Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (7 page)

It took about twenty minutes for them to come into sight of their destination. Emerging from the trees, the large, gracious house was the first sight that greeted his gaze. It was set well back from the road on a rise, a substantial four-story manor built out of the grey stone that characterized many of the buildings in Yorkshire. Gardens, both formal and informal, surrounded it and at its back was the verdant backdrop of forest, the greys and greens of the trees making a picturesque framework for the building that nestled before them like an elegant jewel.

‘Your home?’ he inquired, eyeing it appreciatively. It was an impressive place that had been beautifully designed and it was impossible not to admire it. It certainly measured up to his old family home very favorably and Barnstable was widely acknowledged to be something of a beauty.

‘Cloverton Hall,’ she told him. He caught the note of pride in her voice and commended it. She had every right to be proud of such a place. If their circumstances were reversed, he knew he would feel much the same way. He
had
felt the same way about Barnstable. With the skill of lengthening practice, he ignored the twist of pain that went through him.

Thoughts of Barnstable were likely to haunt him for a very long time.

‘It’s very impressive.’

‘I think so but then, I am very fond of it.’

He led Hermes on, passing through twin stone lintels, flanked on one side by a small cottage, a gatehouse by the look of it. The estate was beautifully maintained, the wide driveway sweeping forward between lines of old sessile oaks that were well into budding bright green spring tips. The driveway opened up to an expansive courtyard and an impressive entry portico on which stood quite a crowd of people.

He heard a sigh from behind him, heard a muttered, ‘Oh,
drat
,’ and surmised that the arrival of the horse without its rider had caused quite a stir. It was unfortunate; he had been hoping to deposit his burden and steal away without having to go through any needless pleasantries but, as a large, middle-aged man started down the steps the moment he’d caught sight of them, Marcus supposed this was not to be. The gentleman that hustled towards them was well dressed in the unexceptional clothes of any well-heeled, well-bred country squire and when he approached, Marcus could see the man’s brown hair was greying and that his eyes were wide with anxious concern.

‘Johanna!’ he bellowed in obvious relief. ‘Good God girl, where have you
been
?’

‘Really Papa, I am quite all right. There is no need to make such a fuss!’

‘No need – Are you mad? I thought you were dead! That wretched horse came back without you and I feared… well, you know perfectly well what I feared! How dare you go out without a groom when I specifically -’

‘Papa, please!’ she broke in, exasperated. ‘We have a guest. What will he think of us?’

A very nice deflection, Marcus noted with amusement, although he would hardly consider himself a
guest
. Not that it mattered; the pronouncement did what it was designed to do, make the man – Sir Antony Claybourn, if he had the right of it – pause mid-diatribe. He looked at Marcus for the first time and then looked again, no doubt taken aback by the amount of mud that coated this unexpected ‘guest’s’ person. As well he might. Marcus did not like to consider what a picture he presented but he had a very good idea. So many days in the saddle had hardly prepared him for a social event and today had been particularly hard on his clothing.

‘Ah… good day to you Sir,’ the man said doubtfully, while Marcus walked around to hand the girl down. She slid off Hermes’ back easily, giving him a dimpled smile when she was solidly grounded once more. Sir Antony didn’t appear to know what to think of this act of courtesy. In fact, he looked rather like he would like to snatch his daughter away from such an unprepossessing stranger.

‘Good day,’ Marcus returned pleasantly. ‘She is quite unharmed, I can assure you. Just a little tumble.’

‘A little tumble! It’s a wonder she didn’t break her neck. I won’t have you riding that creature again, Johanna. I knew that she was too high-spirited for you the moment I saw her. Why I ever let you persuade me -’

‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ his daughter broke in hurriedly. ‘Belle had a shock, that was all. She was spooked and she is not quite used to things as yet.’

‘What spooked her?’ her father demanded suspiciously.

‘Oh, you know how highly strung she is,’ his daughter said airily. ‘It was nothing, really. I shall be more careful next time. I was… distracted.’ She shot Marcus a pleading look.

‘I can assure you Sir, your daughter came to no harm. I heard her and it was my honor to render assistance and return her to you,’ Marcus said amiably. He supposed he really should tell the man the truth of the matter but, having decided the fellow was of an excitable temperament in matters concerning his daughter, it seemed easier to go along with Miss Claybourn’s version of events. ‘I wouldn’t allow her to go out without a groom again, however,’ he added, unable to resist. ‘She probably requires supervision.’

Miss Claybourn gave him an indignant look. ‘Thank you
so
much,’ was all she said however. ‘I will be quite certain to take your advice.’ She looked back at her father. ‘Papa? Should we not invite my rescuer in to tea?’

Both Marcus and Sir Antony were equally nonplussed by this suggestion and Marcus wondered if this was swift retribution for his unwelcome suggestion. The last thing he wanted was to sit in an elegantly furnished drawing room and partake of tea, not in the state he was in. And even if he wasn’t covered with the dirt of the road, he had no desire to mingle with the small group of people that were still standing on the broad stone entryway, eyeing the proceedings with considerable interest.

‘That is unnecessary,’ he assured Sir Antony hastily. ‘I must be on my way.’

But Sir Antony had recovered his wits and his manners and had concluded that he certainly owed his daughter’s rescuer some courtesy. ‘Nonsense, my boy, nonsense. Johanna is quite right. I owe you a debt of gratitude and the least I can do is repay you with some refreshments. Do come inside.’

Marcus ground his teeth, all the harder when he caught the wicked glint in Miss Claybourn’s eyes. The little wretch! Still, he was determined to give escape one last try.

‘Thank you Sir, but I am hardly dressed for tea. As you can see, I am covered in mud.’

‘We’ll clean you up, have no fear of that. Come along now. We have been out looking for my daughter for a good half an hour. I have dispatched riders to search for her but I daresay they will return soon enough. We’re late for tea, Johanna and you know how your grandmother feels about that.’ There was a resigned note in the man’s voice as he said these last words, as if upsetting the grandmother was something to be avoided at all costs. Marcus gave an inward sigh. He
could
wrench himself away and return to his interrupted journey but he would have to be exceedingly rude to do so and the man had done nothing to warrant such discourtesy. It was hardly his host’s fault that he was in this predicament.

‘It’s very good of you,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘I would love to stay for tea.’

‘You can clean up inside,’ Miss Claybourn said in a kindly voice that made him want to swat her. He followed on as a groom was summoned to take Hermes. Miss Claybourn took Marcus’ arm and gave him a sidelong glance from beneath those wickedly long lashes. ‘I know it is the last thing you wish to do but I would hate you to go off without a proper expression of gratitude. On two counts,’ she murmured, ‘One for saving me from bandits and the other for not telling my father the true story.’

‘And this is how you repay me?’ he hissed back indignantly.

‘Good heavens, it is not the end of the world. It will only take an hour. You can meet the other guests and say good afternoon to my grandmother.’

‘Oh, joy,’ he muttered, unable to stop himself. He heard a quick, hastily muffled gurgle of laughter. This is what a fellow gets for helping out a damsel in distress, he thought glumly. No good deed goes unpunished.
I should have let those two cretins rob her, or pretend to. Hugo could have ridden to the rescue and I would not be preparing to fumble my way through what is sure to be a damnably uncomfortable hour…

They ascended the stairs, Sir Antony talking all the while. There were three well-dressed individuals; two gentlemen and a lady, standing with the servants. One of them, a young fellow, stepped forward impetuously.

‘Miss Claybourn, I was so worried -’

‘Hello James,’ she said, tone repressive. ‘Did you come for tea? I suppose your mother and your sister are here as well?’

‘What? Oh… yes, of course. They are inside. I would have gone looking for you as well but -’

‘But there was absolutely no need,’ Miss Claybourn said firmly. ‘As you can see, I am quite all right.’

‘Not entirely.’ The other gentleman, a fair-haired fellow, was surveying Johanna Claybourn with lazy amusement. ‘For you are, my dear girl,’ he drawled, ‘in something of a state. Took a tumble, did you? That mare of yours
is
rather high-spirited. You had your father in quite a state. What a naughty creature you are, running off in such a way.’

There was something about that voice and the mocking intonation beneath the words that caused Marcus’ hackles to rise instinctively. He took a closer look at the man’s face and saw what might be missed if one was not looking; faint lines of dissipation around the mouth, the beginnings of pouches beneath the blue eyes… Marcus had seen more than enough of the world to recognize the signs of dissolution. The fellow must have been working on his from quite an early age for he did not look all that old. He sensed, rather than felt, the girl stiffen beside him.

‘Papa is prone to excitability,’ she said coolly. ‘As you can all see, my lord, I am perfectly well.’ The change in her voice when she addressed the man was marked. With the lad she had called James she had been all patient civility but a note of ice had crept into her voice the moment she spoke to the other, older man.

One hardly had to be an intellectual to tell that Miss Claybourn did not care for him in the least and Marcus eyed the fellow thoughtfully, wondering what he was doing there.

‘Are you sure you took no hurt, my dear?’ the woman, tall, slim and with the same golden hair as the gentleman and who shared enough facial characteristics as to surely indicate a relationship, cooed the words in mellifluous tones although, even as she spoke, her eyes were accessing Marcus. ‘You had us dreadfully worried.’

‘Really Mrs. Gordon? How odd.’

This was also said in somewhat frosty tones, leaving Marcus in no doubt that Miss Claybourn did not like the female any more than the male. In fact, the words were barely courteous but the woman did not take offence, but continued to smile her cool smile. ‘But how could we not be. Your father is forever telling us how reckless his little girl is.’

‘Papa,’ Miss Claybourn said, without any particular inflection, ‘is inclined towards hysteria.’

‘Well you certainly do not seem to be hurt,’ the man allowed, his eyes lingering on her face admiringly. ‘Only you, Miss Claybourn, could look so delightful after such an alarming experience.’

‘I was not at all alarmed.’

‘Yes, well come along,’ Sir Antony said hastily, shooing the small collection of people before him as one would a flock of unruly ducks. ‘Tea is waiting and mister… oh my heavens, I don’t even know you name, Sir! Never mind. Harmon will show you where you may clean up and then show you to the drawing room. We can all make the proper introductions then.’

‘I need to clean up myself, as well,’ Miss Claybourn said, glancing down at her muddied skirts ruefully. ‘If you will all excuse me?’

‘Yes, my dear, but don’t be too long. Remember your grandmother -’

‘Yes Papa, I know. I will hurry.’

Marcus was led away by the butler, who quickly arranged for hot water and the cleaning of his boots. This excellent individual also sponged the worst of the mud from his breeches and generally tidied him up with the smooth efficiency that denoted a truly excellent majordomo.

‘I’m afraid I should change completely,’ Marcus observed, wiping a warm cloth over his face. It came away brown.

‘We can manage very well, Sir,’ Harmon assured him and, sure enough, not ten minutes later he emerged remarkably unsullied. With his greatcoat removed and his neckcloth tied a little more elegantly he looked quite passable. The brown jacket of superfine was well cut, at least and he had put on a fresh linen shirt that very morning. It was a pity he could not exchange his dark brown breeches for a cleaner pair but the worst of the grime was gone and his boots had been returned to him in excellent condition. Sir Antony’s staff had wrought a small miracle and he was shown to the drawing room relatively confident that he would not look too much like a muddied greenhorn. Taking a deep breath, he mentally girded himself and stepped into the fray.