Amanda Scott (45 page)

Hastily the boy did as he was bid, and Ben Forbes approached Gwenyth, his eyes atwinkle.

She smiled back. “He is very proud of his new job.”

“Aye, ma’am, he is that, and a promising lad, at that. Your mounts be ready, and I’ve told young Ned ter go along wi’ ye.”

Half an hour later found them at a shady backwater where a pretty little stream fed into the Thames. The chalk downs rose steeply behind the surrounding forest. They were below the ruins and the Molesford lock, just above a wooden footbridge, a much less distinguished cousin of the toll bridge at Streatley.

They had paused to watch the lockkeeper open the flash lock, and Gwenyth saw that the operation was a simple one. Standing on a catwalk above the gate, he removed a series of paddles and the posts between them, then opened a latch, allowing the catwalk that had held them all to swing back on a pivot-post set into the bank, the man riding it as it swung. When the barge had passed, he easily poled the catwalk back into place, replacing the paddles and beams when he had the walk in position again.

When asked what kept them in place, Ned explained, “There be a sill at the bottom, and the current keeps ’em pressed against it. Harder the current, stronger they hold. Be safe a while now fer swimming, m’lady. There be a pound lock at Pangbourne, ye see—a sort o’ channel to one side o’ the river, closed both ends—so the current don’t change so much as wi’ the flash locks. If’n ye keep t’ the near side o’ yonder point, should be safe enough, I’m thinkin’.”

Gwenyth nodded, remembering the activity they had watched on the river at Pangbourne and realizing that the river had not been blocked all the way across but only on the Oxfordshire side, where a channel had been constructed with gates at either end. The greatest danger would come from upriver.

They soon came to the backwater, and it was all she had expected it to be and more. A strong rope had been tied round the trunk of a sturdy tree, and there was a noose already tied in the free end that she could slip over her head and around her waist. The area Ned indicated as being safe was not large, but she could certainly immerse herself and swim a short distance in near-seclusion, for the branches of several large willow trees dipped low over the opening where the stream met the river, providing a screen from the river traffic.

“This is delicious,” she said to Pamela when Ned had left them alone and ridden back to a point along the riverbank from which he could watch the Molesford lock.

The younger girl shook her head and bent to test the ground beneath the trees. “’Tis damp, Gwen. I make no doubt the river runs right up onto the shore here when the lock is opened.”

Gwenyth looked closely. “Oh, I don’t think so. There are no puddles, and the bank is steep. Don’t sit on my towel, goose. There is a blanket tied to my cantle that you may use.”

Pamela helped her out of her habit, and Gwenyth removed her shirt, deciding that the area was secluded enough for her to swim in her shift. The water was chilly, but its chill was welcome, for the ride had been a warm one; however, knowing that Annie would have a fit if she returned with her hair in a wet tangle, she kept her head above water as she paddled back and forth.

She could feel the current from both stream and river. If not for the rope around her middle, she mused, and if she were to let herself just float, she would be carried right out into the middle of the Thames, past Pangbourne, no doubt all the way to London and the sea. The thought was a pleasant one. Just to drift on the current without any cares or concerns. She let herself go, but it was only a moment or two before the rope caught. Swimming back toward the bank required more powerful strokes, but it was not difficult. The place would do nicely, she decided.

On the way back, to her surprise and pleasure, they met Jared and the earl riding along the riverbank. Lyford raised his brows in silent query.

“The pool is perfect,” Gwenyth told him. “I enjoyed my swim very much. Thank you, sir.”

He grinned. “And you, Pamela, did you enjoy yourself?”

“There were bugs,” she said flatly, as though no further comment were necessary.

Jared laughed. “I like the whirligig beetles and damselflies best, don’t you?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, making him laugh all the more.

Lyford said, “Did you like Streatley?”

“The village is charming,” Pamela said. “I was surprised to find an establishment like Madame Mathilde’s so far from London, but I quite understand why she should prefer Streatley, and your grandmama tells me that she finds plenty of customers there.”

Gwenyth held her breath, refusing to look at the earl, but he only grunted noncommittally, and she breathed easily again until Jared said, “I’ve heard of Madame. Dashed costly, her bits of silk and lace. Hope you didn’t outrun the constable, Pamela. Lyford won’t like that, you may be sure.”

Gwenyth glared at him, but Pamela said only, “One must have clothes, Jared. Even Gwenyth ordered a new gown, although she had not intended to do so.”

Lyford grimaced. “I am certain the urge to be extravagant overcame her just as it did the rest of you. I have noted that that is the natural way with women, and with many young men, for that matter,” he added with a speaking look at Jared.

Pamela was still concerned with her own thoughts. “But one must dress, Marcus, and it is my money I spend, not yours, and since your grandmama intends for us all to go to London for the king’s Jubilee celebration—”

Lyford cut into her artless prattle without ceremony. “We have already discussed that, Pamela. Until matters here have been sorted out to my satisfaction, I cannot afford to dally in town, and until I can remain there with you, you will not go, Jubilee or no Jubilee.”

“But—”

“That is my final word on the subject,” he said, turning abruptly to Gwenyth. “Do you choose to return to London for the celebration, ma’am? I’ve naught to say about what you do, of course.” His concern, however, as well as the wish that he did have the power to stop her, was evident in his expression.

Gwenyth smiled at him. “I fear you are saddled with me until my brother returns from Wales, sir, which may be some time yet, though he said he would be no longer than a fortnight. He has forbidden me to stay alone at Tallyn London House.”

Pamela looked at her, and Gwenyth knew she was remembering her threat to return to London if she did not behave. There was nothing to say to that, however, so Gwenyth ignored the look, keeping her gaze fixed upon the earl.

He returned her smile, his own showing visible relief and a touch of amusement as well. “I agree that you ought not to stay alone, ma’am, and my cousin will be grateful for your company.”

“This cousin will, certainly,” Jared said with a flirtatious wink. “But will you not regret missing the excitement in town, Lady Gwenyth?”

Deciding it was best to ignore his manner, Gwenyth replied calmly, “I shall no doubt find activities here to occupy my time, sir. I am not dependent upon balls or soirees to entertain me.”

“Balls and soirees,” said Pamela dreamily, rousing at once from her sulks. “I have never been to a real ball.”

“That is scarcely surprising,” Lyford said, “but you will no doubt go to many when you are a little older.”

Gwenyth, hoping to avoid an argument between the two, said quickly, “Once you are properly out, Pamela, you will soon find yourself so busy that you will scarcely have time to think. At the height of the Season, it is not unknown for a lady to visit as many as five parties in a single night.”

Pamela’s eyes lit up. “I daresay I shall never have to stay quietly at home.”

“To be sure,” Lyford said, “but for now you will have to be satisfied with my grandmother’s dinner party.”

She glared at him, but a look from Gwenyth was, for once, enough to prevent her from testing his patience any further.

Nothing of interest occurred in the days that followed, for apart from Sunday, when they attended services in Streatley, Gwenyth and Pamela spent their mornings in ladylike occupation in the morning room and their afternoons helping the older ladies entertain callers. Despite a steady stream of these, however, they provided little by way of stimulating entertainment, for they were all elderly and, for the most part, rather decrepit.

Most were gentlemen, for like the Berry sisters of London, Lady Lyford soon tired of the company of women. And Gwenyth soon tired of the elderly gentlemen. Apart from having her bottom pinched by two of the livelier ones, she found little in their company to amuse or interest her. Not, as she freely admitted, that they tried to divert her. They were much more interested in exchanging flirtatious repartee with their hostess, while Lady Cadogan tended to her knitting or to her tambour frame and Pamela or Gwenyth invited them to take sweet biscuits or wine.

By the following Wednesday, Gwenyth had had enough. She had seen little of Lyford or Jared except at the dinner table, and she had had a surfeit of women and old men. Above all, she wanted time and space to herself. More than once she had seen the earl or his cousin go down to the river after sunset and had assumed from the towels they carried that they went swimming, but despite the envy she felt for their activity, she had not returned to her backwater. Pamela’s reaction upon being asked to accompany her a second time having been a decided negative, she had not asked again, doing her best instead to stifle her growing frustration. However, at the sound of the front bell’s ringing for what must have been the twentieth time Wednesday afternoon, she suddenly stood up.

“I hope you will excuse me, ma’am,” she said to Lady Lyford. “I have just remembered something I must attend to.”

The countess, her mind on a tale the gray-haired gentleman at her side had been telling, merely waved a hand at her, but Lady Cadogan said, “What is it, my dear?”

Gwenyth looked at her helplessly. “I … I believe I am getting a headache, Aunt.”

“But you never … Oh.” Lady Cadogan looked around at the company and nodded. “I see. Perhaps some fresh air would help.”

Gwenyth nodded.

Pamela, seated beside Sir Spenser Newton on a claw-footed settee, said, “Do you wish me to go with you, Gwen?”

Sir Spenser took the opportunity to shoot a glare at the old gentleman beside the countess, and Gwenyth, seeing the look, hid a smile. “If you wish to do so, you may, certainly,” she said, “but it is not at all necessary.”

“Then I will stay here,” Pamela said cheerfully. “Sir Spenser is just telling me the most fascinating story about when Cromwell’s men took over Newton Park. They rode their horses right into that glorious house, Gwen, and burned volumes and volumes of precious books and papers! Can you credit it?”

Gwenyth shook her head, not wishing to be drawn into the discussion, and she was grateful when her understanding aunt made a surreptitious little gesture of dismissal. Heeding it, she fled to her bedchamber, ringing for Annie to fetch out her riding habit. When she was dressed, she slipped out and across the courtyard to the doorway leading into the stable wing.

The stables were quiet at the moment, so she walked quickly through them, sure she would find the grooms in the outer yard. Not until she saw Joey feeding a carrot to the young roan gelding she generally rode did she realize what she really wanted to do.

“Joey,” she said quickly, “can you saddle Prince Joseph if I help you?”

“Kin do it m’self,” the boy said scornfully, coming toward her, “but there b’ain’t no need. The others be just outside. Ben’s beginning ter train a young colt ’is lordship brung home. I’d a gorn ter watch ’im too, but ’e said I was ter muck out stalls instead. Don’t matter ’ow much a feller mucks, either,” he added dolefully. “There’s allus more muck ter muck.”

She chuckled. “You fetch the gear, and I’ll go ask Ben if you can come along as my groom. The practice will do you good.”

The boy’s eyes lit up enthusiastically, making her hope she could convince the stablemaster to let her take him.

G
WENYTH FOUND BEN FORBES
in the yard, as Joey had said she would. Neither Lyford nor Jared—fortunately, from her point of view at the moment—was anywhere to be seen. She knew Jared had intended to visit friends that afternoon, and assumed that the earl was once again doing the rounds of his tenant farms or attending to other estate business. She approached the group of stableboys and grooms watching Ben with the colt.

The stablemaster saw her and handed the lead rein to one of his minions. “D’ye need a mount, m’lady?”

“Yes, I do, but I’ve a favor to ask, Ben.” She explained that she wanted to take Joey with her.

“His lordship wouldn’t like it, ma’am. Ought ter have a proper groom, you ought.”

“I mean just to ride to the backwater where I swim, Ben, no further, and I promise we shan’t be gone above two hours. The thing is, you see, that Miss Beckley does not wish to go, and I want someone who will talk to me. You know how it is when one takes a groom. He is nervous of talking to a lady. But Joey interests me, and he will tell me things about the river and the nearby countryside.”

“That he will,” the head groom agreed with a grin. “He’ll chatter right willingly, but like as not I’d best send another along wi’ ye, ter be safe.”

“No, you mustn’t, for that would silence Joey as well. He would take his tone from the older groom.”

She had to exert herself to convince him, but at last Ben agreed, sending Ned only to oversee the saddling of Prince Joseph. By then, however, Joey had managed the task on his own and was standing with a smug look on his face beside the gentle gelding. A second horse, also saddled and bridled, stood nearby.

Ned looked at the boy sternly. “This b’ain’t yer task, lad. Like as not, ye’ve mucked it up.”

“No, I ain’t,” the boy said. “Even the cinches be tight. I waited till Prince Joseph stopped puffing ’is belly out, just like you do, and then I yanked ’er tight. I’m stronger nor what I look ter be, Ned.”

Checking girth, cinch, stirrup, and bridle, Ned nodded. “Looks good enough, I reckon, but ye’d best not let harm come to her ladyship, lest ye’ve a wish for a talk with the lord.”