My mind was such a jumble from the incident on the cliff, compounded by being rescued by the elder son of the house, that I scarcely noted his comment that his brother, cousin, and a friend were on the road behind him, and that all three would be staying at the Manor through the holidays.
One thing, however, was clear. I knew even before we reached the courtyard and he put both hands around my waist, easily swinging me down to the ground, that I had encountered the true danger at Moorhead Manor. Robert, Lord Exmere.
My knees should have been shaky from my close call at the cliffs, but instead I floated up the stairs on a buoyant wave of high spirits . . . until I entered my room and caught a glimpse of myself in the pier glass above my dressing table. Merciful heavens. I was the embodiment of one of my mother’s favorite expressions. How many times as a child had I heard her exclaim, “Penelope Ruth, you look like something that’s been sent for but couldn’t come”?
My bonnet dangled down my back, my hair flying every which way. Dirt, even a wisp or two of grass, clung to my cheeks; scratches marred the tip of my nose. I shrugged out of my cloak, which might never come clean, only to find my gown was equally filthy. Tears pricked my eyes. Not for my clothing, though the garments were not easily replaced, but for the loss of dignity . . .
Dignity? Fool! I ached because Lord Exmere had seen me looking like something the cat dragged in. As well as a silly fool who didn’t know better than to stray too close to the cliffs.
Four chimes from the clock on the mantel erased any tendency to feel sorry for myself. Lady Vanessa would be rising from her nap and expecting to find her companion at hand.
A scant fifteen minutes later I entered her sitting room, my face scrubbed clean, my hair braided and pinned up, my fresh gown pristinely clean though drab, as expected of a proper companion. I was, however, just slightly breathless with the rush to be ready on time. Or was it because my euphoria was sneaking back, ousting my mortification? Whatever the cause, I suspected from the rare gleam of excitement in Lady Vanessa’s eyes that she had already heard the news. And I, quite incredibly, not having benefitted from previous lessons in humility, immediately plunged into murky waters.
“With four young gentlemen added to the dinner table,” I declared, “I am greatly in need of female support. Please, my lady, say you will join us.”
She stared at me, as if I’d gone mad.
“An excellent suggestion,” David Tremaine said. “As easily done as said.”
Unexpected support came from Miss Scruggs as she added, “Just think, my lady, how much you’ll enjoy wearing one of your dinner gowns again.”
“No!” Vanessa shook her head, her voice rising higher as she added, “How can you say such a thing? I cannot. I will not.”
And, of course, feeling righteous about the magnanimity of my suggestion—sharing the attention of four young gentlemen when I could have had them all to myself—I lost my temper. “You are only as much of an invalid as you allow yourself to be,” I shot back. “You go no farther than the end of the corridor when you could enjoy the entire house, the gardens, even go for a drive. It is cowardly to hide yourself away from the world.” I threw my arms wide. “It’s a glorious place, and you are foolish to shut it out.”
Horrified by my words, I clapped both hands over my mouth, bent my head, and simply stood there, knowing I deserved every castigation I was about to receive.
“Well,” Lady Vanessa said after an outraged huff, “Papa promised you would be a breath of fresh air.” I peeped at her, waiting for the rest of her tirade. “Naturally, I didn’t believe him, but he was right. In spite of your attempts to hide behind dreary garments, you are as far from drab and self-effacing as a companion can get.”
I could see Miss Scruggs wringing her hands. A small rumble sounded from Mr. Tremaine that might have meant anything.
“I shall attempt it,” Lady Vanessa announced, astonishing us all. “If I must take to my bed for a week afterwards, be it on your head.”
“I am so glad,” I burbled as David Tremaine’s hand came down, squeezing Lady Vanessa’s shoulder. In truth, I felt the elation of a battle well fought, though I knew it to be only the merest skirmish.
Four young men at table and only two young ladies. Not that I wasn’t accustomed to dining with a plethora of young men, as my father frequently included his junior officers at table, but it had been a long time since the Peninsula, and the hearty male banter once again had me fighting off memories best forgotten.
Huntley Wetherington, a young man of perhaps nineteen, had a ready smile and a quick wit. His hair fell in sandy brown waves framing the same sky blue eyes as his sister. His smile, however, was a ready as his brother’s.
Mr. Kenrick Blythe, their cousin, was a different matter. Though not unhandsome, he lacked the brothers’ vitality. Nor was he quite as tall or broad-shouldered. Thin-faced, with pale blond hair and almost colorless eyes, he seemed lost in their shadow. Until he opened his mouth, and I realized he was as quick-witted as his cousins, and far more sharp-tongued, even to the point of being caustic. When I found myself blushing over his comments about people I had never heard of, I suspected there were members of the ton who actually feared his wicked judgments.
Yet Mr. Blythe’s sartorial splendor, if not his caustic remarks, were amply seconded by Lord Norvelle, a gentleman of an age with Exmere and his cousin, and a friend, I was told, since schooldays. Heir to the Marquess of Rothbury, he lived up to the image of a scion of the ton, presenting a fine façade of an autocratic face, marked by gray-blue eyes, a trim figure, and the languid pose affected by so many young English gentlemen, even officers of the line.
When I glanced at Vanessa, her glowing gaze was fixed on Norvelle, as if for a moment she had actually forgotten her woes, and David Tremaine as well. I suspected Lady Emmaline had juggled the seating a bit in order to place Norvelle directly across from Vanessa, whose chair fitted best at the end of the table, just to her father’s left. A quick glance at David revealed nothing but a completely blank expression as he stood with his back to the wall, so still he might well have been a piece of furniture.
Cautioned by Lady Vanessa’s too open fascination with Lord Norvelle, I could only hope I had not betrayed myself by glancing too frequently at Lord Exmere, who was seated catty-corner across the table on Lady Emmaline’s right. I forced myself to consider the many strong words of advice my mother had drilled into me about the hazards of traveling at the tail of an army. Oh yes, I knew them all. Had heeded them well. And now . . .
I was a fool, a totty-headed fool headed straight for disaster.
Chapter Six
I had grown accustomed to breaking my fast each morning in the quiet company of Lord Hycliffe, who, like me, seldom uttered more than the minimal words dictated by good manners or the necessity of requesting the passing of condiments or cream. On the morning after the arrival of the four young gentlemen, however, the hearty male chatter coming from the dining room caused me to pause several feet from the doorway. Last night’s dinner had been a veritable treatise in cacophony as tales of their adventures during a full month touring the Lake Country and Wales poured out, but to continue the noise at breakfast . . .
I winced and came close to turning tail, for I would have no support, since Lady Emmaline, and Lady Vanessa of course, always breakfasted in their rooms. But the tantalizing odors of a hearty English breakfast wafted out into the corridor, reminding me that I was famished. Needs must when the devil rides. I drew in a deep breath, firmed my shoulders, and entered the room. Five chairs scraped back as the gentlemen rose, almost in unison. With a deprecating murmur and a wave of my hand, I urged them back to their seats. All but one resumed eating, their conversation diminished to what I considered insinuating whispers marked by amused glances. For Lord Exmere had reached the sideboard ahead of me and, ignoring my protests, was sweeping off each silver cover as I came to it and waiting with laughing eyes while I made my choices. Thoroughly mortified, I was cer
tain the earl was watching my every move, that I would be turned off that very day without so much as letter of good character.
“My lord, you do me too much honor,” I hissed. “I assure you I can manage quite well on my own.”
His azure eyes laughed at me over a platter of bacon. “Surely saving your life gives me special privileges?”
“Indeed not!” I huffed. “The danger was not that imminent.” True, but it had been quite wonderful to have a helping hand emerge from the mist. Particularly the hand of a handsome young gentleman. But now, under the eyes of his father, was not the moment to admit it.
“I am devastated,” he declared, seizing my now full plate and laying it down next to his own place at table. Meekly, though wishing to sink into the floor, I sat down beside him, not drawing an easy breath until the earl excused himself and left the room.
I would adapt, I told myself, as I concentrated on chewing and swallowing. I would grow accustomed to Lord Exmere’s easy ways. His presence would cease to make my heart pound and my head spin as fast as a top . . . or I would be forced to breaking my fast in my room as the other females did. As quickly as possible, I finished my meal and retreated, thoroughly routed by the attentions of a man forbidden to me by the earl himself. And to whom any close connection, my own common sense warned me, would be devastating to both heart and soul.
For two whole days I managed to avoid Lord Exmere, seldom venturing beyond Lady Vanessa’s rooms or my own. Lord Norvelle was also a bit of a problem, I discovered, as he seemed to have an eye for all females, managing to charm Lady Emmaline and flirt with Vanessa, while at the same time professing himself delighted to sit beside her companion at dinner. And I knew for fact that he’d pinched the bottom of every housemaid under forty, for Mrs. Linnell had not hesitated to pass on her disgust, along with the litany of complaints.
I inaugurated a new habit of breakfasting early, before the gentlemen came down, and made a concerted effort to present nothing but the most prim and proper companion’s face when any of the young males were about. But the hard-won even tenor of my days had been shattered. I was skittish as a colt first broken to saddle, heart-poundingly certain I would encounter Exmere or Norvelle around each corner, disappointed—in Exmere’s case—when I did not. And thoroughly chagrined by my weakness. How had I survived all those years in the army with no more than an errant pitty-pat of my indifferent heart, only to succumb to a pair of laughing azure eyes in the wilds of Devon? I could only hope Mama and Papa were not looking down, bearing witness to my foolishness.
When Thursday came, I could hardly wait to escape the house. I would ride like the wind, clearing my head, erasing all traces of infatuation. I would be my sensible self again.
I burst through the stable door and skidded to a halt, my suddenly numb fingers dropping the voluminous folds of my riding skirt to the dusty, straw-strewn floor. Viscount Exmere was leading Zeus out of his stall.
“Ah, there you are,” he declared. “Dobbins told me this was your half-day, and I thought you should have a proper guide. The moorland can be treacherous, you know.” He flashed a smile that quite curled my toes. Nonetheless . . .
“My lord, once again you do me too much honor. Nor do I have any intention of venturing into the heart of the moor. And besides, you have a guest to entertain.”
He looked surprised. “Norvelle? He’s been here so often he’s quite one of the family, and as much Kenrick’s guest as mine. They were in the same form, you know, while I was a year ahead. Trust me, Norvelle’s only objection will be that I stole a march on him, whisking you out from under his nose.”
“My lord!”
“Come now, Miss Ballantyne, with me you may safely explore the beauty of the moor. Or,” he added, finally taking in my stony face, “we could venture into the village. Have you been there yet? Every female wishes to know where she can buy fripperies, a bit of ribbon or lace?” He regarded me with a look of what I can only describe as roguish expectancy.
Temptation. I had not yet found the village. I did not, in fact, even know there was a village close by. Certainly the stagecoach has passed through no sign of habitation for miles before I was dropped at the lane leading to Moorhead Manor.
Taking my hesitation for acceptance, Lord Exmere signaled a stableboy to bring Bess forward. Already saddled, she whiffled a greeting, clearly eager to set out. I patted her nose and, unable to put two thoughts together, walked meekly beside the horses out into the sunshine. I still hadn’t found my voice to issue a protest when Exmere gave me a boost up into the saddle. And just like my devoted namesake Ruth, I turned Bess in Zeus’s wake and followed where the altogether too charming son of the house led.
I told myself it was because I really wanted to know where the village was, but I suspect I would have followed him anywhere. The more the fool, I.
While our horses got over the fidgets of too long in the stables, conversation lagged, but when the horses settled and we were walking them side by side along the road with the ocean on our right, I finally managed to express at least one of the thoughts that crowded my mind. “My lord, you must not single me out for your attention. Your father cannot like it—indeed, he has told me so in no uncertain terms. I do not wish to be turned off without a character.”
He pulled up his horse, giving me a penetrating stare at odds with his customary devil-my-care expression. “He warned you off me in particular?”
“No, my lord. Off all the males in household.”
“Did he now?” The viscount’s gaze strayed out over the sea, which was relatively calm today and nearly the same color as his eyes. “I daresay he had no idea he was hiring such a beauty.”
“He said as much,” I admitted.
“Turned my sister green, no doubt.”
“My lord, how can you say so? Your sister is quite lovely.”
“Ah, but you have the use of your legs. And, more to the point, David Tremaine has eyes and a male’s full appreciation of a fine figure coupled with an extraordinary face.”
I gasped and set Bess to a canter, soon hearing Zeus’s hooves thundering to catch up. The road, however, took a sudden precipitate turn downward, and I was forced to slow to a walk lest both Bess and I tumble head over heels onto the slate gray rooftops of a village tucked into a cove at the base of the cliffs. Exmere rode beside me in silence as we descended the winding, snake-like road, passing a stone church half-way down and finally a row of fishermen’s cottages before coming to a small green, with shops on the left and fishing boats to the right, tilted at sharp angles where low tide had left them high and dry.
I turned and gazed back up to the top of the cliff, some three or four hundred feet above our heads. “Goodness. How does one get back up?”
“We walk, leading the horses,” Exmere returned blandly. “Which is why it is often easier to order goods sent from London than to buy anything in the village.”
I shot an accusing glance in his direction. “So you have brought me here under false pretenses.”
“Oh, not at all. I don’t imagine you have had much acquaintance with English fishing villages, a very important part of our culture, I’ll have you know.” He met my look of outrage with another of his devastating smiles. “Come. The Cat and Sole offers decent refreshment, and I’m sure you are parched after the long ride.”
“Cat?” I questioned as I saw only two fish on the inn’s wooden sign, which was swaying in the breeze.
“Catfish. They grow them large in Devon.”
I shook my head over that while Lord Exmere received an effusive greeting from the inn’s stableboy. After a lingering dismount where my lord’s hands were slow to let go of my waist and our noses nearly touched, causing my heart rate to soar, we entered the local inn, which turned out to be little more than a tavern and smelled so strongly of fish it fair took my breath away. I pasted on a gracious smile, however, as the barmaid, a buxom girl with dark tumbling curls, rushed to serve us.
“My Lord! Now ain’t yo
u a sight for sore eyes. Home fer a while, are you?”
I blinked. Clearly, manners were more free in Devon.
“Sal!” The viscount wrapped an arm around her, giving her a good squeeze. “Pretty as ever, I see.” He flashed her one of his blinding smiles, accompanied by what appeared to be a firm slap on her behind. I blinked. Though it was far from the first time I had seen a man indulge in this classic gesture, seeing Exmere act so freely set my teeth on edge.
As we ordered—ale for him, tea for me, accompanied by scones and Devonshire cream—the viscount kept up his flirtation with Sal, while also exchanging hearty greetings with the landlord, the landlord’s spouse, and a veritable parade of fishermen, whose names he knew down to the youngest, a lad of not more than fifteen. I was duly impressed and inevitably chastened by the truth: Lord Exmere treated everyone, from the lowliest fisherman to his sister’s companion, with an air of good-natured bonhomie. His kindness meant nothing, it was just his way. And, consequently, he was the apple of every eye. One day he would be landlord to the whole village, and still they would love him. If only other nobles could be as easy with their tenants, there would be little fear of a French-style rebellion on this side of the Channel.
It was a long walk back to the top of the cliffs, and with every step I repeated my catechism of new-found enlightenment. Robert, Lord Exmere, was a naturally ebullient personality, a charmer who belonged to everyone. And no one. Most particularly not to me. I must accept him for what he was and try not to mourn what he was not. I would concentrate on what I was being paid for—helping Lady Vanessa to return to a more normal life. And above all else, I would not misinterpret anything Lord Exmere said or did.
Not the easiest resolution to maintain as he kept casting lingering warm looks in my direction, even though the steep climb forced us to conserve the air in our lungs, rendering us speechless. He was likely just making certain I didn’t need a pause to catch my breath. Or so I told myself, but . . .
Mists of Moorhead Manor Page 5
