Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) (19 page)

‘I trust you persuaded her?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’ She paused at the foot of the table. Miss Pencombe had chosen, not the head but the centre of one side.

‘Don’t dawdle.’ She wafted a hand at the chairs opposite. ‘Sit yourselves where I can have a good look at you.’

Her eyes were upon the ruby evening gown Araminta had smuggled into her trunk. She swallowed but no words of censure were uttered.

Frederick held a chair for Araminta before seating himself.

‘Now,’ Miss Pencombe announced, ‘we can have a decent conversation. I object to shouting at people along lengths of oak. Tell me about your adventures. And your father. He’s in Trade, I hear.’

Araminta’s heart sank. Surely now there would be pointed remarks about her
Trade
connection. Her eyes threatened to spark. She kept them lowered for Frederick’s sake.

‘I’ve never thought it proper to condemn a person for their station,’ Miss Pencombe continued. ‘Dear Angelica’s father was quite poor.’ She shook her head. ‘Such a sad loss.’

Araminta and Frederick shared a look. ‘Indeed,’ Frederick said at last.

Miss Pencombe stared at the place setting before her, apparently lost in thought. ‘And John Opie’s Papa was actually a carpenter.’ Her head wagged slowly from side to side. ‘The last years have lost us so many wonderful painters.’ She was lost in her thoughts.

Gloomy silence descended. Only soft-footed men bearing platters to the table disturbed it. Spoons clanked, knives and forks clicked. Sounds developed outside the room. Hopton glared at everyone and paced slowly towards the door. It opened. A short man of portly stature with cheeks sheened from the effort of mounting the stairs stood on the threshold. A footman hovered behind.

All heads turned towards him.

‘Pa!’ Araminta said. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

Chapter Twenty Three

F
rederick leapt to his feet.

‘Mr Neave! This is unexpected, sir.’

Archibald waddled forward. The two capes on his travelling coat flapped and its hem swayed. His hand also flapped towards Lord Frederick. ‘Now, now, my lord. No need to leap about on my account. And don’t fret yourself. I haven’t come to stay. I only wanted to be sure my girl and Miss Orksville were safely arrived.’

‘We have, Pa . . . I mean Papa.’ Araminta cast a quick glance across the table. ‘Ma’am, please allow me to present my father. Papa, this is Miss Pencombe, the Duke’s cousin.’

Archibald bowed, creaking slightly. ‘Good evening, ma’am. I apologise for interrupting your meal. I’ll be off now I’ve seen my girl.’

‘You most certainly will not, Mr Neave.’ Miss Pencombe looked at a gawping Hopton. ‘Lay another cover if you please and then prepare a room.’

‘No, no.’ Archibald waved both hands. ‘I’ll thank you for my dinner but I’m settled at the Woolpack. They’ve a pretty room there that suits me just fine.’

Miss Pencombe inclined her head. ‘As you wish, sir. Pray be seated beside Miss Neave.’

Archibald slid his coat off his shoulders. He held it out until a footman, nudged by Hopton’s bony elbow, leapt forward to relieve him of it.

‘How does Miss Wilhelmina?’

‘Tired but comfortable, Papa.’

Walking behind her chair, he patted her on the top of her head. ‘Excellent.’ He sat down. The creaking recurred.

Frederick was fairly certain it was not the chair despite its age and Mr Neave’s circumference. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you, sir. You’re set up at the Woolpack you said?’

‘I am indeed. Do you know it?’

‘I do indeed.’ Over the years, he and his brother had acquired quite a lengthy acquaintance with mine host. The Duke had enjoyed a similar acquaintance with mine host’s father. The pranks all three had enjoyed in their different times were known but never mentioned by either landlord.

‘Oh, yes,’ Frederick answered. He tilted his head slightly. ‘Hopton, why are we waiting?’

Recalled from his bemused regard of Lidgate Hall’s newest guest, Hopton urged his underlings into action.

Dinner progressed in a comfortable manner. Miss Pencombe pushed Archibald to recount his experiences in India. He obliged most willingly but faltered when questioned about the colours of the scenery and palaces. He was delighted when she announced the ladies would not withdraw.

‘I think we should regard this as a family party, Mr Neave. There is no need for us to leave while you take your port and cigars.’

‘Thank you ma’am, but I rarely smoke them. I find I do not care for the taste.’

Miss Pencombe nodded. ‘Very wise, sir. I believe them to be injurious to one’s health.’

No-one could think of any suitable response. Especially not Frederick. He had been eagerly anticipating some private conversation with Araminta’s father. As it was, the speech he had been planning since she’d galloped across the Lidgate fields was reduced to a short comment while he escorted him to the front door.

‘Are you departing early tomorrow, sir?’

‘No, no. Not before midday.’

‘Excellent. Then perhaps I may be permitted to wait upon you at the Woolpack?’

‘Wait upon me?’ Archibald’s eyebrows rose towards his feathery hairline. ‘As you wish, my lord. As you wish.’

Much relieved, Frederick bowed him into his carriage and watched until it had disappeared from sight.

He took himself back inside, a happy smile on his face.

The sun had barely risen sufficient to shine on Lidgate Hall’s long façade and brighten its many-paned windows before Araminta was up, dressed and pacing outside the heavy front door. Two grooms were walking Pegasus and a dark grey hunter up and down the spread of gravel. The horses’ breaths sent drifts of warm vapour into the crisp September morning. Beyond them the dew on the sweeping lawn glimmered like silk in the early light. Mist hung under a grove of dark chestnut trees in the distance.

She had ample time to examine the panorama from side to side and back again before Frederick appeared.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, slightly out of breath and with his hair combed only by his fingers.

‘Never mind about me, it’s the horses.’ She hurried to Pegasus. Taking the reins from the groom and grasping the pommel she bent her left knee. The groom stared at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘Hurry up,’ she said.

‘But miss, that be a proper saddle. Not a lady’s.’

‘I know that. I don’t ride side-saddle.’

‘Right, miss. Well . . . if’n you say so.’ The groom bent. With both hands under Araminta’s horizontal shin, he hoisted her aloft, fearful she would tangle herself in her skirts and fall. He prepared himself to catch her. She did not. She swung one leg over the saddle. The gold velvet divided. In a second she was safely mounted astride.

The other groom’s mouth dropped open. Frederick snatched the reins from him. ‘Stop gaping at the lady.’ Foot in the stirrup, he mounted and settled himself. ‘Don’t stand around here.’ He flicked his whip at the two men. ‘Get back to your work. Tell Gilbert we’ll return in an hour.’

The grooms nodded. They watched the pair ride off.

‘Well,’ said one.

‘Yer,’ said the other.

‘Never saw the like.’ The first groom shook his head. ‘Not ever.’ He turned towards the end of the house, prepared to give the second coachman his lordship’s message and his own view of the scandalous garb the young miss was sporting.

The morning air brought smudges of rose to Araminta’s cheeks. Her eyes sparkled. As the pair left Lidgate’s immediate grounds and trotted into the first of the gently rolling fields that surrounded it she nudged a heel into Pegasus’s flank. The creature, eager to take flight, stretched his neck, lengthened his stride and launched into a full gallop. Araminta’s skirts flew out. The tassel on her bonnet bounced and waved like a pennant in the wind. She approached the five-barred gate into the next field at speed.

‘Yikes.’ Frederick urged Stirling into her wake. His concern mounted. The gate was high and firmly shut. Nothing a lady could take. But then, he told himself, Miss Neave was no usual lady. And Pegasus was no usual lady’s mount. Her height matched his and he was sure her courage was his equal.

The gate was mere yards away. Araminta bent forwards then back as Pegasus flew over it. Both landed safely. A surge of pleasure such as Frederick rarely felt washed over him.

‘Never known a girl jump like that.’ Kicking his heels into Stirling’s flanks, they covered the final paces to the gate and launched after her.

A headlong gallop took them across several more fields, through gates and over hedges. They only reined in at a copse of dark green trees topping the highest of the surrounding downs.

Araminta’s faced was flushed with effort, wind and outright pleasure.

‘You enjoyed that.’ Frederick reined in beside her.

‘Oh, yes.’ She walked Pegasus in small circles until his flanks stopped heaving. ‘How could anyone not? It’s such a delight.’

‘I don’t know any ladies with your seat on a horse. Most would have fallen at the first gate. Not that they’d have faced it at all.’

‘Oh, nonsense. It was only a small one.’ Pegasus tossed his head and she reached down to pat his gleaming neck. ‘This is far better than prissy dances and stuffy tea parties.’ She allowed Pegasus to execute another circle.

Frederick’s morning brightened. Any suspicion that her previous assertion was only for politeness vanished. ‘You definitely do prefer the country then?’ Stirling snorted and turned away. Frederick pulled him back. ‘Mr Neave has a house out of London perhaps?’

‘No he hasn’t. Our only house is the one in the City. I’m hoping to persuade him to buy one where I can ride to my heart’s content.’

‘But I thought . . . I mean . . . one had supposed . . .’ His eagerness trailed away.

‘That I’d be wed and in a husband’s home?’ Araminta shrugged. ‘I’m not minded to. Not if it means endless tea parties.’ Pegasus demanded her attention again. She patted his neck and smoothed his mane. ‘I shall be sorry to disappoint Pa but I’d rather marry a country squire than a lord.’

The sun’s warmth shining on Frederick weakened. His title was only a courtesy one, bestowed because his father was a duke. ‘He’s set on a lord then?’

‘Oh yes.’ Araminta turned a cheerful face towards him. ‘But I’m not.’

The sun turned warm again.

‘When . . . if . . . I marry it will be someone I can like at the very least. Lord or no lord.’

‘But won’t Mr Neave be disappointed? If it isn’t a lord, I mean. A real one, not a courtesy one.’

Pegasus pawed the ground. Araminta pulled his reins in and his head down. ‘Not really. I told him at the start that I didn’t care for lords.’ Pegasus pulled at the constraint and tossed his head, whinnying displeasure. ‘I wanted to go back to India. That’s not possible now so it must be a country life instead.’

Frederick’s day grew warmer. He viewed the fields with pleasure. ‘Shall we canter back?’

‘Canter? I don’t think Pegasus likes to canter.’ A decided sparkle entered Araminta’s eyes. ‘I’ll race you.’

She released Pegasus’s head and he launched into a gallop.

‘Yikes.’ Frederick set off in delighted pursuit.

Back at the house, his exhilaration faded. The interview with Mr Neave loomed. He knew . . . hoped . . . thought . . . was almost certain he had a chance with Araminta. Her father was another matter. He picked at his breakfast. Lidgate tradition had it that breakfast was substantial. Chafing dishes of devilled kidneys, kippers and shirred eggs remained untouched by him if not by Araminta.

Seated across the table from him, she tucked into a plate piled with kidneys and eggs with a slice of cold York ham on the side. ‘How strange.’ She watched him pushing a sliver of cold roast beef across his plate. ‘A morning gallop always makes me hungry.’

Frederick regarded the beef with a doleful eye. ‘I have some business in the village I must attend to this morning.’

Araminta swallowed a mouthful of egg. ‘You fear it will not go well?’

‘I hope it will but perhaps . . .’

‘Pa is very good at business. Is it something where he might help?’

A crack of humourless laughter met her remark. ‘Perhaps he might.’

‘Well ask him. I’m sure he will do all he can to aid you.’ She smiled encouragement at him then reapplied herself to the kidneys.

Frederick regarded her in silence. The flush from their gallop through the cool morning had not quite left her cream cheeks. A single strand of auburn curls had escaped its pins and brushed against one ear. A sweep of dark lashes veiled her misty-grey eyes. She cut into the ham with a grip of competent hands on the silver cutlery. His determination returned. In every way, she was worth risking a paternal rebuttal. Even estrangement from his own father if needs be. He flung down his linen napkin and rose.

‘Please excuse me. I must be away.’

Araminta waved a knife at him. ‘Good luck. I hope it goes well for you.’

Fredrick bowed. ‘So do I, ma’am. So do I.’

The ride to the Woolpack wound through magnificent countryside. Trees were just touched with the first autumn gold. Cattle chewed contentedly in the fields. A few raised their heads and lowed as Frederick passed. The sound did not disturb his thoughts. Too many were crowded into his head. He muttered soundlessly, rehearsing phrases he hoped would make him acceptable to Archibald Neave. None convinced him.

Inspiration still failed by the time he reined Stirling in at the black-timbered inn. A servant hurried out of the door. Frederick dismounted and handed the reins to him. Mine host, Matthew Leverton, appeared at a statelier pace.

‘Your lordship. Welcome, welcome. Come you in. We’ve a new draught of ale just broached. Daisy,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘pull a tankard for his lordship.’

‘No thank you, Matthew. I’m here to see Mr Neave.’

‘Ah, yes, the London gentleman. He’s breaking his fast in our best parlour. Here, Daisy, show my lord up to Mr Neave.’

A buxom lady of middle years with a smiling face bustled out of the door. ‘Good morrow, Master Frederick.’ In her younger, unmarried years Mistress Leverton had been the Ellonby’s nursery nurse at Lidgate Hall. His lordship would always be Master Frederick to her.

She led the way up a dark stair and hammered on the first door at the left. Without waiting for an answer she lifted the latch and opened it.

‘Here you are, Mr Neave, sir, a visitor from the Hall.’

Archibald looked up from the table, a forkful of Mistress Leverton’s renowned ham halfway to his mouth. He set down his fork and beckoned. ‘Come in, come in, my lord. Have you eaten?’

‘Er . . . yes, thank you.’

‘Ah well, sit you down. You won’t mind me continuing. This ham is the best I’ve tasted.’ He beamed at Mistress Leverton. ‘If you have any to spare, ma’am, I’ll take it back with me.’

Mistress Leverton blushed, declared and vowed herself mighty honoured by his attention. Still declaring how honoured she was and how gratified her Matthew would be, she bustled out of the room and clicked the door shut behind her.

Frederick hovered on the brink of speech. Then it occurred to him that interrupting the man he hoped would be his father-in-law while he was making such a good fist of demolishing a plate of ham was probably not the best way to start. He dragged out the chair opposite Archibald and plumped down. Silence descended, broken only by the sound of chewing.

Archibald Neave conveyed the last forkful of ham into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He took a large swig of home–brewed ale and announced he was well satisfied.

‘Now then, my lord. Grand as it is to see you, I must be off in half of the hour.’

Frederick leapt to his feet as if stuck with a cattle prod. ‘Oh, I beg pardon. If I’d realised you were pressed for time I’d have come earlier.’

Archibald smiled. ‘I doubt you’d have had time. I’ll wager that girl of mine had you out galloping before you’d broken your fast.’

Frederick breathed out. Araminta had been mentioned. The problem he had struggled with since leaving Lidgate was solved. ‘Actually, sir, it was about Miss Neave I wished to talk to you.’