Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix)

by Karen Harbaugh

  Her smile grew wider. The stablehands had once told her Sir James had tried to ride Lightning at one time and the gelding had thrown him. Sour grapes was behind the man’s anger, and resentment that he had not been the heir to the Brisbane title or estates.

  She shrugged mentally as she mounted the horse, gentling it with soft words as it pretended to startle at the familiar gate it always passed. With the next game of chance he won, Sir James would soon forget his disgruntlement. He always did, whatever his temper may have been at some setback. This tantrum of his—for that was what it was—would end soon, she was sure.

  Chapter 5

  As Diana spurred her horse out into the stableyard and into a gallop when she reached the fields, she shook off thoughts of Sir James and what he had implied about Lord Brisbane. The morning was too beautiful to waste on uneasy speculation. That was all it was, speculation. Unless she applied to her uncle’s solicitor and asked difficult and awkward questions—and there was no real reason for her to ask them—all she could do was question Lord Brisbane or those who knew him.

  Nearing a small copse of trees, she sat back a little in the saddle, once she was quite a way from the house, easing her horse into a trot and then a walk. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting a cool breeze brush her face and her hair. The sun shone brightly, and she regretted that she had decided to wear her black riding habit instead of her lighter weight blue. The dress was very warm, and perspiration prickled at the nape of her neck. She had worn it because she was still in mourning, but if she had come out earlier in the day, she could have worn the cooler riding dress and no one would have been the wiser.

  She glanced around her—there was no one about. It would do no harm to unpin the jockey-bonnet and let her hair loose down her back. Quickly, she took it off, then unpinned and untied her hair. She would hang her bonnet on a branch to fetch before she returned home. Her hair would become tangled, but the breeze would run through it and cool her quite a bit, and she could run her fingers through it to untangle it before binding it up again.

  The air wafting through her hair was glorious. She ran her fingers through it, massaging her scalp a little, and shook her head, and the length of it fell down over her shoulders to her waist. There, now! She would become sadly brown without her bonnet to shade her face, but it was not as if her skin were perfectly white, after all. It was something her Aunt Matchett used to complain about all the time in London, and had made her put lemon slices all over her face every evening to lighten it. The lemons had made her skin no more pale than it was now, and she was glad to have ceased such nonsense once she returned home.

  “Now we shall have a good gallop,” she said to Lightning, and the horse nervously flicked its ears back for a moment. “Oh, don’t be so finicky, silly! You have galloped when I have had my hair down before, and you have done just fine. Now, let’s go!”

  She nudged her horse forward, leaning over his neck, urging him on faster and faster. Diana grinned widely as the ground passed quickly under her, her hair flying behind her, fluttering at her back like wings. No one did this in the city without someone crying scandal; it was only here, at home, she could ride and be free. Surely there was nothing as wonderful as this, the power and grace of the horse beneath her, the soaring speed as Lightning leaped over small brooks and shrubbery.

  They reached the edge of the estate and Diana slowed her horse, then turned back. She would not go home immediately, but take another way through the woods. The heat was rising, and both she and the horse could cool down in the shade, then rest by the pond there. Then they would have another good gallop, and both of them could return home eager for a midday meal.

  The shade beneath the trees was indeed cool, just right after the heated ride. Diana rode Lightning to a stump and carefully dismounted onto it. Still holding the reins, she gazed speculatively at the bay horse. She had trained him to stay in place if she loosely tied or even only draped the reins over a bush or a low tree limb, and for the most part the horse obediently stayed where he was. But every once in a while, he would be in a mischievous mood, and after an experimental tug at the reins would find them loose enough to know that he was not tied to anything at all, and off he would go. Horses were not particularly intelligent animals, but Lightning was an exception to the rule and was for that reason often more contrary than most and a little more difficult to train.

  Well, there was nothing like consistency to remind an animal of its training. This time she would tie the reins firmly and the horse would know that he was not free to go anywhere.

  “You will stay,” she said sternly as she tied the reins to a low branch. “See, I have put you near the pond if you want to drink, and there is plenty of grass to crop, too.” The horse eyed her skeptically, lipped the knot on the branch as if in defiance, then lowered his head to the grass and began to eat.

  Diana walked to an old oak, then sat on one of its large roots. A scattering of primroses grew around it, and she picked one, twirling the stem back and forth between her fingers in a contemplative way. She thought of what Sir James had said; she could not help wondering about Lord Brisbane, about his background. She had not asked him . . . there never arose the opportunity, or it never appeared to be the right moment. Dinner conversation tended to dwell upon general subjects, and upon the war abroad, or taken up in telling Lord Brisbane about the tenants and the nature of the property.

  But no personal exchanges were ever made. Mourning made everyone keep their distance for fear of some unintentional hurt. Even Sir James and Mr. Southworthy kept to themselves, not mentioning the accident or the late earl.

  Except for the current Lord Brisbane. His manner was still lazy, his eyes still heavy-lidded, but he listened and commented in his quiet voice, and somehow Mama would laugh at something he said, and Diana found herself talking of her life and her uncle.

  It was like that last evening. When the ladies and gentlemen went into the drawing room after dinner, the vicar conversed upon the state of the war, in which he was highly interested, but soon afterward retreated into reading some religious works. Sir James engaged Lord Brisbane in a short discussion of upcoming prizefights and races, but soon left to partake of a cigar out-of-doors.

  She had been playing a few tunes on the pianoforte all the while, not really wanting conversation, and watched Lord Brisbane wander over to the windows and look out at the sunset in the distance. He had been impeccably dressed in a black jacket with pale yellow knee breeches and a cream-colored embroidered waistcoat. His shirt points were higher than the rest of the gentlemen’s, but not as high as she had seen some dandies wear.

  He had moved to her mother, who was stitching some tatting she had made to a collar. The earl made some comment, and Mama had laughed and blushed, shaking her head slightly. She had made a shooing motion, and he had grinned, and turned toward Diana.

  He had stood, watching her play for a while, then forestalled her when she reached to turn the sheet of music. He turned it instead, and she nodded her thanks to him. She finished the piece—it was a Mozart divertimento—and he clapped his hands. “You play very well,” he said.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “But I beg to differ. I have heard better musicians than I in London.”

  “I said you play very well, but not like a professional musician.”

  “Now I know your proclamation of love was false,” Diana sighed mock-dolefully, for she did not take offense at obvious truth. “I thought if one were in love, one loved everything about the beloved.” It was a daring thing for her to say—but something prompted her to say it, and for some reason she did not think Lord Brisbane would mind. Besides, they were far enough away from everyone else so that she would not be overheard.

  “Well, I have heard that love is blind, but I have never heard that it was tone-deaf,” he replied.

  She had begun a sonata, but laughed and stumbled in mid-phrase.

  “Oh, now look at what you have done! I shall have to start over again,
and will sound like the veriest beginner.”

  He grinned. “No, not like a beginner. You do play very well.

  Did your mother teach you?”

  “Yes, and then Uncle Charles bought this pianoforte and paid for a music master in addition to a governess. So you see, I have been brought up a lady.” If the last few words were said with more than usual emphasis, she could not help it. Sometimes her Aunt Matchett’s voice echoed in her ears, criticizing everything she did. After a month in London, the sound of it had given her a stomachache.

  “That must have been dull,” he replied.

  She looked up at him in surprise. “Why do you say so?”

  “Aside from the music, I have often thought the education of young ladies to be tedious in the extreme: dancing, stitching, nothing beyond basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, barely any geography, and perhaps a smattering of Italian, enough to sound affected and cause acute pain to any Italian within hearing distance.”

  Diana choked, almost touched the wrong key, and hastily corrected herself. Luckily, the music was a largo piece, slow enough to cover her hesitation. “If you must know,” she said, managing only barely to hold back a laugh, “I was bored with all of it, except geography, and that subject made me frustrated, for my governess could never tell me what the countries were really like, nor did she think it proper for me to procure books that would.” She sighed. “How I wish I could have had a boy’s education. I could have gone on a Grand Tour, and learned Latin and Greek, and learned enough Italian to”—she gave him a sidelong glance—“to learn fencing.”

  Lord Brisbane nodded. “I understand the best fencers are Italian.”

  “You are an odd man, indeed, my lord.”

  The earl started, and looked behind him. “My lord . . .? Ah, you mean me.”

  Diana laughed. “Very well—Gavin. Yes, very odd.”

  “How so?”

  “I have not been able to shock you—so far—with any of my notions.” The sonata ended, and she rested her hands on her lap.

  “Do you mean there is something shocking about you? I am all ears.” He leaned forward expectantly.

  “I would have thought what I have told you already was shocking enough. Certainly most everyone of my acquaintance has thought so,” Diana said primly, again suppressing a laugh.

  “As did your uncle?”

  She looked down at her hands for a moment, then met his gaze squarely. “I owe my uncle a great deal. If it had not been for him, my mother and I would have starved. I was not his heir—he had no real obligation to care for us, except that we were his younger brother’s family.”

  Lord Brisbane had nodded gravely, and his eyes had been understanding. “That is enough to gain anyone’s loyalty. Was it difficult?”

  “Yes,” she had said, and had told him of the cold and hunger she remembered, and how her mother had grown so thin and pale. She had even told him how the servants had found her father on a cold winter’s morning at the steps of their house, dead from drowning in the gutter because he had been in such a drunken stupor he had not the wit nor the will to rise when he had fallen. She had stopped, suddenly, alarmed at what she had told him, something she had not even discussed with her mother. But Lord Brisbane had only nodded, and had gently directed the conversation elsewhere, much to her relief.

  How had he done it? Diana wondered, plucking another primrose and twirling it between her fingers. A breeze wafting through the woods lifted the hair from her face, and she closed her eyes, feeling the warm sun and cool air alternating across her skin. She sighed. She was not one to give confidences, but she had told Lord Brisbane—Gavin—almost her whole life story. She shook her head, puzzled. He was an odd man, indeed. She had never encountered anyone who . . . who listened.

  That was it. Whatever his manner or the subject that might arise, he always seemed to listen, carefully, as if noting down every word she said. She drew in her legs and put her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. His attentiveness was pleasant . . . flattering, in fact. It made her feel as if what she said mattered to him.

  Her stomach growled and she sighed again, rising from the tree root on which she had been sitting. She should go home and have some breakfast—she looked at the sky—rather, luncheon, and—She stopped, as she looked for her horse near the pond.

  Her horse. Her horse was gone.

  The image of the bay nibbling the knot she had tied on the reins rose from her memory and she groaned. Yes, Lightning was an exceptionally smart horse—so much so that he had apparently learned how to untie simple knots. She had been so immersed in pondering over the nature of Lord Brisbane that she had not even noticed her horse had loosed himself from the branch and wandered off, no doubt back to the stables for some grain or hay.

  She would have to walk back, and in fact have to take the roundabout way, because she had left her jockey-bonnet on a tree some distance away. She gazed at the smooth cool pond nearby. Well, her horse had returned to the stables before her in the past; the servants would not come looking for her for a while. It could not hurt to stay here a little before she left. She picked up a rock and threw it at the pond, watching it splash in a very satisfying manner. It had been a long time since she had skipped rocks across water . . . could she still do it?

  She had only thrown her fifth rock before she heard a thunder of hooves in the distance. She turned and watched a horseman galloping toward her through the gap in the woods—he was a good horseman, she noted. He came nearer, and to her surprise it was Lord Brisbane.

  His eyes had lost their habitual sleepy look, his jaw was set, and his lips were tightly pressed together. He looked grim, as if expecting to face some dire trial. Diana smiled as his eyes found her in the dim light of the woods, but her smile faded as he continued to look grim, even furious. He dismounted, then took her by her shoulders.

  “Where were you? Why did you not come back immediately? Are you hurt? And why were you careering about the place without a groom?” His voice was low and harsh.

  She stared at him, bewildered at his words, and then, slowly, anger sparked and grew.

  “I have always gone about the estate by myself and have never come to harm. Indeed, if you had asked the grooms, they would have told you that I often come here, that I have never been thrown by my horse, and he has in the past escaped from me to return to the stables by himself.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firm. “And no, I am not hurt, as you can clearly see.”

  “Excuse me for my concern,” he said sarcastically. “I merely saw you crossing the fields at an insane speed, your hair flying behind you, and found your bonnet snagged upon a branch. Shortly after you entered this wood, I saw your horse galloping back without you, and you nowhere in sight. Of course I should have assumed you were perfectly well and uninjured.”

  For a moment his words stopped her, for she could see how someone unused to her ways would think she might have met with some mishap. But there was still little cause for him to react so vehemently. She made herself shrug.

  “You have no reason to concern yourself with me. I am not your ward, only a distant relation, and a hanger-on at that.”

  “Is that what you believe I think of you? Someone unwanted?” His brows drew together, his hands loosened their grip on her shoulders, but one hand came up and cupped her chin. “You don’t know the danger—I thought I had lost you, Diana.” His thumb ran softly against her jaw and his fingers moved across her cheek to her loosened hair.

  His touch made her let out a long breath, and she stared at him. “Danger? There is no danger. Lost me? How can you have lost me when you have never . . . I have not . . .” Her voice faded as she looked into his eyes and saw a terrible yearning there, as if he were poor and starving, and she a treasure just beyond his grasp. She felt as if he were someone else, not the dandy full of quips and jokes, not the man who—she thought—had not much concern for things above his neckcloth or boots. Was Sir James right, that there was somethi
ng in Gavin’s background of which she should beware? She had seen this small part of him before, but she had not bothered to question it or wonder much.

  She felt his fingers stroke the back of her neck, and she knew she should step away. She should, perhaps, even be afraid. But she felt no fear, and continued to stare at him, wondering now what was behind those heavy-lidded eyes that watched her, and the soothing voice that coaxed confidences from her.

  He continued to stare at her, his eyes moving from hers to her lips and back again. “Danger . . . of course there is. I am in danger of loving you too much, Diana.”

  She took a quick breath, not able to look away. He is not jesting, she thought. He is serious. An odd, shimmering heat rose in her belly, and she trembled.

  “If I were to kiss you, what would you say?”

  “I . . . I don’t know—that is, I should say—I—”

  For the first time, he did not listen, but put his lips on hers. They are soft, she thought, then: I should be afraid. But her hands only clutched the lapels of his coat, for her knees felt weak. His mouth moved over her lips, gently, then Firmly, as if he were tasting them. One of his hands gently caressed the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, thinking of his long, elegant fingers and how they had moved over her skin when he had held her hand that day in the carriage house, and how they were now moving over her shoulder to her back then down to her waist, holding her hard against him. He shifted away from her, his lips leaving hers, and she made an involuntary, protesting sound.

  A half laugh, half sigh came from him, and he kissed her again, and this time her hands moved from his chest to his face, touching his cheek hesitantly. His skin was smooth, and then less so as her hand moved to his chin.