Lois Menzel

by Ruled by Passion

  “Sewing needles,” she replied.

  “You will not have much to choose from here. I will drive you to Winthrop. There you will have an excellent selection.” Then, without consulting her, he turned eastward at the crossroad and proceeded toward Winthrop, a town some two miles distant.

  He smiled at her continued silence, trying to think of a way to relax her. “This is the pair I most often drive in London. Steady as they come. Nothing disturbs them—carriage horns, sheep. I have had birds rise up under their noses, and they never broke stride. See what a smooth trot they have?” He allowed the pair to trot, and the increased speed caused a correlating decrease in Anne’s equilibrium.

  “Please stop the carriage, my lord,” she whispered at length. “I must get down.” Before he could respond or reply she reached forward to grasp the reins in front of his hands and pulled back firmly. The horses, moving at an extended trot, were brought up short by this brutal usage. Both stopped almost immediately, the near one rearing onto his haunches in protest. Taken totally by surprise, Tenbury was busy for some moments in calming his outraged pair. He noticed only that Miss Waverly leaped from the carriage before it had completely stopped, forced her way through the hedges at the side of the road, and disappeared.

  When the horses were finally quiet, Tenbury glanced in the direction Miss Waverly had gone. There was no sign of her.

  “Miss Waverly,” he called, “Are you all right? I cannot leave the horses.”

  When there was no answer, he called again, “Miss Waverly!”

  “Give me but a moment, my lord.”

  When she finally emerged from the hedges, she appeared even paler than before. She stopped at the side of the carriage, refusing to look at him. “With your permission, Lord Tenbury, I should like to walk back to the Castle.”

  He had been prepared to rip up at her for mishandling his horses, but one look at her pale countenance drove all anger from him. “Why did you not tell me you suffered from motion sickness?”

  “It is not the sort of thing one advertises. How do you do. Carriages make me ill.”

  He smiled. “Of course not, but when I insisted, surely you could have said something.”

  He jumped down from the curricle then and went to the horses’ heads. “Shall we walk on to Winthrop? It is only a little more than a mile, and I happen to know you are a vigorous walker.”

  She took the free arm he offered her for support, and he led the team as they continued down the relatively deserted country lane. Occasionally they passed a farmer’s cart or a lone horseman, but if anyone thought it unusual for them to be walking when they had such a slap-up rig to drive, no one indicated as much. They only smiled or nodded as they went on their way.

  “It is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

  “Well, I have been ashamed of it. All my life.”

  “You have been troubled always? Since childhood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Children often outgrow carriage sickness.”

  “It seems that I have not.”

  “Were you afraid of carriages as a child?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you afraid of them now?”

  “Only when they are moving.”

  He smiled. “And the day you arrived at Tenton, your illness then was due to the same thing?”

  “Things were rather worse that day for I had not eaten.”

  “Had not eaten that whole day?”

  “I had not eaten for the entire trip.”

  “What foolishness! Better to eat moderately and cast up your accounts if you must, than to starve yourself to the point of fainting. I believe you refine too much upon this. Nelson was sick at sea. I have seen men sick with fear before a battle and sick with horror afterward. Our bodies betray us from time to time. There is no cause for shame in that.”

  When they arrived in Winthrop, Anne made her purchase while Tenbury waited for her in the street outside. As she emerged from the shop, he said, “There is a posting inn at the edge of the town that has tolerable food. I think you should have another lunch.”

  Anne was inclined to object until she realized she was truly hungry. They walked together to the Duck ’N’ Drake where an ostler took the horses and Tenbury ordered a private parlor and a simple meal.

  “This cannot be prudent, sir,” Anne objected. “Will people not think it odd?”

  “They will think I have driven my niece’s governess to town for some needles and have stopped to eat. I am well known here, Miss Waverly. My credit can withstand a simple luncheon and a drive, or rather walk, in broad daylight.”

  They shared a shepherd’s pie followed by a bowl of strawberries and fresh cream. Since the maid serving them was often in the room, they had little opportunity for conversation during their short meal.

  The curricle was at the door as they stepped from the inn into the street. Tenbury looked up to the sky where the thinly scattered clouds were once again thickening.

  “It appears as if we may have more rain,” he said.

  Anne glanced anxiously at the clouds, thinking of the long walk home that lay before her. Tenbury extended a hand to her and she raised questioning brows.

  “Allow me to hand you up, ma’am. I promise a sedate walk every step of the way home and an instant stop should you require one.”

  With this assurance, Anne climbed into the carriage, and they were soon on their way back to Tenton Castle.

  “You are already worried about parting with the lunch you just consumed,” he said before they had gone a hundred yards.

  She turned toward him in surprise, her thigh contacting his on the seat. “How did you know?”

  “It’s elementary. When you enter a carriage, any carriage, the first thing you think of is the illness you have suffered in the past. You worry it will happen again. That worry sets your nerves on edge, tenses every muscle in your body. I have promised to walk the horses. Forget your luncheon, as you have long forgotten your fear of carriages. Instead, enjoy the scenery, the fresh air, my excellent company and witty conversation. If you will but relax, I believe your illness may vanish.”

  Wanting to believe he was right, Anne smiled at him and tried to do as he asked. The day continued pleasant, for even though the clouds thickened, the rain held off.

  “When we met earlier, I mentioned there was something I wished to discuss with you,” Tenbury said. “I feel I should apologize for Lady Mason’s behavior yesterday.”

  “It is not your place to apologize for her, my lord.”

  “No. It’s not. But I am certain she will never do so herself, and I am convinced you are owed an apology. I know this will probably be hard for you to understand, but she does not even realize she said anything offensive. Many women of her class—our class—disparage children and governesses. Such comments are commonly heard and widely accepted.”

  “That does not make them right.”

  “No. Yet I doubt you or I will be able to do much to change things. So I apologize for her tactlessness and hope you can make allowance for it and put it behind you.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what he could possibly admire about such a woman, but she realized how inappropriate the question would be.

  “Arelia tells me that Belinda is doing well in her studies,” he continued. “What of Tom? Have he and Mr. Pearce made progress?”

  “Yes. You made the perfect choice in Mr. Pearce. He is a natural teacher, most sensitive to Tom’s … moods.”

  “Is he often moody?”

  “Not always. The last few days he has seemed rather restless, though.”

  “Tomorrow is June eighteenth,” Tenbury said. “Three years since Waterloo. That is where Henry died.”

  “I see.”

  Anne was quiet for some time afterward, and Tenbury did not interrupt her thoughts. As they turned onto the drive of the Castle, he spoke at last. “We are home, and now I will ask: Did you feel the least ill on the way?”

  “Not at
all. But you kept me talking. I had no time to think of it.”

  “Precisely. You had no time to think. I will take you up again some day. I expect you will soon discover that your sickness is a thing of the past.”

  Later the same evening, Anne spent nearly an hour in the schoolroom reading through one of the Greek histories her father had translated. Finally she found the passage she sought. Taking a quill and paper, she copied the words and then blotted the page carefully.

  When she went to Tom’s room, she found him in bed but not yet asleep. “Could I talk with you a moment?” she asked.

  He nodded and she came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Tomorrow is the eighteenth,” she said, “but I imagine you know that.” When he only nodded again, she continued. “I was wondering if you would take me tomorrow to visit your father’s grave. I thought since it was the anniversary, and I have never been there … I would like to go.”

  “All right. I suppose I could take you there.”

  “Good. There is something else. I have been in the schoolroom searching for something I remembered reading once. I found it and copied it out for you. It was written by the Greek historian, Thucydides, several hundred years before the birth of Christ. I should like you to read it tonight before you go to sleep.” She handed him the page as she rose from the bed. “Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

  “Good night, Miss Waverly.”

  When the door had closed behind her, Tom unfolded the paper:

  Fix your eyes on the greatness of Athens as you have it before you day by day, fall in love with her, and when you feel her great, remember that this greatness was won by men with courage, with knowledge of their duty, and with a sense of honor in action … So they gave their bodies to the commonwealth and received, each for his own memory, praise that will never die, and with it the grandest of all sepulchers, not that in which their mortal bones are laid, but a home in the minds of men, where their glory remains free to stir to speech or action as the occasion comes by. For the whole earth is the sepulcher of famous men; and their story is not graven only on stone over their native earth, but lives on far away, without visible symbol, woven into the stuff of other men’s lives. For you now it remains to rival what they have done and, knowing the secret of happiness to be freedom and the secret of freedom a brave heart, not idly to stand aside from the enemy’s onset.

  Tenbury and Arelia descended the front steps side by side. “Where were you after luncheon?” he asked. “Miss Redditch searched everywhere for you. She said you had agreed to show her the Roman ruins.”

  “Oh, dear,” Arelia responded. “I completely forgot about her, but I must be forgiven. You cannot imagine my shock when Tom asked me to accompany him and Miss Waverly on a visit to Henry’s grave. To my knowledge, Tom has never been there, so I was quite taken aback.”

  “Did you go?”

  “Certainly, I did. It was a moment of some revelation. He is growing up too fast, Tenbury. There is so much of Henry in him, yet he is nothing like Henry. Do you understand what I mean?”

  He paused halfway down the steps, pulling on his riding gloves. “Yes, I believe I do, though it sounds antithetical when you phrase it just so.”

  “I cannot help thinking Miss Waverly is in some part responsible for this change in Tom,” Arelia said. “I believe it was a fortunate day for us when she applied for her position.”

  “I could not agree with you more. Did you leave Tom and Miss Waverly at the cemetery?”

  “No. We walked together to the summer house, and they went on to the lake. Tom offered to take Miss Waverly boating. Here comes Lady Constance. I do not believe I have ever seen a woman sit a horse so well.”

  They both watched as Lady Constance Naismith trotted her black gelding toward them from the stables. She was twenty-five but looked younger. Being the Earl of Haverham’s only child, she had been cosseted from birth. Her beauty she took for granted. Her dark red hair was drawn back from her face and fastened at the nape of her neck, but already tiny curls had escaped to bounce against her shoulders in the breeze. Her riding habit of emerald green hugged the generous curves of both hip and breast, accentuating her excellent figure and perfect posture. Gold braid in double rows adorned the lapels, cuffs, and hem, while peeking from beneath her skirts a shiny silver spur glinted on her left heel. The horse fussed, and she flowed gently with him, as if anticipating his motion instinctively.

  Tenbury could not fail to appreciate the picture she presented as he first helped Arelia to the saddle and then turned to mount his sleek bay. Bringing his horse up beside Lady Constance, he asked, “Has that fancy fellow any speed, or is he strictly a park horse?”

  She smiled saucily and quipped in reply, “He will run faster and farther than that brute you bestride, my lord.”

  One of the gentlemen who had just joined the party laughed at this, asking Lady Constance if she would favor a small wager to support her claim.

  Tenbury listened with only half an ear. Far across the meadow toward the lake, he saw a tiny figure emerge from the woods and begin running toward the Castle. He watched a few seconds longer and then said to Arelia, “Take the party and be on your way. I will catch up.”

  When she looked a question, he only shook his head and motioned for her to be off. She did as he asked, while he set his horse in the other direction, toward the ever-growing figure that he now recognized as his nephew. As the horse and boy converged in the meadow, Tenbury realized his instinct had been correct—Tom was running with a purpose. In a few seconds they were within hailing distance.

  “Uncle Nate,” Tom yelled breathlessly. “I need you … at the lake … the boat … overturned … she can’t swim.”

  There was no need for Tom to say who she was. A cold fear enveloped Tenbury as he slowed his horse and reached down to haul the boy up behind him. “Did she stay with the boat?” he demanded. “Is she holding on?”

  “Yes. But she is frightened; she would not let me help her.”

  “You did the right thing, Tom. Coming for help was the right thing.”

  Tenbury did not speak again as the bay thundered at full speed across the meadow and through the thinly spaced trees surrounding the lake. The boat had overturned in deep water perhaps two hundred feet from shore. Miss Waverly was perfectly still, gripping the keel with both hands, holding her head and shoulders above the water.

  Tenbury and Tom came off the horse together. All Tenbury said was, “Hold the stallion, Tom,” as he pulled off one boot, then the other. His coat and waistcoat followed, landing in the reeds near the shore as he waded waist deep before swimming out to the boat.

  When he reached it, he too took hold with both hands to catch his breath. He moved closer to Miss Waverly, but she showed no sign of having noticed his arrival. Her eyes were closed, and she was gripping the keel so tightly that her fingers had turned white.

  He tried to speak as casually as he could for clearly the woman was terrified. “Miss Waverly. If you will let go now, I can take you to shore.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. “My lord, I seem to be in a dangerous situation.”

  “Not anymore. Let go the keel, and I will swim you to shore.” He moved his hand to cover her fingers, thinking he might remove them for her. To his amazement he was unable to budge them. They seemed fused to the boat bottom.

  “Miss Waverly … Anne. Do you remember how you managed to relax in the carriage? I want you to do that now. Look at me.”

  When she did so, he said, “I want you to relax as you did then. Do you remember the day I carried you up the stairs at the Castle? You were very light. You will be even lighter in the water. Please trust me. Let go of the boat.”

  He put an arm around her waist from behind and pulled her back. When she felt his solid body behind her, she leaned against him and then finally freed the keel.

  “You can help most by remaining as still as possible,” he said. “Try not to move.”

  That should be easy enough for her, h
e thought, since her limbs had to be numb from shock and the effects of the cold water. She cooperated as well as he could wish, and before long he felt his feet touch the soft mud of the lake bottom. With his arm around her they struggled through the water until they were waist deep. He then lifted her and her soggy, clinging skirts free of the surface and carried her to the shore.

  As he continued to carry her beyond the shoreline, she finally spoke. “You may put me down now, Lord Tenbury.”

  “I will carry you to the Castle.”

  “It is a very long walk to the Castle, sir.”

  “I will rest if I need to.”

  “Please put me down,” she insisted, struggling in his arms.

  When he ignored her, she snapped, “Why do you always insist on using your superior strength to have your own way?”

  In that instant he lowered her to the ground. As soon as she stood steadily, he removed his arm from her shoulders.

  “Do I do that?” he asked.

  “Invariably.”

  “You are cold.”

  “In which case walking will warm me. It is June, not November.”

  Tom, who had stood holding the horse and his breath while his uncle rescued Miss Waverly, now remained silent, not understanding the meaning behind the angry exchange of words.

  Without speaking again, Tenbury moved to where he had dropped his boots and pulled them on with difficulty. He then fetched his coat and waistcoat, tossed them over his horse’s withers and mounted. His fine lawn shirt was plastered to his powerful torso, but the lady was in no mood to admire his musculature as he rode his horse to within a few feet of where she stood.

  “If you have no further need of my services, ma’am, I will bid you good day.”