‘I don’t approve of what it preaches, but I do think Mr Shelley is a great poet.’
‘Hmm. Radical agitators who practise free love aren’t much to my taste. Begging you pardon,’ he added quickly. ‘I was certainly glad to see him gone, for he could turn a cake recipe into an anti-establishment harangue. The government started to investigate him, and he fled across to Wales. I thank Heaven Lord Byron hasn’t honoured us, for I couldn’t abide his strutting.’
‘He has a club foot,’ she murmured.
‘Very well, I couldn’t abide his limping.’
They laughed together, and she felt as if she’d known him a long time. Being with him was palliative. How good it would be to lie back on the rock with him, gazing up at the flawless sky. He was amusing and unconventional, and conversing with him was to indulge in a subtle flirtation. She was aware that the wilful breeze played with the petals of her gown, allowing him glimpses of more bosom than was seemly. She ought to return to the house, but the irresistible force of her own sensuality kept her there.
He set his hat down and put his hand in the pool. ‘Have you seen our mermaid?’
‘Mermaid?’
‘Yes. They say that when the moon is full she sits on a rock that is only exposed at low tide, and combs her hair while she sings.’
‘Have you seen her?’ she asked.
He grinned. ‘No, not even after a medicinal measure of cognac.’
She could imagine him after a little cognac, his dark hair tousled, his eyes dark and amorous, his lips ready to kiss. Her wanton thoughts hurried on to imagine him without coat, cravat or waistcoat, just close-fitting breeches and a shirt that was unbuttoned to his waist. He’d be lying back on a bed, inviting her to do with him as she would. But she yearned more for it to be Guy who lay thus. Something must have shown on her face because he became concerned. ‘Please say if you’d rather I left.’
‘Oh, no, of course not.’ Embarrassment made her hot, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’ve seen so few people since arriving that I’m sure even the dullest conversation would be a pleasant diversion.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘So you expect only dull conversation from me?’
‘I will be gravely disappointed if that proves the case, sir.’
‘Miss Mannacott, I would have called sooner, but felt compelled to delay a second meeting until it would no longer cause undue comment. Please, don’t misunderstand, it’s just that Exmoor gossips are exceptionally zealous, and if I had come to the Dower House immediately on my return, your name would by now be rattling in adjoining counties. Rumour has betrothed me to so many young ladies that I’ve ceased counting. Believe me, the eyes and ears of the county will be fixed on Haldane Hall until I stand before the altar with my chosen bride.’
One set of eyes and ears were certainly turned in his direction, Beth thought, remembering Harriet. ‘And now Snowy has given you just cause to call?’
‘Something of the sort.’ He glanced away. ‘Cards on the table, Miss Mannacott: I seized upon Snowy because I very much wanted to see you again.’
Flattered and secretly pleased as she was with his frankness, Beth still thought of Harriet. ‘It seems to be my day for visitors. Miss Bellamy left not long ago.’
‘Yes, I waited out of sight until she departed.’
Beth regarded him. ‘That is more than I needed to know, sir.’
‘Is it? I would hate you to think that Harriet – Miss Bellamy – has expectations where I am concerned.’
‘My housekeeper implies that she has.’
‘Ah, yes, Mrs Cobbett. She it was who told me I’d find “Miss Beth” here.’
‘So she’s wrong about you and Miss Bellamy? There is no understanding?’
‘None.’ He met her eyes, and she did not look away. She knew she should, but so determined was she to snap her fingers at Guy that she became guilty of implied encouragement. The air seemed to hang, and for a moment the sea was as calm as a millpond. Desire was in his eyes, and she felt her senses stirring too. She couldn’t have Guy, but this man was here, wanting her – and she needed to be wanted. Neither of them moved. It was enough just to know.
The silent emotion became so great that she got up. ‘I think it best I go now, sir. No, please don’t get up. Please.’
‘About Snowy. I’ll call tomorrow morning at about ten, Miss Mannacott.’ He caught her hand and turned the palm quickly to his lips.
‘Yes, of course.’ She climbed back to the path, and hastened away.
The blood pumped urgently through his veins as he gazed after her. ‘I can wait, Beth Mannacott, I can wait,’ he breathed. Then he paused until he was sure a certain part of his anatomy was quiescent again, before returning to his horse.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning the smart yellow curricle skimmed along the narrow road up the gorge, and Landry laughed as Beth clung fearfully to the seat beside him. ‘It’s the fashion to drive at risk of life and limb, Miss Mannacott.’ He flicked the whip at the pair of mahogany-bay horses. ‘We’ll go up to the moor, and approach Haldane from the other direction. The views are worth the trouble.’
The roar of rapids was lost in the noise of hoofs and wheels as he tooled the bays around a bend, scattering small stones over the dense roadside greenery. Occasionally the trees and leaves thinned enough to give a glimpse of foaming white water far below, but then the foliage closed again. The curricle’s exhilarating speed brought colour to Beth’s cheeks, and she had to hold on her black riding hat in case it vanished forever into the precipitous gorge. The cords and tassels flew behind her and the curled ostrich feather fluttered against her hand. She felt unvoiced thoughts and emotions swirling around them both, and had lain awake for half the night, trying not to think of Guy, but of every word she and Landry Haldane had said the day before. As the curricle jolted over ruts and stones, she was conscious of his body flexing to the motion, the fit of his clothes and the way his dark hair fluttered against the under-brim of his hat. The tautness of his kid gloves across his knuckles was so sensuous that she longed to be caressed by them. Not through clothes, but against her naked skin. For a heartbeat she was in Guy’s carriage again, watching him remove his gloves to hand her some capon from the hamper. Guy, oh Guy, I want you so much. But Landry was here. Now.
At last they drove up out of the valley on to the open moor, where the golden gorse was glorious against the hazy blue of the sky, and in sheltered or south-facing spots the heather was beginning to glow purple. Landry reined in to give the sweating team a rest at a crossroads, where the signpost pointed west for Barnstaple, north to Lannermouth and north-west to Haldane. The wild scenery of Exmoor stretched into the distance, sometimes plunging into other tree-choked valleys, sometimes soaring over prominent hills. Landry glanced at her. ‘Exmoor is a timeless place that invades one’s soul and occupies it until the day one dies. It already steals your heart, doesn’t it?’
‘I believe it does,’ she murmured. A string of nine pack-ponies, brown, bay and dun, moved slowly along an ancient track, each with an enormous load upon its back, plodding reliably and steadily toward an unknown destination. ‘Where are they going?’
‘Dulverford, probably. For the most part we Devon rustics are still obliged to move our goods around by the age-old method. I’ve built the new roads hereabouts, but for isolated hamlets and farms the wheel hasn’t been invented.’
The perfumed air was beguiling and the summer warmth seemed intent upon stealing Beth’s inhibitions. The way to exclude Guy from her heart was to replace him with someone else. She could never have Guy’s love, and was becoming more and more aware that Landry was strongly attracted to her. But she was afraid of the past, the present, and the future. With so much to conceal and be ashamed of, would giving in to sexual temptation be her ruin? Was Landry Haldane worth that risk? The very reason for coming to the Dower House was to be isolated, alone and safe, and yet here she was, on the brink of casting caution to the wind. There was ti
me yet to draw back from that fatal final step. Feeling his gaze, she hoped her emotional conflict didn’t show. She had to say something. But what?
She was spared having to say anything, because a stag in full antler suddenly broke from a thicket to the south, and Landry commented drily, ‘Perfect for the hunting season in a couple of weeks’ time.’
His tone surprised her. ‘You don’t approve?’
‘It’s very hard to find anything commendable in stag hunting.’
‘But you’re a landowner, and surely all landowners indulge in such sport?’
He drew a heavy breath. ‘Most do, but I’m the exception that proves the rule. Almost everyone hereabouts supports either the North Devon or the Greylake staghounds, or both. I offer succour to neither, and indeed would rather support Beelzebub’s private pack than anything Greylake.’ He didn’t expand, but watched as the stag disappeared over the brow of a hill. ‘Actually, it’s very unusual to see deer at this time of the day. They prefer to come out at twilight and the very early morning.’ He turned to point behind them, over the thick trees of the Lanner gorge to the fracture between the Haldane Cliffs and Rendisbury Hill. ‘Do you see the position of Lannermouth and the Dower House? Look a little to the west and you’ll see Haldane.’ He moved the whip to indicate a shallow sheltered valley set high behind the summit of Haldane Cliffs. There, nestling from the full force of winter storms, was the large village that was visible from the Dower House as only chimneys.
The air was so clear that she saw everything in detail. Thatched cottages and small houses were built around a village green, where cows and tethered goats grazed. An old woman walking slowly toward her home, carrying an armful of kindling, paused to talk to a neighbour in his small vegetable garden. The church spire reached toward the sky, its gleaming new copper weathercock swinging slowly in the playful breeze, and there was a leafy churchyard, with a lych-gate overhung by ancient yews. Nearby stood a small Jacobean house, presumably the rectory where Harriet lived with her father. But the property that captured Beth’s gaze was the splendid white mansion set in a beautiful park behind the church. It was built in the fashion of the early eighteenth century, and presented a serene and gracious façade, with canted bays and a particularly handsome pediment. It was far larger and more impressive than Beth had imagined, and she turned to Landry in astonishment. ‘That is Haldane Hall?’
He was amused. ‘Yes. Why do you look so shocked?’
‘It’s so, well, large.’
‘It’ll do, I suppose,’ he said.
‘How can you be so matter-of-fact? It’s truly magnificent!’
‘I’m delighted you approve, although how much longer it will stay this way remains to be seen. By building roads, I’ve invited the outside world to enter.’
‘There must be progress, sir. It’s the way of things.’
‘Maybe. Enclosure is considered progress, is it not? Soon it will be illegal for poor folk to gather wood or graze their beasts on the village green. Walls, fences and hedges instead of this magnificent untrammelled moor, and—’ He stopped ruefully. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to deliver a sermon.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she assured him. ‘But surely, you must be one of the few landowners not to want enclosure.’ Her father had commended it for the benefits to his already bulging purse.
‘I’m an oddity, eh? I don’t like hunting or enclosures.’ He smiled a little sadly. ‘Life goes on well enough in these parts, and doesn’t need that sort of change. Every acre that can be successfully farmed is farmed. I don’t keep close and hard watch on my game, and even allow those in need to take what they will, for there’s more than enough for my needs. It works, and I’m content to keep it that way.’ He gazed at the moor again. ‘Maybe I state my old-fashioned views too freely, I don’t know, but when I look around me, I know I’m right. In these times, with recession striking at everyone, men jobless and their families hungry, the old ways remain the best.’
‘Tell me, sir, why is Lord Castlereagh Prime Minister and not you?’
He laughed and flicked the team into action again, taking the Haldane road, which led in a gentle curve up toward the village. The hall was in view all the time, and then its gates and lodge appeared just before the village was reached. As Landry negotiated the sharp turn between the open gates, a little fair-haired girl leaned out of an upper window of the lodge, waving at him enthusiastically, but he didn’t notice her. Beth glanced at the mythical beasts topping the tall, oddly uneven stone gateposts. ‘What are they?’ she asked, pointing.
‘Cockatrices or basilisks, whichever you wish to call them,’ Landry explained. ‘They’re fabulous reptiles supposedly hatched by a serpent from a cock’s egg, and their breath and glance is believed to be fatal.’
In the park, a herd of red deer grazed beneath copper beech trees, and there were rhododendrons that must be a wonderful display in May and June. A ha-ha separated the park from mown lawns, and on the sheltered southern side of the house she could see hothouses and potting sheds. Beyond the house lay the stables, their gateway crowned by a huge clock tower, and it was toward this that Landry drove. The curricle clattered on cobbles beneath the clock tower, and entered a large quadrangle three sides of which were lined by white-painted stalls from which handsome horses looked out. As grooms ran from the house to take charge of the team, Landry alighted and came around to assist Beth down. ‘Welcome to Haldane Hall, Miss Mannacott.’ His hand was strong and steady, and might have become more intimate had not the head groom hurried over. ‘Ah, Johns, have Snowy saddled – I believe my mother’s side-saddle is still here – and then prepare Rollo as well, and bring them around to the front of the house.’
The head groom touched his hat and hurried away to the tack room, and Landry offered Beth his arm. They walked through a postern gate into the walled rose garden, where the air was almost soporific with perfume. A fountain played into a square lily pond, insects hummed, and a brilliant blue damselfly hovered over the lily-decked water. From there they went up some steps to a terrace, and then in through open French windows to the house itself. They proceeded to the cool green-and-white vestibule, where marble statuettes posed in golden wall niches, and a sunburst clock, copied from one at Versailles, ticked slowly into the echoing silence. A handsome gilt-framed mirror above the white marble fireplace gave the impression of more light and space, and a garniture of costly green-and-white Chinese porcelain spoke of wealth. The overall impression was very gracious and pleasing. Beth noticed a footman waiting discreetly in the shadows by the grand staircase that curved up to a balconied landing on the first floor. Landry’s servants were in constant attendance, albeit at a judicious distance. Nevertheless she was conscious of surveillance, and wondered what was being whispered in the kitchens about the new occupant of the Dower House.
The elegant double front doors stood open to the summer, and Beth could see down the drive and the park toward the village. A horseman was approaching the house, and Landry was about to instruct the footman to bring refreshments to the nearby library, when he recognized the rider. ‘Damn! What does he want?’
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
‘Bradfield, the agent from Greylake,’ he replied. ‘With your permission, I will speak to him. I promise it will not be for long.’
‘Of course.’
He went out as the rider reined at the foot of the portico steps. The Greylake agent was a sallow-faced man in a plain brown coat, and the crown of his top hat was too low ever to have been fashionable. Beth could hear as Landry took the cob’s bridle. ‘What is it, Bradfield?’
‘The poachers in Granleigh Wood, Mr Haldane, they’re coming on to Greylake land from your land, and making an easy escape back into your land. There’ll be ill-feeling if it goes on.’
Landry looked away for a moment, his mouth tight. ‘And what in God’s own name does the master of Greylake miss from that wood? He has more than enough land to harbour half the game in England.’ Disli
ke thickened his voice.
‘Nonetheless—’
‘I know, I know!’ Landry was irritable. ‘What would he have me do? Patrol my side of the boundary with hounds?’
‘My master is not in residence at the moment, sir, so I am here on my own authority. If you could just let it be known that you will not deal kindly with anyone who crosses on to Greylake land for the purpose of poaching.’ Bradfield suddenly smiled effacingly. ‘As agent I have to ask this, you understand.’
‘I understand, and will do what I can, but can’t promise the desired result.’
‘Due to Sir Daniel Lavington having been presiding, there were two poachers hanged at Taunton Assizes not long back, Mr Haldane. Maybe a timely reminder of that would instil a little caution?’
‘And maybe if Greylake’s boundaries were more effectively guarded by gamekeepers, there wouldn’t be any need for you to ride all this way.’
‘Yes, sir, but I need my master’s permission to authorize such a change.’
Landry was gripped with barely suppressed rage. ‘Bradfield, I despise your master with a venom you can only imagine. And I despise Lavington, whose mill at Porworthy has always been profitable, yet who nevertheless installs power looms and every new contrivance, throwing men, women and children out of work. Then, when the poor are forced to poach for their food, he sets mantraps; the poachers are caught and tried, and he sits in final judgment upon them. Men like him cannot see beyond the ends of their noses.’
Bradfield shifted uneasily. ‘No doubt, sir,’ he murmured, on what Beth believed to be a cynical note, as if he were taking Landry’s words with a large pinch of salt. Or, to use another saying, did the agent think it was a case of the Haldane pot calling the Lavington kettle black?
Landry cleared his throat, realizing he’d been haranguing the man. ‘I’ve said my piece, and you’ve delivered your message, so I think you may go.’
Relieved, the man touched his hat and turned his horse away, and Landry returned to the house, where Beth waited anxiously. ‘I know it’s none of my business,’ she said, ‘but it distresses me to see you so clearly upset. There must be great ill will between you and the owner of Greylake.’
Star-Crossed Summer Page 16
