an adept change of subject, ‘I hear that you have taken over the running of Mr Childs’s fledgling cricket team!’

  Since the bridle path was rather narrow at that point, barely sufficient for even two to ride abreast, Georgianne gladly opted to ride ahead, urging her mount past the two men, in order to allow them to indulge in what appeared to be their favourite occupation of casting increasingly damning aspersions on each other’s capabilities. This manoeuvre, as she very quickly discovered, was not without its problems, for she then had the most disconcerting feeling that Maitland’s eyes were boring into her back, which had the effect of making her feel extremely uncomfortable. She was well aware that it had been very remiss of her not to have told Catford that his friend might be joining them and it had required a good deal of persuasive grumbling on her part to get her yawning cousin out of the stable yard on two successive mornings well before the clock struck seven.

  Nevertheless, having suffered the torments of a night spent alternating between, on the one hand, a total inability to sleep, due to uninvited images of Will Maitland invading her thoughts and, on the other, several rather vivid and highly disconcerting dreams about him, she had awoken quite unrefreshed and, worse, with her self-composure now seriously undermined.

  Thus, as soon as the path widened out into an open meadow, she determined to make use of the opportunity to leave the two men behind and, spurring her little bay mare into a faster gait, she moved off at speed, calling over her shoulder, ‘I need to shake off the cobwebs—I’ll catch up with you slugabeds at the other side of Toler’s Wood!’

  ‘Dammit!’ cursed Catford, as he watched horse and rider take the far hedge with ease. ‘You’d better go after her, this damned leg of mine is not up to those sort of tricks yet—I’ll have to stick to the bridle paths—see you on the other side!’

  With a quick nod, Maitland dug in his heels and charged after Georgianne, who had now disappeared from his view. Two fields later, however, he was obliged to bring his horse to a halt, since he had no idea in what direction she might have chosen to go. And, where the devil were Toler’s Woods? he wondered, as he stood up in his stirrups in an attempt to better his view of the surrounding countryside. As he craned his neck, a slight movement on the side of a wooded hill some distance ahead caught his attention. Yes, there was no doubt about it! That flash of dark red was definitely Georgianne’s riding habit! With a satisfied grin, he urged Pegasus forwards, crossed the three intervening fields, along with their accompanying hedges, and, in fewer than five minutes, found himself at the foot of the hill, on the crest of which grew a great stand of young oak trees—the aforementioned Toler’s Woods, he presumed.

  Georgianne, as he could see, having reached the brow of the hill, had dismounted and was sitting on a tree stump, her mare cropping peacefully nearby. He hesitated, unable to decide whether a surreptitious flanking manoeuvre would have a better chance of success than an all-out frontal attack. From her earlier demeanour, he had little doubt that Georgianne would try to make a break for it the moment she spotted him. He, however, was just as determined that she would not escape him, for there were, in his opinion at least, one or two small matters that the pair of them needed to address.

  At last, having managed to skirt the base of the hill unseen, Maitland had little difficulty making his way up to the rear of the summit and into the woods. Once he was within sight of the clearing, he quietly dismounted and, after tethering Pegasus to an overhanging branch of a nearby tree, he crept silently towards the spot where, he hoped, Georgianne would still be sitting.

  Unfortunately, his lack of local knowledge brought him out of the woods at a point well to the left of his objective where, to his exasperation, Georgianne was able to spot him the moment he left the cover of the trees. Before he managed to gather his wits together, she had leapt to her feet with a cry of vexation, mounted the tree stump and thrown herself up on to her saddle, feverishly applying her crop to the mare’s rump, as she urged Olympus back down the steep slope.

  Rearing in protest at the uncustomary harsh treatment, the startled mare took off like a bullet, her hooves slipping and sliding on the dew-wet grass. Within seconds, her right fore hoof met with a concealed rabbit hole and the terrified animal collapsed, instantly catapulting its rider on to the ground.

  His heart in his mouth, Maitland sped across the grass and threw himself down on his knees beside Georgianne’s recumbent form where, by sliding his
arms under her unresisting body, he painstakingly succeeded in easing her away from the animal’s violently threshing hooves.

  ‘Oh, God!’ he panted, as he cradled her against his chest. ‘Open your eyes, Georgianne! Say something, please, for pity’s sake!’

  Somewhere in the darkest depths of her consciousness, Georgianne could hear a voice calling her name but, for several moments, although she tried her hardest, she was unable to persuade her eyelids to carry out her requirements. Eventually, by giving the matter her utmost concentration, she managed to achieve a slight flutter, the accomplishment of which brought about a heaving groan of relief from whoever was clutching her in so intimate a fashion. No sooner had her mind taken note of this extraordinary phenomenon than her eyes at once flew open and, with an exclamation of dismay, she thrust herself away from the sanctuary of Maitland’s arms and staggered to her feet, whereupon she immediately swayed forwards and would have fallen to the ground again had he not been standing at the ready.

  ‘You really need to sit down and take it easy for a moment or two,’ he advised her. ‘You may well have a concussion—perhaps you would allow me to examine your head?’

  Without waiting for her reply, he placed his hands under her armpits and, before she knew what he was about, she found herself sitting on the grass once more, with his hands running across her scalp, her hat, it seemed, having dislodged itself during her fall.

  Although the feel of his fingers on her head was oddly pleasant and comforting, Georgianne knew that there was something she should be doing—something important—and she could not, for the life of her, bring to mind what it could be.

  Suddenly, it all came back to her and, as she forced herself to turn her head, her eyes lit upon the ghastly spectacle of her beloved Olympus, lying on her side, snorting and writhing in apparent agony. She closed her eyes and a low moan left her lips. ‘Oh, Puss,’ she whimpered. ‘What have I done to you?’