by Cheryl Bolen
After they left Mrs. Baron's shop, Lord Stacks insisted they patronize a milliner's establishment on Goodram Gate. Truth be told, Freddie was thankful to discard her old black bonnet. Here, too, Stacks selected wonderfully fashionable hats to complement each new dress. He even chose--against Freddie's protestations--a plumed band for evening wear. A bonnet with a rich chocolate colored brim was selected to match the new dress she was wearing.
Lord Stacks was not content to stop with the milliner. Freddie must have new gloves, new boots and a reticule, he said. Lastly he recommended new undergarments. While he sent her to the shop to get undergarments, he forced coins into her hand and begged off. "I must patronize my tobacconist. Bore you to death, I daresay. Shall we meet at the lending library at the foot of this street?"
The lending library was their last stop before going home. Already, the sky was growing darker, so they each selected just one book, hoping to make it back to the abbey before night set in.
He helped her into the carriage and sat across from her. "May I see what book you selected, Miss Lambeth?"
He scanned the title of the book she handed him, then looked up. "You like astronomy?"
Her eyes shone with enthusiasm. "Oh, yes. One cannot have a passion for medicine without a knowledge of astronomy."
He raised an eyebrow. "Am I to understand you assisted your father with his medical practice?"
She nodded. "I read every one of his books and I came to enjoy learning about herbs and medicines and making potions and poultices that would help my father's patients."
"Then you read Latin?"
"Oh, yes."
"And Greek?"
She nodded meekly, as if such an admission were something a girl should be ashamed of.
He chuckled. A deep hardy, masculine chuckle. "But you cannot play the piano. Tell me, do you speak French?"
Her eyelids lowered. "No, my lord."
"Do you dance?"
She shook her head.
"And let me guess. You do not do fine embroidery or water colors."
"How did you know?" she asked, her eyes widening.
He laughed. "It is obvious, my dear Miss Lambeth, that you were brought up as one brings up a lad. And I suppose you fish."
She nodded.
"And swim?"
She nodded again.
"And ride?"
"I never owned a horse, my lord, but riding is something I enjoy very much."
"Then you shall have your own horse while you are at Marshbanks Abbey."
He did not have the heart to tell her now that she would not be at Marshbanks Abbey for long. He knew he had to tell her. Indeed, he had planned to tell her as soon as he had bought her new finery. But now he would wait until all the packages arrived from Mrs. Baron's. Surely Freddie would be so happy then, she would not care.
The girl obviously had a fine eye for quality. And she wore her clothes well. Damned if she didn't look a hell of a lot older than a girl just turned eighteen. She looked like a woman. Mrs. Greenwood, blast her, had been correct. He had no right to traipse about the countryside with a young maiden without benefit of a chaperon. Until he sent her back, he would have to get the girl a maid. "Like it or not, my dear Miss Lambeth, I believe you need a maid."
"I fear it is a luxury that I could not possibly maintain later in life, my lord."
She seemed a rather selfless girl. He would appeal to her sense of charity. "But you would be doing one of the undermaids a great service by elevating her to the position of lady's maid. Wouldn't that please you, Miss Lambeth?"
"Since you put it that way . . ."
"Good. I will select one who is young and has an idea about the new fashions. I shall want her to dress your hair."
Those green eyes of hers looked startled. "How long has Mrs. Greenwood been in your employ, my lord?"
So she was troubled over the blasted woman's comments this morning, he thought. "Our old housekeeper was pensioned off when I married, so my bride hired Mrs. Greenwood. That was eleven years ago."
"Were you married long, my lord?"
"Less than a year."
"To the woman in the painting in the dining room?"
He nodded grimly. It still pained him that a creature as lovely as Elizabeth had to die.
"She was extremely beautiful," Freddie said.
"Yes. I was totally captivated by her. I wed her scarcely two months after our first meeting."
"I can understand such haste. Every man who saw her must have wanted to possess her."
Possess her. A strange choice of words for a maiden, he thought. Yet they so captured what he had felt for Elizabeth. He nodded, desperately wanting to change the subject."I met her during her season. Would that you could have a season, Miss Lambeth. I don't know how to manage it, though. Since my unfortunate parents lost five children, I lack sisters and sisters-in-law who could properly present you. I'm afraid my sponsorship would be a curse. I no longer go to London, you know."
"I have no desire to be presented to the ton, my lord. It would only strengthen my sense of inferiority."
"Never feel inferior, Miss Lambeth," he said firmly. "You are the daughter of Frederick Lambeth, the niece of Sir Harold Lambeth and the great great granddaughter of Lord Clarence Holcombe. You read Latin and Greek and are an uncommonly good whist player. I know no woman who is your intellectual match." She looked down at her new beige gloves. "I am greatly indebted to you, my lord."
She was neither small nor child-like, yet she solicited in him an urge to protect her. Perhaps she could be the child he would never have.
But why was it he did not think of her as a child at all?
Chapter 4
"Now that you've nourishment, we'll go to the stable and select a mount for you," Lord Stacks informed Freddie as she pushed aside her unfinished breakfast on the gleaming mahogany table the following morning.
A smile sprang to her face as she threw down her napkin and rose from her chair.
They walked through the great hall, Stack's heels striking its stone floors. Freddie turned toward the vestibule.
"You'll need a cloak."
"But it's spring," she objected, meeting her guardian's stern gaze.
"You've spent your life in the south. Spring here in the North Country can still be rather cold." He instructed a footman to have Miss Lambeth's maid bring a cloak.
"I---I have only my serge pelisse," Freddie said. How embarrassing it was to admit to the impeccably dressed Lord Stacks that she had no cloak.
"Very well," he said. "The black pelisse Miss Lambeth arrived in."
So he remembered her shabby pelisse. Did nothing escape his scrutiny?
By the time the footman returned with the weathered pelisse Freddie was appreciative when he assisted her into it. A chill seemed to settle in the great hall. She and Lord Stacks embarked on their walk to the stables. Despite that it was nearly mid day, a misty dampness hung in the air as she and Lord Stacks strolled across a small park behind the abbey.
The park's broad rectangle of velvety green grass looked like something found at the great English estates, not at a medieval abbey tucked into the rocky crags of Yorkshire.
Strong winds ruffled her skirts, and were her hair not swept back into a bun it would have blown like sheaths of wheat in the gusts. She was glad for the meager warmth the pelisse offered. "Think you it will rain?" she inquired.
He looked up at the heavy clouds. "Hopefully not before we get in a good ride."
She noted that her guardian was a great deal taller than she, a fact that should have made her feel more feminine. But, remembering the beauty of Lord Stacks' wife, she felt nothing but gawky.
"You kept no horse in Chelseymeade," he remarked. "Did you have a pet?"
"A dog." She swallowed hard.
"Had you him long?"
Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Since I was eight, my lord."
"It must have been very difficult for you to leave him."
Sensing pity
in his voice, she lifted her shoulders proudly. "I am sure my cousin Jim--who holds a great fondness for dogs--will be kind to him."
"No doubt."
They had reached the edge of the park and still no buildings were in sight. They followed an unlevel stone path through a glen where daffodils grew wild and a chorus of birds sang their sweet songs.
"Does Maggie please you?" Stacks asked.
"She seems most amiable. As to her skills, I am ill prepared to offer judgment, having no basis of comparison."
"Always remember, Miss Lambeth, that you are the mistress. Never defer to a servant."
"It is indeed difficult for me to command."
"Having no experience---" he said with mirth.
She looked up at him, his black eyes shining mischievously, and she felt rather comfortable.
Still there were no buildings, no patches of farmland. "Do you farm, my lord?"
"Only modestly. This land is far better suited for raising sheep."
On the other side of the glen they came to a large stable. He led her through a doorway large enough for a carriage, past the tack room and along the dirt floors where he greeted a groom brushing down a roan gelding. "Good morning, Jacob. Saddle Lucifer for me while my ward selects a mount."
The lame man scurried to the third stall and stroked a black stallion.
Freddie had never dreamed one man could own so large a stable. She counted fourteen stalls, with horses of every color. Beyond the stalls, another room housed the carriage and a phaeton. She and her guardian strolled the length of the stable which smelled of fresh hay and rich manure. It seemed a warm and comforting place to be. He told her a little about each horse. When they got to the other end, he asked, "Do any of them strike your fancy?"
She turned to gaze at her choice. "The bay in the first stall."
A slow smile covered his tanned face as he nodded. "A wise choice. She's not too spirited and is, after all, quite lovely."
Jacob had finished saddling Lucifer. "Put Lady Stacks' saddle on Bay Lady," Stacks ordered.
"Oh, but I don't need a side saddle," Freddie protested.
Stacks leveled a stern gaze on her. "At Marshbanks Abbey you will be a lady."
Freddie had the odd feeling she were a child being scolded by an overbearing schoolmaster.
He would probably scold her if she told him she could saddle her own horse. She held her tongue and watched the groom — a young man just a few years older than she — perform his duties. The lame fellow was so solemn he did not even respond to her thanks when he gave her a leg up.
She did not at all like the feel of riding side saddle. She felt as if she would topple off on the first turn. She gazed forward at her guardian who was cantering on his black stallion. "I daresay it may take a while for me to grow accustomed to riding sidesaddle. Pray, do not think me an utter novice."
He reined in until she came along side of him. "I offer you my sympathy, Miss Lambeth. I never could understand how women could tolerate riding sidesaddle." He smiled at her again.
Despite her many insecurities and despite her guardian's exalted position, she did not feel uncomfortable with him. He offered something she had never before had. He cared. He knew full well she had no feminine skills. He knew she was neither lovely nor fashionable. Yet still she was a real person to him. He solicited her opinion. He asked her questions about her life. He desired that she be treated as a lady.
As they rode around the perimeter of the lonely moors, she became accustomed to the feel of the sidesaddle and her former ease with horses returned even though she would have preferred to straddle the proud beast, to feels its girth firmly under her.
"It is obvious you have been instructed to ride as a man," he said. Lifting his gaze to her, he added, "You ride very well, Miss Lambeth. Of course, your father was a noted whip."
She grimaced. "The apple seems not to fall far from the tree."
He gave her a quick, puzzled glance, then continued climbing northward, the terrain having turned rockier and more hilly, the sky steadily darker. He looked up at the threatening clouds. "We had best turn back. Before the rains come."
She could feel and smell rain in the air. They galloped back toward the abbey, Freddie exhilarated by the speed. But they were not to reach shelter before the skies erupted.
Within minutes, the sky turned black. Sheets of rain drenched her, and chill winds cut through them like an icy knife. The rains came down so heavily she had to close her eyes, following Lord Stacks not by sound, which was lost to the pounding fury of wind and rain, but by sheer instinct. Before long he reined in.
She wiped her eyes with wet hands and looked up to see a stately summer house ringed by statuary columns and topped with a copper dome. Its classical architecture was out of place in so rugged a terrain.
Her teeth chattering, she sat on a stone bench that was still dry. She could not have been wetter had she been pulled from a lake. Her guardian took off his great coat and moved to wrap it around her.
She stiffened. "I cannot allow you to give me your coat, my lord."
"But unlike yours, my coat has served its purpose. I am quite dry underneath whereas you are totally drenched, Miss Lambeth."
He came closer and placed the coat around her. As his arm came across her back, a queer feeling came over her, like comforting warmth blossoming within her. Another feeling--an eerie bliss she could not put a name to--overcame her. She needed neither flowing robes nor specter and crown to feel more like a queen than she felt this very minute. It was as if a flame warmed her very soul.
He sat next to her, and neither spoke for a minute. Then he said, "You must be thinking how out of place this summer house is with a medieval abbey." He eyed the columns surrounding them.
She gazed at his craggy face and fought the urge to sweep back the wet, dark hair from his brow. She nodded.
"It was built fifty years ago when my father returned from his tour. I always thought it rather pretentious, but today I find it most welcome."
"As do I," she said, her teeth no longer chattering. She pulled the coat closely about her. "I fear you are cold, my lord."
"I am much more used to this damp climate than you, Miss Lambeth. I fear you will take a fever."
"I assure you I never get sick," she said confidently.
The rain began to come down even harder, thudding so loudly they dared not attempt conversation and so thick they could not see their horses tied up not twenty feet away. Her guardian was no longer dry. The slanting rains began to pelt him.
"Please," she shouted, "share the coat with me."
He gave her a wondrous look, his eyes moving down the length of her body, and he shook his head. "I can tolerate this tedious wetness quite well, thank you." He did not have to raise his deep voice to be heard.
The rains moved quickly northward, allowing them to mount their horses and return to the abbey, Stacks insisting she wear his coat. A footman bearing an umbrella met them on the puddled drive in front of the abbey and helped Freddie down from her horse.
In her room a fire blazed, and Maggie had dry clothes laid out for her. With her maid's assistance, Freddie donned the rust colored dress her guardian had purchased for her the day before. Maggie brushed out her wet hair and put it in curl papers as Freddie sat in front of the fire. She watched Maggie's deft fingers do their work with Freddie's challenging mop of lifeless hair. She was incredibly drowsy, and as soon as Maggie finished, Freddie slipped under her covers and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
When she awoke it was dark, and she still felt chilled. Her hair was now dry, and Maggie arranged it for her. The maid did have a flair. Somehow she managed to make it look like a Grecian goddess. The freckled young abigail stood back and gazed at her mistress. "There, now, don't you look elegant, miss. His lordship will be pleased, I am sure."
At the thought of Lord Stacks' opinion of her, Freddie's stomach jumped. Running her hand across her damp forehead, Freddie said, "I'll go on down to dinner
now. It's like an oven in this room."
Maggie gave her a puzzled look as Freddie left the room.
How very odd, Freddie thought. When she woke up minutes ago, she was still chilled. She was so cold, her teeth chattered. Now she was sweating!
Lord Stacks rose from the table when she walked into the dining room. "How lovely you look, Miss Lambeth."
Freddie blushed. "'Tis merely Maggie's artistry. She is quite talented arranging hair." A footman held out her seat, and she sat down. "I have decided to let her cut my hair."
"It pleases me that you have confidence in her."
A footman placed a bowl of turtle soup in front of her. Her throat felt raw, and the soup soothed it. But when the other foods were set before her, she suddenly lost all appetite. A pity there was no fire in this room, she thought wistfully. Now she was chilled again. Very chilled. The candles in ornate silver candelabra in front of her beckoned. She waved her hands in front of them for warmth.
"Are you cold, Miss Lambeth?" Stacks asked.
She nodded.
He turned to the nearest footman. "Go to Lady Stacks' old room and fetch a Kashmir shawl for Miss Lambeth."
She wanted to protest, but the thought of the shawl was much too welcome. She hugged herself to keep warm as she watched her guardian eat hardily.
"I see you are not eating, Miss Lambeth," he said.
"I fear I have a sore throat. A pity it is too early for butterwort, for nothing soothes an inflamed throat better than a concoction of its leaves and roots--gargled with a bit of honey."
He shot her a concerned glance. "Should you like some tea?"
"I should love a cup of tea."
Lord Stacks ordered another footman to instruct Cook to bring a pot of tea for Miss Lambeth.
How odd it felt to have someone solicitous of her comforts, Freddie thought, a warm feeling blanketing her inside and out. By the time the footman returned with the cream-colored shawl, she felt she no longer needed it, but allowed him to wrap it around her for politeness. Now she felt horridly hot again, but the tea felt good on her irritated throat.
