“Yes, but how did you—”
“He rode over me just before encountering you, from the sound of it.” Hugo paused, then said more warmly, “I’m glad to see you’re all right, Wilf.”
His brother hesitated, then gave him a small smile as Lady Madeline resumed, “We were crossing the stream together, when he bulled his way through our midst and knocked us all abroad like a row of dominoes. We’re lucky no one was hurt—and he didn’t stop to inquire about our welfare either.”
Wilf blew out a breath. “Who was that blighter anyway?”
“Otis Scorton,” Miss Christabel replied. “He’s a neighbor of ours. Papa doesn’t like him much, but he’s still a member of the hunt, so we can hardly forbid him to go out with us.”
“Hard-riding, hard-drinking, hard-bitten,” Lady Madeline summarized, her crisp tones conveying the full extent of her annoyance. “With a mousy wife, a mousier daughter, and two sons who’ll probably grow up to be just like him. Fortunately, neither’s shown much taste for hunting, so far.”
“One unsportsmanlike rider in the family is more than enough,” Hugo agreed.
“I say!” Wilf exclaimed, peering ahead of them. “Who’s that coming back to us?”
Not Mr. Scorton, Hugo ascertained: the approaching horse was a bay, like his own, only with black stockings and a lighter build—not unlike that of the rider who swung lithely down from the saddle and strode towards them.
“What are you doing here, Ger?” Lady Madeline inquired of her brother. “I thought you’d be miles ahead!”
“I turned back when I heard the scream. I thought someone might have come-a-cropper.” His grey gaze swept over them—cool but genuinely concerned, Hugo thought.
“Not as bad as that,” his sister assured him and quickly supplied the relevant details. “Otis Scorton is in all our black books, however,” she concluded, her fine eyes hardening.
“As he should be.” Lord Gervase looked them over again. “So everyone is well, I trust? No need for a hurdle?” His eyes sharpened when Lady Margaret failed to stifle a sneeze. “Or a blanket and a hot drink? You all look rather… damp.”
“I’m all right,” Miss Christabel said staunchly. “And ready to rejoin the hunt! It’ll take more than a bit of water and the likes of Mr. Scorton to keep a Middleton from the field!”
“That’s the spirit!” Wilf regarded her with frank admiration. “Well, if you’re up for it, Miss Christabel, then so am I! May I—ride with you?”
She dimpled at him. “I should be glad of the company, Mr. Lowell! If you’ll excuse us,” she added to the others, “we’ve a fox to catch! And I hope to see you all there at the end!”
She touched her heel to her hunter’s flank and rode off, Wilf beside her, both picking up the pace as they left the stream behind them.
“Tally-ho,” Lord Gervase remarked dryly. “Does that hold for the rest of you as well?”
“Decidedly not! I’ve had enough—and so has Juno!” Lady Madeline declared, grimacing as she shook out the damp skirts of her habit. The mare was winded, its sides heaving, and she stroked its nose soothingly. “I’m for home, a bath, and a cup of tea!”
“Very sensible.” Lord Gervase turned to the bedraggled Lady Margaret, who was futilely brushing at the streaks of mud clinging to her own habit. “I’d say you’ve had enough too, Meg.”
She shot him an irritated glance as she righted her hat, which was listing drunkenly to one side. “I’m fine, Gervase!”
“Your habit is drenched. If you’d any sense—”
“A few splashes, nothing more! And I’m sure it will dry, once the sun comes out.”
Lord Gervase glanced up at the overcast sky and raised an eloquent eyebrow, which Lady Margaret pointedly ignored as she turned back to her horse.
“Now, do stop fussing, and give me a leg up, Ger,” she ordered.
For a moment, Hugo thought Lord Gervase would refuse outright; he certainly looked as though he wanted to. Then, mouth tightening, he held out his interlocked hands and boosted Lady Margaret into the saddle.
She thanked him punctiliously as she gathered up the reins and her dignity, biting her lip as she peered in the direction the leaders had gone. No need to point out the obvious, Hugo thought—that she’d have quite a ride to overtake the rest of the hunt. A ride made even more challenging because of her mount, a sturdy cob built for endurance rather than speed.
Lord Gervase crossed his arms. “Your kingdom for a horse?” he inquired, a decided edge to his voice.
Lady Margaret flushed, but her pretty face remained obstinate. “I can keep up, you aggravating boy—just see if I don’t!” Head high, she touched her heel to the cob’s side and urged it into a trot.
Lord Gervase stared after her, his eyes narrowed and his face set like stone.
“Ger,” his sister began.
He held up a hand. “Say no more, Madeline. I can see a church by daylight.”
With that cryptic utterance, he remounted and set his own horse after Lady Margaret’s.
Lady Madeline exhaled in obvious relief. “Good! She shouldn’t come to harm, as long as he’s got an eye on her.”
“Is it my imagination, or does Lady Margaret think she has something to prove?” Hugo ventured, after a moment.
“She does—if only to herself. Namely, that she can keep up with Hal on the hunting field, or any of the pastimes he loves.” Lady Madeline paused, then added, “They’re engaged, you see—all but, anyway. The announcement’s to be made at the ball, on the last night of the house party.”
Hugo just managed to conceal his surprise. “But Lady Margaret’s still in the schoolroom, isn’t she?”
“Wellll… she’s turned seventeen. It won’t be long until she’s out. And it is a very suitable match.”
Hugo could not disagree with that. What could be more suitable than a duke’s eldest son marrying another duke’s eldest daughter? Denforth must be a good six or seven years older than his intended, but that wasn’t an insurmountable gap. But the two seemed so different in temperament, as well as lacking the common interests that might bridge such a gap.
Apropos of which… Hugo couldn’t help glancing in the direction Wilf and Miss Christabel had taken—together. Perhaps the cure to Lord Denforth’s fascination for his brother lay in something that neither he nor Charley could have predicted: dimples, a pair of pansy-brown eyes, and a dauntless spirit on the field!
“Lord Saxby?” Lady Madeline’s voice, sounding almost tentative, broke into his thoughts. “May I beg your assistance for a moment?”
“Ah. Of course.”
She placed her boot in his interlaced hands and he lifted her up to the saddle, where she settled herself with the ease of an accomplished horsewoman. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll be on my way now. Lysander,” she nodded at the gelding, “is one of our strongest hunters. I’m sure you can catch up with the others if you gallop.”
“Very likely, but I mean to accompany you.” The declaration surprised him as much as it did her.
“There’s no need for that!” Lady Madeline protested. “I’ve ridden over these fields more times than I can count.”
“Then I’ll rely on you to guide us, but I insist on seeing you safely back to Denforth Castle, nonetheless.” Hugo remounted the bay, took up the reins. “Now, let us be off, before you catch a chill in that wet habit.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then nodded, looking young and a little uncertain. “Very well, Lord Saxby. Thank you again.”
They found a much narrower portion of the stream and crossed it without mishap, then started back the way they had come. Lady Madeline set a leisurely pace—giving the mare a chance to recover, Hugo realized and liked her the better for it. She might not care for sport as much as he did, but she knew how to treat her cattle.
She glanced at him through the veil of her riding-hat. “I can’t say I much regret missing the hunt, but I am sorry to have taken you away from it, Lord Saxby.”
; “Not at all.” And much to his surprise, Hugo found he meant it. After all, what was one hunt, when he’d ridden in so many?
My Dear Charley: Never before have I left a hunt before the kill…
No doubt she’d laugh herself into stitches at that one! And then avidly demand to know the reason why.
“It’s kind of you to say so, Lord Saxby,” the reason why observed. “And chivalrous of to offer your escort. Not many men would be so willing to forego a day’s sport for such a reason. You ride splendidly, by the way—just as well as my brothers.”
“Thank you. Having seen your brothers in the field, I realize this is no mean compliment. Lord Reginald, especially, rides like one born on horseback.”
“Oh, Reg is practically a centaur!” she exclaimed, smiling. “He means to join a cavalry regiment once he’s finished at university.”
“He appears well-suited to it. I once dreamed of joining the army, but an heir’s place is at home—or so I was told.” Especially after one’s father suffers a crippling accident. “So now I chase foxes instead of ‘foes of England,’” Hugo added with a self-deprecating shrug.
She made a sympathetic moue. “Being the eldest isn’t always an unmitigated blessing, is it? Everyone expects you to be the responsible one.”
“Ah. I’d forgot you and Denforth were twins. You were born first?”
“Ten minutes earlier, though sometimes it feels like ten years,” she added, with a rueful little grimace. “And after today, it will almost certainly feel like twenty! My own fault—I always forget how punishing the pace can be in a hunt!”
“I gather you’re not exactly an enthusiast, Lady Madeline?”
She flashed him a half-guilty smile. “Oh, I enjoy a good ride in the country, but I confess it’s a matter of indifference to me whether or not we take a fox. Half the time, I’m quite happy to see it live to run another day. Heresy, I know!”
“The veriest blasphemy,” Hugo agreed, grinning. “But your secret is safe with me, I assure you. So, what are your preferred activities?”
“Reading, dancing, and I have—well, something of a passion for the theatre.”
“Seeing the latest plays, you mean?”
“Oh, certainly, but not just that. Putting on plays as well. Amateur theatricals,” she explained. “And quite decent ones, if I do say so myself, with family and friends taking part. I suspect most people have a bit of frustrated actor in them. Denforth Castle has a salon that was made over into a private theatre years ago. So I couldn’t possibly let it go to waste, and we’ve acquired some decent scenery and a wardrobe full of costumes too!”
“What plays do you put on?” Hugo asked, intrigued. He liked the theater well enough, but to judge from the light in her eyes, Lady Madeline was indeed passionate about it.
“Shakespeare, mostly, though we’ve also done a few French comedies to please Maman. We did A Midsummer Night’s Dream last Whitsun.” Lady Madeline smiled at the memory, her changeable eyes warming and her full lips curving; Hugo felt his heart give a curious stutter in his chest. “Our party was smaller than it is now, but we contrived nicely in spite of it all.
“I persuaded Gervase, Alasdair, Margaret, and Elaine to be the four Athenians—they were the perfect age for it, and they play well against each other, though Ger balked at first, because he thought the lovers were too silly. He was very conscious of his dignity.” Her lips quirked. “He still is, though perhaps a bit less stiff-necked about it now.”
“Was Miss Christabel your Titania, by any chance?”
She shook her head. “Christabel is lovely to look at and she moves beautifully, but she has a memory like a sieve when it comes to recitation. She can’t be trusted with any speech longer than a few lines, and sometimes not even then. I cast her as Peaseblossom, who has only to say ‘Ready.’ And for far too many rehearsals, she wasn’t.”
Hugo stifled a laugh. Lady Madeline’s tongue was as sharp as her wit—and yet there was no malice in her assessment of her friend’s abilities, or lack thereof. She was candid, even incisive, but not unkind. “How did you manage?”
“Her sister Olivia—our Hippolyta—took her in hand, fortunately and she had her lines down for the performance. I ended up playing Titania to Hal’s Oberon, and Reg was Theseus.”
Lady Madeline as the fairy queen. Hugo suspected she’d been enchanting in the part: elegant and regal, but with a touch of vulnerability; Titania did have her gentler moments. “And your Puck? That can be a hard role to play.”
Her eyes took on a reminiscent gleam. “Oh, we’d a stroke of luck there! The Middleton boys brought along a friend of a friend—a Rufus Godolphin. He was very good—playing the part seemed to come naturally to him. I’m rather sorry he didn’t come to this house party, but he’s apparently a hard man to pin down. Pity.”
“I take it you mean to stage a play this time too?” Hugo inquired.
She nodded. “Scenes from Romeo and Juliet—partly to help Juliana. Her governess, Miss Withersedge, is teaching it to her now, and she’s finding it sadly dull. But seeing Romeo and Juliet put on, and taking part might change Juliana’s mind. I do wish Mr. Joliffe hadn’t retired,” she added wistfully. “He was our tutor until two years ago—and he was wonderful when it came to plays and poetry.”
“Lady Juliana seems a little young to play the lead.”
“Oh, I have Elaine or Margaret in mind for that, but Juliana could still be a page or a lady in waiting. Same with Jason and the other children—we always try to include them in some way. Christabel can be Rosaline, so she won’t have to memorize anything. And Hal wants to play Mercutio—he claims it’s the only decent male role.”
“It’s certainly among the liveliest. Do you mean to have Lord Reginald as Tybalt?”
“Serve them both right if I did!” their sister retorted. “I’ve noticed that Romeo and Juliet seems quite popular with young men—mainly because of all the duels!”
Hugo chuckled. “Nothing like swordplay or murder to arouse interest, even among amateurs! I remember when I was at school, the most popular choices for acting out were Caesar’s assassination and the fencing match between Hamlet and Laertes!”
“Did you get to play a part in either of them?”
“Yes, actually. I was a senator in Julius Caesar. And Fortinbras in Hamlet, coming in to clean up the mess afterwards.”
Lady Madeline pulled a face. “Not the most rewarding of roles!”
“He’s still alive at the end. And the King of Denmark as well as Norway.”
“True,” she conceded, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “And it’s a better fate than Rosencrantz and Guildenstern received.” She paused and Hugo could sense what was coming next, even before she spoke again. “So—might I persuade you to lend your talents to this enterprise, Lord Saxby?”
Hugo opened his mouth to decline, politely, but what came out was not at all what he’d intended. “I’d—be happy to oblige, Lady Madeline, but I should warn you, I am the rankest of amateurs! You may end up putting me in a corner with no lines and a spear in my hand!”
“I very much doubt that, my lord!” Her eyes sparkled at him—bright, clear green at this moment, the exact shade of new leaves. “If you like, I can offer you first pick of all the men’s roles, including Romeo!”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary!” Hugo said hastily. “It wouldn’t be fair to have such an advantage over the rest of the cast, especially those with more stage experience than I. Besides, I think a… mature character might suit me better.”
“Escalus, then,” she suggested. “Or even Paris. We don’t know his age, except that he’s older than Juliet. But whoever you choose, I promise you won’t regret taking part!”
Her enthusiasm was nothing if not infectious. Smiling back at her, a touch uncertainly, Hugo could only hope that she was right.
Chapter Four
All’s the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players…
&
nbsp; —William Shakespeare, As You Like It
* * *
My Dear Charley: Never before have I taken part in an amateur theatrical.
Hugo mentally composed his letter, imagining his sister’s eyes widening and brows arching in surprise. Well, it was true, wasn’t it? Granted, not every house party he attended had the inclination or the materials to mount plays, but he’d always found elsewhere to be and other things to occupy him when such pastimes were proposed. At most, he’d participate in a game of Charades. Odd, perhaps, when he had rather liked pretending to be something or someone else during his and Charley’s childhood games. Granted, as Robin Hood, he’d been free to make up his own dialogue, rather than memorize a speech—much less one in verse.
Yet here he was, in the midst of his first substantial scene in Romeo and Juliet—as Lord Capulet, opposite Lord Rupert Bonham who was playing Paris.
“But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart / My will to her consent is but a part…”
Much to Hugo’s surprise, the lines flowed smoothly from his tongue. The rhythm of speaking verse—drilled into him by various long-suffering tutors—had come back to him with remarkable speed over several days of rehearsal; he hadn’t stumbled nearly as often as he’d expected. Lady Madeline had favored him with a nod of approval at the most recent read-through, which had made him feel absurdly pleased with himself.
What pleased him considerably less was having to work with Lord Rupert.
Never before have I been jealous of a younger man. Which was an utterly mortifying sensation that he wasn’t about to impart to Charley or anyone else if he could avoid it.
Lord Rupert was handsome, there was no denying that, with curling dark hair and a warm olive complexion supposedly due to Spanish blood in the family. No doubt he’d look splendid in doublet and hose, once the costumes were distributed. And it wasn’t as if he were incapable of speaking the verse, either. On the contrary: Bonham’s delivery was smooth and his pronunciation impeccable, even if his performance tended to the superficial.
The Advent of Lady Madeline Page 4
