Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) (20 page)

Archibald drew his brows together. ‘Oh yes? What’s she been up to now? Not offended your aunt, I hope?’

‘Oh, no, no.’ Frederick cleared his throat. His body tensed from jaw to toes. ‘Nothing like that. It was . . .’ He drew a deep breath. Words tumbled out. ‘I’m not a full lord and it’s George who’ll be duke and that’s what you want for her but she don’t. She wants to live in the country and ride horses and not go to dances with dowagers and I like the country and horses and I really think I really really think . . .’ The outpouring stopped. He dragged another breath into his lungs. The rest of his words dried on his lips.

Archibald studied him. His young face was flushed, his hair was disordered and there was a fair spattering of dust on his boots. ‘You think what, young man?’

‘I think I could make Miss Neave very happy.’ The tension in his shoulders suddenly departed and they slumped. He sat down rather suddenly.

Archibald leant forward in his chair. He propped one elbow on the table, balanced his chin on the palm and patted his fingers against his cheek. The other hand rested on his hip. He stared at Frederick watching the colour mount in his cheeks. After long moments that made Frederick feel he had aged thirty years, Archibald said, ‘You want to marry my girl?’

‘Yes, sir. Please. I’m sure she’d be happy with me.’

‘But would you be happy with her?’

Frederick stared. ‘Me? Happy with her? How can you ask? Miss Neave is the most splendid creature. She’s all I’ve ever wanted in a wife.’

‘So you’ve been looking for one.’

‘Well no.’ Puzzlement replaced Frederick’s surprise. ‘No.’ He stared at a gouge on the table. He rubbed a finger along it. ‘Until I grew to know her I didn’t know I wanted one.’

A gale of laughter burst from Archibald. He slapped his hand on the table. ‘Excellent. Excellent. That’s exactly how I felt about ’Minta’s ma. One minute all care and fancy free and the next . . .’ The words faded on a surprisingly sweet smile. He leant back and folded his arms across his ample stomach. ‘Well, I daresay if she says she’ll have you, I’d better agree.’

Frederick stared. He blinked. He stood up. He hurried round the table and grasped Archibald’s hand, shaking it vigorously in both of his. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you.’ The hand was shaken some more.

Archibald chuckled. ‘Now sit you down again. There are a few things we need to discuss.’

Frederick subsided onto his chair, his breath only now entering his lungs in anything like a normal manner.

‘Now, as you said, your pa’s a duke. What’s he going to say about you marrying a merchant’s girl?’

Worry clouded Frederick’s face. ‘I don’t know, sir. I know Mama was much taken with how Miss Neave cared for Miss Orksville. She said she would speak to His Grace.’

‘Hmmm.’ Archibald started stroking his chin again. ‘I’ve seen your Mama. She could persuade the stars to shine when the sun is out.’ He stroked some more then looked Frederick straight on the eye. ‘I’m a warm man. I want for nothing other than my girl’s happiness. She’s been used to the best of everything since she was out of short skirts. Do you intend to hang on me for your living?’

‘Good God, sir, no. I have a small estate from Mama. Not large, but enough to support a family there even if we can’t stretch to a place in London.’

Archibald stared at him some more. Frederick’s face grew hotter and hotter and pinker and pinker. At last Archibald sniffed. ‘Very well. Tell the girl you’ve my leave to ask her to wed you.’

Frederick leapt up again. He grabbed Archibald’s hand and subjected it to more vigorous pumping. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make her happy all her life.’ He dropped the hand and ran to the door. ‘I’ll . . . er, I’ll go now.’ He dragged at the latch. It took several seconds for him to get it open. He turned on the threshold. ‘Thank you sir. Thank you.’

Archibald chuckled as the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs receded.

Chapter Twenty Four

W
ilhelmina Orksville stirred on the day bed, restlessness in her every move.

‘I am perfectly recovered. I’m certain there is no reason at all why I may not dress and go downstairs.’ She snatched at the shawl off her legs and swung them onto the floor. ‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘I am more than certain that you do not wish me to be about.’ A long sniff accompanied a look drenched with suspicion. ‘No doubt Miss Pencombe is a most proper and upright female but she apparently thinks the duties of a chaperon extend no further than a greeting at breakfast followed by a quick departure to paint some view of the estate that has captured her fancy and not seen again ‘til dinner.’

‘Oh no, ma’am. She is most attentive.’ Araminta rescued the shawl. She took several more moments than was necessary in folding into quarters, searching for the words to disguise her pleasure in the rides and avoid a ban. Nonchalance coloured her words. ‘It is merely that I like to ride and she does not.’

‘But Lord Frederick does. I understand he is accustomed to ride out with you on every occasion. And you in that dreadful velvet.’

Araminta wondered how she had known about that transgression. No doubt Hollins had wilted under cross examination. The maid would be finding herself in need of a new position if she wasn’t careful. Araminta lifted her chin, her face pink. ‘His lordship is very considerate. He knows I prefer to gallop and the grooms do not. They can barely canter.’

Wilhelmina regarded the flush on her charge’s cheek with a certain amount of satisfaction. She suppressed a knowing smile. ‘Well, if you say so, I suppose I shall have to believe you.’ She returned her feet to the daybed. ‘Nevertheless, I shall be downstairs this afternoon. Then we shall see about grooms and galloping.’

‘Excellent.’ The word forced itself between Araminta’s teeth. She replaced the shawl, still folded, over Wilhelmina’s feet and swept towards the door.

‘And mind, if there is to be galloping, there must be no charging over hedges as I’ll be bound you do.’

Araminta swallowed the words that rose immediately to her lips. ‘No, of course not, ma’am.’

Backing out of the room with almost indecent haste, she hurried along the corridor to her own room. The maligned riding habit lay across the bed with the scandalous pair of men’s drawers she wore under it. The stunning gold velvet clashed spectacularly with the deep ruby chintz covering the bed, the chairs and draped at the single window. She ran to the bellpull and dragged it. For three minutes she fumbled unsuccessfully to undo the back of her white cambric gown until a panting Hollins hurried into the room, forgetting to curtsey.

‘Yes, miss?’

Araminta wriggled her shoulders and jabbed a finger over the left one towards the offending buttons. ‘Help me out of this quickly. I want to ride before . . . I mean . . . oh, just hurry up.’ She turned her back for Hollins to release the row of three cambric-covered buttons down the bodice of her dress. She wriggled her shoulders again until the short sleeves slid down to her elbows. Flapping her hands and dragging the cuffs over her wrists the gown fell to the floor like a soft white cloud. She kicked it away.

Hollins reached down to rescue it.

‘Never mind that, fetch my boots.’ Araminta stepped into the drawers and tightened the cord about her waist. A quick pull had the high-waisted divided skirt up to her hips. She wriggled her arms between the straps and buttoned up the sides. She reached for the short jacket.

Hollins watched, mouth open, until she roused herself from the fascination of such a garment. ‘Oh, miss,’ she said at last. ‘You’ve forgotten your chemisette.’

An exasperated groan filled the room. ‘Give it here then.’

Growing more flustered by the second, Hollins grabbed the tabard-like item, thankful it opened fully down the front and had no sleeves to further delay her mistress. She flung it over Araminta’s shoulders and fumbled to tie the ribbons at one side while Araminta, growling, poked the tiny buttons roughly through the matching holes. She fidgeted until Hollins had tied the other side then grabbed the jacket and levered herself into it. Bouncing onto the bed she stuck out her feet and kicked off her slippers. ‘Boots,’ she commanded.

Moments later she was gone. An exhausted Hollins slumped onto the bed clutching the abandoned calf slippers.

Araminta charged headlong down the stairs, regardless of propriety or that her whip was rattling along the spindles of the staircase. She hurried out of the house and sprinted, skirts raised in her hands, round to the stables. The building was impressive, its format traditional. Bordered on three sides by loose boxes, carriage houses and tack rooms with the grooms quarters above, the whole was enclosed on the fourth side of the square by a long brick wall patterned with bas relief columns and with a high arch in the centre. The inner courtyard thus created would easily have housed all the cottages of a small village.

She ran through the centre arch and almost collided with Lord Frederick.

‘Miss Neave!’ Frederick stepped back. ‘Is there some alarm, ma’am?’

‘What? Oh, no. Well not really.’

Frederick studied her flushed face. Turning her away from the groom who was leading Stirling to his loose box, he said. ‘Surely there is something? I beg you will tell me.’

Araminta screwed up her mouth. ‘Well . . .’ She sighed. ‘Miss Orksville has said she will come down this afternoon.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘No, no of course not. Only . . . well, I don’t mean to be rude about your father’s cousin but Miss Orksville thinks she has been too lax a chaperon. She says I must not ride out with you alone.’ She flicked her whip against the offending velvet. ‘Worse still, she says I must not gallop and certainly not take any fences.’ Her mouth turned down. She looked for all the world like a child deprived of its favourite toy.

‘Ah . . .’ Frederick swallowed his disappointment. ‘Well perhaps it is safest if you do not.’

A fiery glance shot in his direction.

‘Although, of course,’ he added hurriedly, ‘you are such an able horsewoman there can be no need for concern.’ He turned to the groom unaccountably lingering with Stirling. ‘Leave him. I’ll take him out again. Miss Neave is minded to ride.’

The groom had been with the estate since before Frederick was born. He suppressed a smile at the young lord’s struggling conversation with the unusual young miss. Handing over the reins, he walked off to see to the saddling of Pegasus as fast as his gammy leg would permit. In the minutes it took, every other member of stables staff found they had urgent tasks on the far side of the courtyard. The groom led Pegasus out to the stone mounting block. Standing back, he had an excellent view of the scandalous skirt that was denied to the others when Araminta jumped up the steps and mounted. He handed the reins to her. If anyone were to enquire of him, he decided he’d say Lord Frederick and the young miss would suit very well.

Araminta urged Pegasus into a brisk trot. She passed under the stable arch, heading for the spreading fields beyond the gardens. Frederick kicked his heels into Stirling’s flanks and followed. Buoyed by the results of his morning’s discussion with Archibald Neave, he was intent on finding a way to raise the topic of marriage.

Conversation was decidedly lacking. Frederick’s mind was wholly concentrated on the subject of marriage. Inspiration eluded him. Araminta failed to notice. Her initial annoyance at the possible – nay, probable restriction of her rides had given way to apprehension that had finally sunk into a thoroughly blue mood. The rides across the estate every morning had swept away all her resentment at the model behaviour she had been obliged her to follow. Every single moment had been a pleasure. The thought of no more freedom to gallop and jump took the light from her eyes and the smile from her face.

Lost in their own thoughts, Araminta and Frederick walked their horses sedately past a field of ripe corn. The field hands wielding scythes and sickles stopped and turned to watch. The two men nearest the five-barred gate pulled off their caps and bowed. Frederick acknowledged them with a vaguely raised whip.

Dragged from his cogitation by the sight, he said, ‘When I was a child I used to help them stack the sheaves into rooks.’ He stared wistfully at the field. ‘Of course, that was before I was sent to Eton.’

Araminta caught his poignant tone. ‘Oh you poor thing.’ She shook her head. ‘I cannot understand why anyone would send a child away from home. I wouldn’t.’

Surprised, Frederick perceived an opening. ‘Wouldn’t you? You would keep your children by you?’

‘Most certainly. It’s barbaric to send them off at such an age. Pa never sent me off.’

‘I quite agree. I would much prefer to have them about me too. With my wife, of course. A proper family.’ Frederick reined his horse to a halt. He cleared his throat. ‘Miss Neave . . . Araminta, I must tell you I have asked your father for permission to approach you.’

Araminta turned Pegasus in a circle until she faced him. ‘Approach me? Approach me about what?’

Frederick blinked at her. ‘Well . . . about making you an offer.’

‘Ah. You mean Pegasus for your mare.’ She shook her head. ‘There was no need. He’d already agreed.’ She urged Pegasus to continue at a faster pace.

Frederick spurred in pursuit. ‘No . . . no, Miss Neave. Not your horse, ma’am. You.’

Araminta turned ‘Me?’

Frederick grabbed her reins and pulled her to a halt. ‘Yes.’

Araminta was too startled to offer any complaint at his action. ‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

She stared at him and blinked. ‘You’re asking me to marry you?’

‘Of course. You must have noticed how particular I’ve been.’

‘Well . . . yes, I suppose I have. I thought . . . I thought we’d become friends.’

‘We are. You’re quite the best girl I know. Not at all missish. You don’t faint at loud noises. And you can ride.’

A warble of laughter greeted this remark. ‘You’d marry me because I’m not missish?’

Colour crept up his face. He dropped her reins. ‘I’m sorry. I beg your pardon. I see I have quite misunderstood. Permit me to escort you back to Lidgate.’

‘Now who’s being missish?’ Araminta caught his sleeve. ‘You really want to marry me?’

‘I do.’

‘Knowing I hate parties and don’t want to live in London but in the country with horses?’

‘Of course. Could you see me forever dancing attendance there on some pale little flower so she didn’t wail to her Mama?’

‘No. I must say I can’t.’

They stood facing each other while their horses skittered beneath them.

‘You’re quite
sure
you want to marry me?’

‘Absolutely.’

Araminta studied him. A small frown pleated her forehead. Their gallop had disordered his hair. It framed a face that was open and glowing with health. In no way did he resemble the vacuous creatures she had seen who favoured gaming tables and too much wine. Nor did the wrinkles and creases that usually affected his clothes betray conceit. Not that he couldn’t make the effort when he wanted to. Best of all, he liked horses.

Frederick shuffled in his saddled under the scrutiny.

Unaware of the effect of her steady regard, she realised the value she had come to place on his company.

The scrutiny proved too much. Frederick’s hope began to fade. ‘Don’t you think you could bear company with me?’

‘Oh, yes. Easily.’ Araminta looked into his blue eyes. ‘In fact . . . well, I hadn’t quite realised until this morning how much I enjoy you being here. As soon as Miss Orksville said we’d have to stop riding out, well . . .’ Puzzlement covered her face. ‘It’s just that . . . I’d supposed there would be a big crash of emotion. You know, when one . . .
knew
. Lots of sighing and wilting. That’s what I’ve heard girls chatter about in novels.’ She frowned. ‘And making good matches, of course. But I . . . well, I don’t sigh when I’m with you. I’m most comfortable when I am.’ She looked most urgently at him. ‘I can stop pretending what I’m not.’

‘Well, then?’ Frederick urged Stirling closer. He reached for Araminta’s hand. ‘Do please say yes, Miss Neave. I am very partial to you.’

Much to her surprise, Araminta experienced a significant crash of emotion. She sighed pleasantly. ‘Well . . . if Papa agreed –’

‘He did, he did.’

Araminta adopted her most falsely-simpering expression. ‘Then Lord Frederick Danver, Miss Araminta Primrose Neave is much honoured by your offer and is delighted to accept.’

She was rewarded with the widest schoolboy grin. ‘Excellent. Excellent.’

Araminta laughed, then stopped. ‘What about your Papa? Will he agree?’

‘I’m sure he will. Eventually. Mama knows and she will help.’

‘I hope so. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any . . . difficulty.’

Frederick dismissed the idea with a wave of his whip. ‘Oh, it will be fine. It will all be fine. Shall we gallop? We really should tell Miss Orksville and Aunt Leonora.’

‘And Pa.’

They grinned at each other.

‘Race you,’ Araminta called, spurring Pegasus towards a hawthorn hedge.