by Brenda Hiatt
"I suppose you're right, Barry. I shall give her the benefit of the doubt, for the present at least. I'll keep my eyes open, however."
"One always should," returned his friend philosophically. "Now, about that luncheon I was promised?"
* * *
The day after this conversation took place, a breathlessly awaited event occurred at the Platt household, but not with the anticipated results. The envelope containing Miss Gordon's voucher for Almack's arrived, but it resided in the envelope alone. Lady Platt's outrage defied description, and the brunt of her anger fell upon her sister's head, there being no other convenient target at hand.
"You conniving little snake in the grass!" was one of the first epithets used. "You planned this with Ravenham, just to mortify me, to pay me back for some imagined slight. When I have done so much for you! Have you any idea how much I've spent on your wardrobe? On dancing lessons? And to think of the time I have wasted telling you how to go on in Society!" She continued in this vein for some time.
Brie found it worse than useless to try to defend herself against the torrent of abuse, as any word on her part was received as an added insult, so she silently smoothed the folds of her plum walking dress while awaiting the end of her sister's tirade. Eventually running out of words (or breath), Angela sent her to her room to meditate upon the sins of ingratitude and deceit.
In the comparative haven of her bedchamber, Brie attempted to unravel the puzzle of the single voucher. She had gathered that the Duke did not care for the Platts, but this smacked of petty spite, though why she should have thought him above that she was not certain. But had he not told her that he would be sending vouchers for all of them?
She thought back over their drive together, trying to recall his exact words. Well, perhaps he had not specifically said that he would be sending three vouchers, but it had certainly been implied! Surely he must realise what an intolerable position he was putting her in by so blatantly snubbing the relatives she was dependent upon. Perhaps it was a mistake? But no, the note enclosed had said that he would call for Miss Gordon Wednesday next to escort her to Almack's. No mention of the Platts had been made.
Secretly, Brie could not but be relieved that her sister and brother-in-law would not be attending, for she had already observed that their manners appeared little short of ill-bred in comparison to the few other members of the ton she had met; but she was ashamed of that relief. Angela's enumeration of the expenses she had undertaken on her behalf had only underscored her previous feeling of obligation, and she felt that she was probably turning out to be a very poor sort of guest.
To assuage her own conflicting feelings of relief and guilt, Brie concentrated on the Duke of Ravenham's culpability in this matter and added it to her account of grievances against him. Obviously, her very first impression of him had been correct: he was the most selfish, pompous, insensitive man that had ever lived, not to mention cruel! Perhaps she would tell him so— again— the next time she saw him.
But wait! Was she likely to see him again? As angry as Angela had been, it seemed more than likely that she would be sent back home to Gloucestershire first thing in the morning. Oddly, the thought was not as comforting as she expected it to be. After all, wasn't she only here to please her mother, counting off the time until she could return to her beloved Cotswold hills? Finally, Brie fell asleep, her dreams a curious mix of rolling hills and London faces.
* * *
When Brie tentatively entered the breakfast parlour the next morning, she was astonished to find a smiling Angela awaiting her, apparently willing to pretend that nothing untoward had happened. She was curious about the cause of this sudden reversal, but too relieved at the cessation of hostilities to risk their renewal by injudicious questioning.
In fact, Lady Platt had spent the first hour after sending her sister upstairs the previous night plotting suitable punishments for the girl's perfidy. As her anger cooled, however, she began to realise that there could be little longterm benefit to herself in such a course— only momentary gratification. Gabriella still represented her best chance of regaining her former high place in Society, though perhaps a bit more patience would now be required. Once the girl had taken— as she surely would, with Ravenham's patronage— there would be ample opportunity for her to repay the Platts for their generosity. Also, it was inevitable that invitations would be issued which would include them. Yes, she could afford to bide her time.
Sober reflection also forced her to admit that it was unlikely that Gabriella had actually planned the insult herself. What influence could a stupid, countrified girl like her sister possibly have with the Duke of Ravenham, after all? It was far more likely that Lady Jersey's unreasonable dislike of herself had proved too immovable for even his best efforts on her behalf.
The idea of the Duke exerting himself for her benefit, even if those exertions had proven unavailing, had further cooled her temper. Supremely confident in her influence over men, she did not doubt that he had been as taken with her as every other gentleman of her acquaintance. That he did not display his admiration by any vulgar flattery was merely evidence of his superior breeding.
Thus, it was with the intention of conciliating her sister over the breakfast table that Angela greeted her that morning. Swallowing her own repugnance for the exercise, she even suggested a ride in the Park later that morning.
"Oh, Angela, could we?" exclaimed Brie, clearly delighted. "I knew you didn't care for riding, so I didn't like to ask, but I've been simply dying to sit a horse again."
Angela forced the smile to remain on her face. "But of course, darling. I knew you would want to try out your new habit, and I have one as well which I have yet to wear, though I have had it these three months. Sir Seymour was saying just last night that there is a gelding in the stables which he thought would be suitable for you."
Sir Seymour had said no such thing, being in no case for any sort of conversation the evening before, but Angela did not want her tactics to appear too obvious. Overcoming her own deep-seated fear of horses, she had questioned the groom about potential mounts herself that very morning, remembering that riding had been one of her sister's favourite pastimes.
They donned their habits after breakfast, therefore, and met on the front steps, where the saddled horses were being held ready for them. Surveying their mounts, Brie was tom between amusement and dismay— amusement that these animals, obviously bred as work horses, should be kept for riding, and dismay at their condition.
Both were dispirited beasts, showing almost no interest in their surroundings. The black-and-white gelding, which she assumed was to be her mount, at least had a slight arch to his neck. However, the diminutive dappled grey mare, almost a large pony, was so fat that Brie privately doubted she could achieve a trot. While neither showed signs of outright abuse, their lackluster coats and dull eyes revealed that the quality, at least, of their diet was poor and that they had not had the benefit of regular exercise. Brie considered taking her sister to task for this neglect but forbore doing so, in the interests of peace.
The ladies mounted with the groom's assistance and started off at a sedate walk (or waddle, in the case of the mare) for the Park. Brie longed to trot, but one look at her sister's strained, almost fearful, expression told her that it would be worse than useless to suggest it. Perhaps it might be managed once they reached the Park, she thought without much hope.
It took them quite fifteen minutes to cover the quarter mile to the Park entrance, but Brie was endeavouring to enjoy this first ride in London in spite of the knowledge that she would set a quicker pace afoot. With very little imagination, she could almost make herself believe that she was back on old Traveller, the pony she had ridden as a child. The thought brought a half smile to her lips just as she looked up into the amused eyes of Sir Frederick, who appeared to be waiting for them at the gates.
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Sitting astride a coal black stallion, he looked even more dashing and elegant than she remembered him. Angela seemed to come suddenly to life as they reached him, sitting up straighter in the saddle and shaking back her blonde curls to favour him with her most bewitching smile.
"Sir Frederick, i'faith!" she exclaimed with a little laugh. "I vow you have been almost a stranger this week past! What has been keeping you from us?" Brie quickly coughed to cover the chuckle she had almost emitted at the way her sister was batting her lashes.
"'Twas business of the most tedious sort, my lady, and I will not bore you with the details," replied Sir Frederick, kissing the dimpled hand Lady Platt had extended to him. "Suffice to say I am vastly relieved it is concluded, that I may feast my eyes upon you again."
Brie thought that was doing it rather brown, but then saw that Angela was positively eating up his fulsome flattery. This was obviously the sort of thing her sister thrived on, and just as obviously, Sir Frederick knew it.
Becoming aware of her regard, Sir Frederick turned towards her. "Miss Gordon! Permit me to say that your habit is charming. It just matches your hair."
She refrained from telling him that the fabric had been chosen with that in mind and thanked him graciously for the compliment. "Would you care to join us on our ride?" she asked then, certain that her sister would not object, and hoping that his presence might improve her chances for a trot. She was fairly certain that the nag she rode could not manage anything faster.
He agreed with alacrity and turned his mount, holding the spirited animal to their pace with some little difficulty. He managed to divide his time fairly evenly between the sisters, contriving to further his acquaintance with Miss Gordon without irritating her sister. His original intent in befriending her had merely been to provoke Lady Platt to jealousy, hoping thereby to overcome that lady's reluctance to dally with him. Now, however, he was discovering in the younger sister charms of her own and had begun to revise his plans.
Therefore, still with no definite idea himself of what his true intentions were, Sir Frederick ingratiated himself with both ladies, using for each the type of flattery best suited to their individual personalities. Finally, noticing Miss Gordon subtly urging her mount to walk faster, he asked the sisters if they would care to trot.
"It is perfectly acceptable, you know," he said for Miss Gordon's benefit. "One may even canter in the Park. Only galloping is expressly forbidden."
Brie laughed merrily. "I rather doubt whether this poor fellow could achieve a canter, and I am certain that a gallop would be beyond him, but I would dearly love to trot."
Angela motioned to her groom and held a quick conference with him. "James wishes to check my mare's feet before I try trotting her. He fears she may have picked up a stone. You two go on ahead, and I will join you in a moment, if all is well." She proceeded to dismount, and Sir Frederick looked enquiringly at his companion.
"Shall we?" He showed no sign that he suspected Lady Platt's ruse, and Brie concluded that he must not be aware of her sister's aversion to riding— and especially to risking her pretty neck by moving any faster than a slow walk.
"Let's," she replied happily, delighted with this chance, and they urged their horses into a trot.
Brie had been right in her suspicions, in that it took quite a bit of urging to get the gelding to break into a trot, but once he was going, his gait was fairly smooth and she found herself enjoying it. Heartened at this success, she tried for more speed and was pleased to discover that he was, after all, capable of a canter, albeit a slow one. Mindful of Sir Frederick's words and the gelding's capabilities (or lack thereof), she did not attempt to spur her mount any faster.
Sir Frederick kept pace with her, occasionally giving her an admiring glance, which she could not help but find gratifying. His solicitude was especially welcome after yesterday's unpleasantness, and she found herself comparing him— mostly favourably— with the Duke of Ravenham. To be sure, he was not quite as handsome, but neither was he arrogant or overbearing. When he looked at her it was to admire, not to criticise. She found herself wishing that she were better mounted, that she might appear more to advantage.
As if he read her thoughts, Sir Frederick's first words when they slowed again to a trot were, "You are quite a horsewoman, Miss Gordon, and it is obvious that your mount does not do you justice. I am not sure if I could have got a canter out of him myself. Would you permit me to mount you on something better?"
Unsure precisely what he meant, she said uncertainly, "I suppose so, but how?" Surely he did not intend exchanging horses for the rest of the morning?
"I'll call tomorrow morning and you'll see," he said enigmatically.
They were just completing their circuit of the Park, and Angela was awaiting them, mounted again on the mare, so Brie forbore to question him further.
"Her foot was fine," called Lady Platt as they approached. "Poor James must have been seeing things." She frowned at the groom. "By the time he was satisfied that she was all right, it was too late to catch you up."
"We can take another turn, if you wish, my lady," offered Sir Frederick gallantly, but she shook her head prettily.
"I wish I could oblige you, but Gabriella and I must head for home. Shall we see you there soon, Sir Frederick?" Her glance was coquettish.
"I have already told Miss Gordon that I intend to call tomorrow. I shall bid you farewell until then." He sketched a bow from the saddle towards both ladies and rode off, leaving them to return to South Audley Street at Angela's preferred snail's pace.
* * *
CHAPTER 7
The next morning Sir Frederick made good his promise, arriving less than fifteen minutes after the sisters had finished breakfasting. Cordial relations still prevailed between Brie and Angela, and they were conversing pleasantly in the parlour when their caller was announced.
"Good morning, ladies," he said, entering briskly. "You are both lovely, as always. But what is this? Neither of you is dressed for riding." Seeing that both ladies looked perplexed, he added, "Surely, Miss Gordon, you told your sister of my promise to mount you. I have brought a mare for your inspection, and if you like the way she goes, she is yours."
"Mine?" gasped Brie in confusion. "Whatever do you mean?" Her sister, she noticed, was regarding her with suspicion.
"I thought it was agreed yesterday. I offered to mount you on something better, if you recall."
"But I thought you only meant to lend me a horse!" she exclaimed, taken aback that she could have been so misunderstood. "You must know I cannot accept such a gift from you, sir!"
"Certainly not, Frederick," Angela interposed. "What can you be thinking of? Gabriella is not one of your high flyers, which is what would undoubtedly be thought if the gift were to become known. Besides, there was nothing wrong with the horse she rode yesterday."
"Now there, I fancy, your sister will disagree with you. I had not realised until yesterday what a poor judge of horseflesh Sir Seymour is. But I assure you, Miss Gordon, I had no intention to offend." His manner was once more kindness itself. "I fear I did not think. I shall merely lend you the mare, of course. But rest assured that you may have the use of her for as long as you wish."
Brie then thanked him warmly, allowing her momentary indignation to be soothed by this apology. Angela gave her permission for the outing, pleading much unattended correspondence as her excuse to bide at home, and Brie went upstairs to change into her habit.
"What game are you playing at, Frederick?" Angela demanded as soon as Brie was out of earshot. "You knew full well, even if she didn't, that it would not be proper for you to gift her with a horse."
"I could not bear to see your little sister dissatisfied with her mount, my dear, that is all," he said soothingly. "I must confess that in my eagerness to please her, and thereby yourself, I did not stop to cons
ider the proprieties."
She regarded him narrowly, but finally nodded. "Very well, Frederick, I forgive you, but pray try to think before you act next time. There are other ways of pleasing me." She lowered her lashes and glanced sideways at him.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Ah, well I know it, if you would only give me the chance!" She lightly tapped his knuckles with her fan as punishment for this satisfactory speech, which assured her that she still came first in his affections.
* * *
Brie found the clean-limbed chestnut mare far superior to the horse she had ridden the day before, and she enjoyed herself immensely —at first. Gradually, however, there was a subtle change in Sir Frederick's manner towards her that was both exciting and alarming. Before, she had always assumed that he was being kind to her because of his long friendship with her sister but today, once they were away from the house and Angela's watchful eye, his attentions became more pronounced than simple kindness could account for.
"I'm not surprised Lady Platt never brought you to Town before this," he said warmly as they turned into the Park gates. "No doubt she feared her little sister would cast her in the shade." He regarded her appreciatively.
"Surely you jest, sir," returned Brie, more seriously than flirtatiously. "I have no illusions about myself, and would thank you not to create any."
His smile broadened. "A treasure indeed! Shall we canter?"
Brie agreed with relief, for she found Sir Frederick's flattery unsettling. She had no trouble urging this mount to greater speed, and was sorely tempted to try a gallop, but refrained. As they finally drew to a stop after nearly half an hour, Sir Frederick complimented her again on her skill.
"I was glad to see that you remembered my warning, for I could see you would have liked to test the mare's limits."
"Yes, she is wonderful!" Brie was still exhilarated from her ride. "What is her name, by the way?"
"I leave that for you to decide," replied Sir Frederick gallantly, but Brie frowned. This came too close to gifting her with the horse, after all.
"Surely she had a name when you purchased her?"
"I believe she was called Bessie, or Bonny or some such common name, but I am certain that you could do better."
