Miss Millie's Groom

by Catherine E Chapman

  “She’s beautiful, Daddy!” Millie exclaimed, reaching up to kiss Randolph before rushing towards the horse.

  “She was destined to be a racehorse but it transpired she was too stubborn and headstrong to race. Ryan said that reminded him of someone else,” Randolph began indulgently but he curtailed his disclosure upon seeing the disapproval in Rose’s eyes.

  Millie stood beside Ryan and stroked the horse’s head. “Thank you Ryan,” she said, beaming up at him with such enthusiasm and warmth that he sensed the colour rising to his cheeks.

  “I thought she’d be perfect for you, Miss,” Ryan replied shyly. “Not a horse for a child, like Charger, but a mount for a young lady.”

  Millie gazed into his eyes, hoping that her own eyes expressed what her lips couldn’t in their present company.

  “Really Randolph,” Aunt Rose whispered scathingly, “only you could respond to the news of the outbreak of war with a frivolous and wholly inappropriate purchase such as this. And after her appalling behaviour towards the Windham boy, you should be punishing her, not rewarding her.”

  Randolph was about to defend himself but he didn’t get the chance.

  “And taking heed of the stable lad’s opinion – I don’t know what you were thinking, Randolph.”

  Rose turned her attention to her niece, who was stroking and kissing the horse.

  “What’s she called, Daddy?” Millie called out, blissfully unaware of the recent exchanges between her father and aunt.

  “Valiant Victory,” Randolph called back.

  “Good lord!” Millie cried, “I can’t call her that.” She thought. “Where was it you were born, Ryan?” she asked a moment later.

  “Oh, just a small town in County Kerry–”

  “Kerry, that’s what I thought. We’ll call her Kerry. Isn’t that a lovely name for her, Daddy? We’re going to call her Kerry!”

  Randolph beamed approval at the decision. Whatever else was amiss in the world, it was a reassurance to him that he could still make his daughter happy.

  “Can I ride her this afternoon?” Millie asked eagerly.

  “I don’t know. She’s had a long journey and Ryan must be tired too–”

  “Oh please Daddy!”

  “I’m quite happy to saddle up the mare, Sir Randolph; whatever suits Miss Millicent…” Ryan said with unguarded devotion.

  Millie smiled at him, besotted.

  Aunt Rose looked stonily upon the wayward girl who was, it was now blatantly apparent, far too familiar with the groom. She resolved that something must be done about it.

  * * *

  “Steady, girl,” Millie said to Kerry as the horse began to slow down from a gallop. She looked over her shoulder and saw Ryan and Wellington gaining on them. She urged Kerry on until they reached the shade of a clump of trees. Here, she dismounted and, holding onto Kerry’s reins, stroked her head and praised her gushingly.

  Ryan had been awestruck by Millie’s swift and fearless conquest of the mare. He’d also been shocked by the fact that, as soon as they had cleared the house grounds, wherein Millie had been riding in a dainty side-saddle manner, she had dismounted and then re-mounted the horse with her legs astride, hitching up her heavy skirts in order to do so. She had then proceeded to canter ahead, declaring over her shoulder, “She’s not wayward, Ryan; she just needs to be gently coaxed into doing what you want her to.”

  After that she had shot off at an outright gallop, challenging Ryan to catch her.

  When he finally reached the trees, Ryan got down from Wellington and produced a blanket from the saddle-bag. He walked across to Millie, saying, “Well?”

  “Oh she’s marvellous; I adore her!”

  Ryan spread out the blanket on the ground beneath the trees and Millie let Kerry wander alongside Wellington to munch on the luscious grass of the outer reaches of the estate.

  As Millie turned back to face Ryan, he stepped forward and grabbed hold of her feverishly.

  “This is such a strange time,” Millie said. “All I want is what I have: Glassnest, Kerry, you. And when I think of all I have, I’m so happy. But–”

  “But you know we can’t live in a bubble forever,” Ryan anticipated. “The war will affect us all eventually–”

  “Maybe it will end quickly,” Millie said without conviction.

  “It won’t just fizzle out, Millicent,” Ryan warned.

  “But I’ll always have you, Ryan, won’t I?” Millie said, gazing up into his eyes and then reaching her arms around his shoulders. To her delight, Ryan swept her up off the ground and carried her over to the tartan rug. He set her down on it and then sat down himself, encouraging Millie to move beside him.

  “You think of everything,” Millie said, lying back on the blanket with abandon.

  “I’ve missed you something awful these past few days,” Ryan replied, lying down beside her, propped on a bent arm. Ryan’s face hovered over Millie’s, surveying her. “Did you miss me?” he asked, appearing to Millie quite vulnerable as he uttered the words.

  “It’s been unbearable,” she replied earnestly, stroking his face and wishing he would kiss her. “I never want to be parted from you again.”

  Ryan looked upon Millie intently. Slowly, he unbuttoned her riding jacket and played his fingers up and down the small buttons of her blouse. Millie’s bosom heaved at his touch.

  Ryan slipped his hand beneath her blouse and felt the silky smoothness of her camisole. “No corset today,” he surmised with a suggestive smile.

  “Heavens, no!” Millie replied. “How could I possibly ride in one of those contraptions? In fact, I’m rather taken with the idea of wearing trousers to ride. A skirt is so cumbersome,” she continued matter-of-factly, in an effort to ignore the sensation of Ryan’s hand so close to her skin.

  “Cumbersome when you will insist on riding in such an unladylike manner,” Ryan said admiringly, smiling at his headstrong mistress as, to her relief and disappointment, he withdrew his hand from her blouse.

  “It has its advantages though,” he continued, reaching down to hoist up the folds of heavy fabric.

  Millie could formulate no smart responses to his words, so preoccupied was she with the feelings he stirred up; it was maddening how he tantalized her.

  Ryan’s hand ran slowly up the inside of Millie’s leg. “Your skin is so soft,” he murmured tenderly.

  When he reached the frills of her drawers, Ryan watched Millie seriously. “So soft,” he repeated as his fingers ventured beneath the frills.

  “Oh Ryan,” Millie sighed, closing her eyes because the sensation of his touch was so intense.

  Ryan leant over and kissed Millie’s lips.

  Emboldened, Millie reached out her own hand and grasped hold of Ryan’s riding breeches. “This can’t be wrong,” she said but, opening her eyes, Millie saw the look of alarm on Ryan’s face.

  He’d already withdrawn his hand from beneath her skirts and was getting to his knees. “We should be getting back now, Miss Millie,” he announced formally.

  “Whatever for?” Millie replied.

  “Because if we don’t, I fear we’ll go too far.”

  * * *

  On her return to the Hall, Millie once again encountered Mrs Overton, to be informed that her aunt required her. When she entered the lounge, Millie found her father and Aunt Rose sitting ominously as if they’d been awaiting her return.

  “We’ve decided that it would be good for you to have a break from Glassnest, Millicent,” Aunt Rose commenced.

  Millie looked at her father, who couldn’t meet her eye.

  “I’m travelling back to London in the morning and you shall be accompanying me.”

  Millie was aghast. “But why?” she asked, addressing the question to her father.

  “Your aunt feels nervous about returning home, given recent developments. I think it will be a comfort to her to have you to stay for a few days.”

  Millie instantly recognised this to be the utter nonsense it was. S
he looked at her father but his gaze remained downcast. “What about Kerry?” she asked feebly.

  “I’m sure the groom O’Flynn is quite capable of taking care of the horse,” Rose replied dispassionately.

  “But I’m not at all ready to go,” Millie announced more assertively.

  “Effie has packed your trunk,” Aunt Rose declared triumphantly, bestowing a cold smile of victory upon her niece.

  Chapter 7

  Millie sat opposite Aunt Rose in a first class compartment of a steam train bound for London. She kept her gaze steadfastly directed out of the window to avoid making eye contact with Rose. When they’d boarded the train the presence of a businessman alongside them in the carriage had prevented Aunt Rose from talking candidly to Millie but since he’d got off at the last station, Millie now feared that Rose was eager to instigate a discussion she couldn’t have conducted in the presence of Millie’s father.

  “Of course you have blown it with the Windham boy,” Rose began as if assuming that Millie had shared the thoughts that preceded the statement.

  Millie involuntarily glanced from the window at her aunt but said nothing.

  “However, all is not lost Millicent. I have plans, once we get home, to introduce you to a most eligible young surgeon whose uncle is an acquaintance of mine–”

  “There’s no need, Aunt Rose,” Millie said tiresomely.

  “Tush, Millicent, there is every need–”

  “I’ve really no interest in men–”

  “No but it’s apparent that what you do have is a wholly unwholesome interest in a common stable lad, which, if unchecked, will be your downfall.” Aunt Rose rested her case.

  Millie felt the colour rushing to her cheeks and failed to find words of defence.

  “What you need, Millicent, is to meet a real man: a man of society with responsibilities and importance and prospects of greatness.”

  Millie looked out of the sooty window at the sombre grey country scene they were passing through. Did Aunt Rose have no sense of the injustice of the class system she was so eager to uphold? Ryan, she knew, could have been a great man, given the right education and opportunities. He was the best man she knew: the kindest and strongest. Why couldn’t her aunt see beyond his status?

  “I think we’ll have a dinner tomorrow evening and I’ll invite Richard Sutton and his uncle along. Tonight would be too soon but by tomorrow I shall be organised,” Aunt Rose concluded briskly.

  * * *

  The following evening, Millie descended the staircase of Aunt Rose’s well-appointed town house, wearing her blue chiffon dress for dinner. Aunt Rose had wished her to wear the white, bridal one but Millie had held out for the blue dress, arguing that it was more elegant and made her look more sophisticated in society, but really wanting to wear it as a constant reminder of Ryan. Every time she glanced down at the floating fabric, she remembered the sensation of his strong hands caressing her bare skin.

  Millie reached the bottom of the staircase and walked over to the lounge door. From inside it she heard the sound of polite conversation. She could detect her aunt’s commanding voice and a masculine voice of equal force but also a softer female voice and a youthful male one. Taking a deep breath, Millie opened the door to the lounge and walked into the room.

  Everybody turned to face her and Aunt Rose gave her a customarily grand introduction. Millie didn’t really heed what Rose was saying. She was immediately transfixed by the tall, slender, dark-haired young man, standing beside the mantelpiece. He was as dark as Ryan was blonde but the curl in his hair reminded her of Ryan’s and she had to admit that he was as handsome as Ryan, although in quite a different way.

  “Millicent, allow me to introduce you to Doctor Richard Sutton,” Aunt Rose was saying.

  “You know he’s actually a Mister now – now he’s a surgeon, Rose,” the older man corrected.

  “Oh nonsense, Uncle! What does it matter?” Richard said dismissively, concentrating his attention upon Millie as he extended his hand to her.

  As she took it, Millie was surprised that Richard lifted her hand and placed a kiss upon the back of it. “Miss Millicent, you are every bit as charming as your aunt had led me to believe,” he said playfully.

  Millie found herself blushing at the compliment.

  “And, if I might be so bold, that dress looks simply ravishing on you.”

  * * *

  As Rose’s dinner drew to a close, with the appearance of the cheeseboard and a decanter of port, Millie reflected that, despite his charm and attention, she had learnt nothing more about Richard Sutton than what she’d been told before she’d met him. The older lady who was much more retiring than Aunt Rose transpired to be his widowed mother, who seemed genuinely devoted to her son but, ultimately, equally elusive. The conversation had, of course, been dominated by Rose and Richard’s uncle but Rose had, as of yet, failed to secure any future audiences with the young man. Millie knew she wouldn’t waste much more time.

  “So, Richard, I wonder if you might like to escort my niece to the opera or the ballet this week,” Rose began as her butler poured port into Richard’s glass.

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure but, alas, I’m leaving London for a new position in the Kentish countryside on Tuesday.”

  “How unfortunate,” Rose replied, deflated.

  Richard smiled at Millie and she had to admit that she herself felt a certain amount of disappointment that she wouldn’t be seeing him again.

  It transpired that he was taking a post as surgeon in a hospital being set up in an old country house, to tend to war-wounded soldiers. Already, there were casualties coming back from the Front whose injuries couldn’t be properly dealt with in the field hospitals, it seemed.

  Richard talked at length and with great enthusiasm about the challenges that lay ahead of him. Millie felt real admiration to hear all he told her. Aunt Rose looked on disdainfully, annoyed that her plans for her niece had –for the present, at least– been scuppered by the war.

  * * *

  Millie stayed in London with Aunt Rose for what seemed like an eternity but was, in fact, barely a month. During that time she made many requests to return to Glassnest, all of which were denied without good reason. The days were spent visiting galleries and museums, Millie always trying to escape the watchful eye of Rose. The evenings passed alone with Rose or in the company of her aunt’s friends. Millie found the tedium of them unbearable.

  She didn’t see Richard Sutton again. It appeared that his story of his new job had been true. Aunt Rose seemed to give up on him and grew increasingly despondent on the subject of finding a suitor for Millie, with her growing realisation that the war really was likely to render her preferred candidates otherwise engaged. For this small mercy Millie was thankful.

  Then one day a letter arrived from Sir Randolph. Millie was quick to detect his unmistakable hand on the envelope addressed to her aunt. Over breakfast Rose handed a single sheet of the letter to Millie, whilst digesting the greater part of its contents herself.

  In Millie’s portion, Randolph expressed his hope that Millie had enjoyed her time with her aunt and stated his expectation that she would soon return home. Millie’s face lit up at reading these words. She looked from the page over to her aunt, who was rapt in the longer communication that Sir Randolph had addressed to her. Millie watched Rose for some time, intrigued to know what could have taken so long to say to her, when it took so few words in her own note. But she knew it would be imprudent to pry.

  Finally Rose folded up the letter and tucked it into the bodice of her dress, an action that confirmed Millie’s suspicion that Rose didn’t wish her to see it.

  “Papa says I may go home now, Aunt Rose,” Millie said expectantly.

  “Then I imagine you can go home, Millicent,” Rose replied coolly and she looked at the girl with what Millie could only describe as self-satisfaction. Something in Randolph’s communication had pleased her enormously.

  “May I be excus
ed? I’d like to go and start packing. Perhaps I can catch a train this afternoon.”

  “Perhaps you can, Millicent,” Rose concluded equivocally.

  Chapter 8

  On the evening when Millie returned to Glassnest, her happiness at being home again was immediately tempered by the strange sensation she got that everybody was withholding something from her. Her father greeted her warmly but, following a light dinner that the two of them ate together, seemed very keen that she should retire to bed after her long journey. When Millie insisted that she wasn’t tired and wanted to know what had been happening in her absence, he claimed that he himself was fatigued from riding that afternoon and left her sitting alone before the fire in the drawing room.

  At the fireside, Millie had considered venturing out into the night and over to Ryan’s cottage but something in the understated manner of the welcome she’d received in the house caused her to fear a lukewarm reception from Ryan too.

  The following morning Millie caught a fleeting glimpse of Effie scurrying into the kitchens when she went downstairs for breakfast but didn’t have the opportunity to enquire why the girl hadn’t come to see whether she wanted help dressing, as was her custom.

  Whilst eating breakfast, Millie spied Ryan through the window of the dining room. He was walking around the house, bound, most likely, for the stables. “Maybe I’ll have a ride on Kerry today, Daddy,” Millie suggested to Randolph.

  “I’m sorry darling, that’s not possible,” he replied. “Ryan’s tied up with some tasks I set him, to do with the forthcoming hunts. He won’t have time to saddle up Kerry, I’m afraid. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t disturb him today.”

  “Oh,” Millie said, dissatisfied but fully aware there was no point in disputing her father’s claims and wishes.