Miss Richardson Comes Of Age (Zebra Regency Romance) (11 page)

“Have you noticed?” Celia asked. “There are flowers everywhere! I love it.”

“I certainly did not remember those under the previous earl,” Letty said, “though I think the rose gardens here have always claimed a marked degree of fame.”

“Maybe the Manor has a new housekeeper,” Annabelle said.

“Hmm. I do not
think
that to be the case,” Letty said absently.

“Well. We
know
it has a new earl,” Celia declared.

Just then their host entered, accompanied by Charles and Helen Rhys. They were obviously not brand-new arrivals. Helen looked quite at home hanging on Thorne’s arm, Annabelle noted with what could only be a twinge of sheer jealousy.

“Helen and Charles arrived yesterday.” Celia confirmed Annabelle’s observation. “They all knew each other in Belgium, you know.”

“Yes,” Letty said softly. “I think she had a schoolgirl’s infatuation for Major Wainwright.”

“Well, it appears to have blossomed into a genuine
tendre
for his lordship,” Celia quipped, again confirming Annabelle’s thoughts.

Annabelle recalled seeing the Rhys brother and sister at
ton
affairs. Now that she thought of it, yes, Thorne had seemed especially friendly with them on occasion. Was he paying suit to the sister? And if he were, of what concern could that possibly be to Annabelle Richardson? Immediately, she wondered if he had kissed Helen Rhys with the same fervor he had shown in the garden at the Finchley ball.

By early evening all the guests had arrived and it was a lively group that collected in the music room after a hearty supper. Several ladies showed off their skills and the company was generally pleased. This was not an area in which Annabelle excelled. She loved music, but had always felt all thumbs at any instrument. Tonight she felt her inadequacy acutely.

Helen Rhys enlisted Thorne’s aid in turning her pages, but from the way she kept casting him coy glances, Annabelle surmised she knew the piece by heart and needed no aid at all. Then she mentally shook herself for her pettiness.

“She plays so beautifully,” one of the matrons sitting with Aunt Gertrude gushed as Miss Rhys performed.

“The two of them make a very attractive picture there,” observed Lady Conwick, who had been introduced as Thorne’s aunt and his hostess.

Annabelle had to agree sourly that they did. His dark good looks provided startling contrast to Helen’s fragile silvery-blond beauty.

Later in the evening, Thorne announced that he had made mounts available for those of his guests who would care to ride but had not brought their own cattle.

As a small child, Annabelle had been given a pony by her doting papa. When both her parents were lost at sea, Annabelle’s riding days had abruptly ended. She spent the next six years confined to a girls’ boarding school with very few riding opportunities. Only when she came under the guardianship of Marcus and Harriet had she taken up riding again. She had done so with gusto. Even in the city she rode in the early mornings three or four times a week. Thus, she welcomed Thorne’s offer.

She arose early the next morning, donned her riding habit, and made her way to the stables. A groom welcomed her at the stable door with some surprise.

“We didn’t expect any o’ his lordship’s guests quite so early, miss.”

“Oh? Well, I
should
like to go riding, but I do not wish to inconvenience anyone. If you’d rather I came back later . . .”

“No. No. ‘Tain’t no inconvenience. We’ll get ye a mount right quick-like. Luckily, they’ve been fed already and we was just groomin’ them.”

Annabelle smiled at the man. “As I am the first, have I a choice?”

“Well, I s’pose ye do at that. Never ye fret, miss. We’ll get ye a fine mount.”

She waited patiently despite her eagerness to be off. In a few minutes the groom returned, leading a small, roan-colored mare who appeared to be quite docile. The animal stood quietly at the mounting steps.

“Is this the horse you have for
me?
” she asked.

“Yes, miss. Penney’s a sweet thing. No trouble at all.”

“I am quite sure she would be a most proper mount for a child. But I had in mind something taller and with more spirit,” she said firmly. She thought she heard a chuckle from beyond the stable door.

The groom gave her a doubtful look that clearly measured her petite stature. “Be ye sure now, miss? Penney’s easy ta handle . . .”

“I am
quite
sure.”

The groom led Penney back into the stable and returned shortly with another mare, a taller dappled gray whose pricked ears and alert eyes exhibited more interest in her surroundings.

“This’n we calls Jessie.” The groom’s voice held a note of warning. “I have ta tell ye, though, that’s short for Jezebel—an’ with reason! ”

Annabelle approached the horse, who seemed wary. She extended her hand to the horse’s muzzle to allow the animal to smell her, then patted the mare’s neck. “Oh, I think Jessie and I will be able to come to terms with each other.”

“Yes, miss. Well, if you will hold on for a few more minutes, I’ll jus’ saddle another mount for meself. His lordship don’t want no ladies goin’ off by theirselves.”

“Well, if he insists . . .” Annabelle was prepared to honor the rules of the house.

“He does,” called a voice from within the stable. “That’s all right, Tom. I shall accompany Miss Richardson this morning.” Thorne Wainwright led a magnificent black gelding from the stable.

“Have you been in there the whole time?” she asked, indignant.

He grinned at her. “That I have. Interesting exchange, that was.”

“Well! You might have said something earlier.”

“I
might
have,” he agreed calmly, holding both horses as she climbed the mounting steps and settled herself in the sidesaddle. Then he swung himself onto the black and they were off.

Annabelle was busy for a few minutes in a struggle of wills with Jessie, but eventually the mare seemed to recognize that she had met her match and settled into an even gait. Annabelle was very conscious of Thorne watching from behind, ready to come to her rescue if necessary. She felt mildly triumphant when it clearly was not necessary.

“Well done, Annabelle.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Hmm.” He made a mockery of pretending to think. “Correct me if I am mistaken, but I seem to recall that we agreed on ‘Thorne’ and ‘Annabelle’ as forms of address. Have I done something to lose that privilege?”

Annabelle swallowed and tried to think. She could not very well scream Yes! you insensitive dolt, you attacked me in my most vulnerable spot! Instead, she said as casually as she could, “Why, so we did, Thorne.” She met his gaze only briefly, then said, “What say we see what these splendid animals can do?”

“What have you in mind?”

“A race.”

“I never race without a wager,” he said.

She laughed. “For what stakes? Shall I offer you my firstborn son if I lose?”

“Hmm. That would be tempting.” She felt herself blush at his wicked grin. “No. Nothing so drastic. The winner will determine the forfeit.”

“Jessie and I will need a head start.”

“Fair enough. We shall race to the edge of that copse of trees on the hill there.” He pointed some distance away. “There is a marvelous view from up there. And you may have a lead as far as that old elm in the middle of the field.” He pointed again.

The mare was game, but even with a lead, she was no match for the black. Thorne turned in the saddle to await Annabelle’s arrival. He dismounted somewhat awkwardly and reached to help her dismount. She slid into his arms cautiously, afraid of unbalancing him.

“I promise not to fall,” he said.

“Oh, well—if you promise . . .” She laughed nervously.

He set her on her feet and released her. Did he do so reluctantly? she wondered. She stepped back and put her hands on her hips.

“Well? You won. What is the forfeit to be?”

He grinned and gazed at her mouth. She felt herself holding her breath.

“I am sorely tempted to demand a kiss,” he said. “But that would be far too dangerous. So I will settle for a smile and your promise to ride out with me again.”

She smiled broadly, masking her disappointment at his not opting for the kiss. “Done!”

He took her elbow. “Now, come. I want to show you the most spectacular view for miles around.”

They walked only a short distance until Annabelle found herself standing on the edge of a cliff. Below, a blue ribbon of water wound its way through gloriously changing shades of green as fields and forests blended.

“Oh! It
is
spectacular,” she breathed, trying to take it all in at once. She spotted a structure of some sort across the way, a mass of gray stone demanding the eye of the viewer. “ ‘I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thought . . .’ ” she murmured as she gazed out at this scene.

He looked at her in amazement. “My sentiments exactly. This scene always puts me in mind of Wordworth’s lines, too—for, as he said, ‘Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.’ ”

Shaken by their shared emotions, she held his gaze for a long moment, then looked away. “Well,” she said brightly, “I know that is
not
Tintern Abbey, but what is it?”

“It
is
what remains of
an
abbey, though. Destroyed by Henry VIII, who then gave over these lands to the first Earl of Rolsbury.”

“How interesting. May we visit it during our stay?”

“We have planned just such an outing—complete with a picnic. That was Luke’s idea. Luke’s plans for any outing nearly always involve food somehow.” He ended with a chuckle. They turned back to the horses, but Annabelle was not quite ready to give up the mood of the moment. When he had handed her up into her saddle, she looked down at him, holding his gaze.

“Thank you, Thorne, for sharing this special place with me.”

He merely nodded and turned to his own mount.

Thorne cursed himself as they returned to the stable and he escorted her back to the house. He had no business welcoming time alone with the woman his brother wished to court. And he intended to repeat his transgression! By now more of his guests were stirring and he was sidetracked into telling other riders about likely trails they could take. For some reason, he told none of them of the view from the cliff.

By the time he had changed from his riding clothes and reported to the dining room for breakfast, Annabelle was already there—after all,
she
had not been detained in giving directions to others.

His Aunt Dorothy announced a planned outing for the ladies—a visit to Lincoln and its splendid cathedral which was but an hour away by coach. The cathedral, accounted one of England’s most spectacular—along with shopping opportunities offered by the town itself—would keep the ladies of the party occupied for the day.

Luke had taken the gentlemen off to a pugilistic contest down near the town of Stamford. Thorne planned to use the absence of guests for a few hours as an opportunity to catch up on estate business. In the afternoon, he had already spent over an hour wrestling with a pile of paperwork and was congratulating himself on his progress when there was a knock on the library door.

“Come,” he called, expecting a footman or his butler.

To his surprise, Helen Rhys entered the room. He rose to greet her, but stood behind the desk.

“I hope I am not disturbing you,” she said, closing the door behind her.

“Not at all,” he lied. “You did not care to accompany the other ladies?”

“No. I was suffering a beastly headache earlier. Besides, I have seen quite enough moldy old churches in Belgium and elsewhere to last me a lifetime.”

“I see. I understand there was to be some shopping—and a luncheon was bespoke at a hotel there.”

“Oh, I would have enjoyed that, I am sure. But my head, you know.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic motion. “I thought a book might help me pass the time.”

He gestured to the book-lined room. “Help yourself. Our collection boasts quite a variety. Or did you have something specific in mind?”

“Oh, no. Just something to entertain me until the others return.”

Thorne thought this was a subtle hint that, as host, he should entertain her. Perhaps she would select a book and be on her way. He came from behind the desk and casually opened the door she had closed. He nodded approvingly at a footman in the hallway.

Noticing a frown flit across her pretty face as he left the door open, he smiled inwardly. I was born sometime prior to yesterday, my dear, he thought. Aloud, he said, “May I help you find something?”

“Oh, would you, please?”

“What would you find most entertaining?”

She gave him an arch look and laughed softly. “That is a leading question, is it not?”

“To read,” he said firmly.

“Oh, I am not sure. Allow me to browse for a moment.”

He watched silently for several minutes as she pulled first one book and then another from the shelves. It struck him that the books she chose all seemed to require great stretching and turning that showed her considerable charms to great advantage.

“Oh, Thorne,” she said prettily, “could you get that one for me?” She pointed to a shelf above her head.

“This one?” He started to remove a book bound in green leather.

“No. No.” She moved closer to him and he caught a strong whiff of an exotic perfume. “That red one.” She turned so her breast touched his arm and gazed at him invitingly.

Do not even think of it, Rolsbury, he told himself. He quickly put the book between them. “Here you go.” He looked at the title.
“Songs of Innocence?”

“I thought the title looked intriguing.”

“I think you will find Mr. Blake somewhat deceptive. The poems are far more serious than their titles suggest.”

“Well, I shall just sit here and read a bit of his work to see if I want this. You will not mind, will you?”

“No, of course not,” he lied again. He returned to his desk and attempted to get back into estate business. However, he was very aware of her. Not only did her perfume now permeate the entire room, but she kept shifting noisily on the settee. Occasionally she sighed loudly or murmured incoherently. He tried to ignore her presence.

“Oh, listen to this, Thorne!” She read him a passage dealing with mercy, pity, peace, and love. “Is that not a perfect statement about love?”

“Well, yes . . . but the poem is really about God’s image being in all mankind.”

“It is?” She looked at the poem again. “Yes, I can see that now. How very clever of you to see that on only the lines I read.”

“I am quite familiar with Blake’s work.”

“Of course. Silly me.”

She went back to her fidgety perusal of the book.

Thorne sat wondering if Annabelle were familiar with Blake. Would she be able to bandy quotes from Blake, too? Then he gave himself a mental shake.

He was glad when a few minutes later he heard the carriages return with the other ladies. As the women were enjoying refreshments of tea or lemonade, the gentlemen, too, returned and Thorne felt relieved. He marveled at how much easier it sometimes was to entertain many than to entertain one.

 

 

Annabelle had noticed the absence of Miss Rhys on their outing to Lincoln. Miss Rhys’s friend, a Mrs. Sawyer, had explained that “poor Helen had a dreadful headache.” However, on the ladies’ return to Rolsbury Manor, there was Miss Rhys looking very chipper on the arm of their host. Later, Helen Rhys had let fall the information that she and Rolsbury had spent the afternoon reading poetry.

“Oh, how very romantic,” gushed Mrs. Sawyer.

“Wordsworth, no doubt,” Annabelle muttered sourly to herself. But she smiled blandly and answered coherently when someone directed a specific question to her.

Luke approached and Annabelle gave him a broad smile of welcome and bade him sit with her in the windowseat.

“Thought you looked a bit out of sorts,” he said.

“What? Me? Never,” she said. “Besides, has no one bothered to inform you that that is not exactly a conversational ploy to use with a lady?”

“I thought that sort of nonsense applied only to ladies on whom one had designs.”

“Are you telling me you no longer have designs on me?” she teased.

“I think you cured me of that,” Luke said. “I like you better as a friend anyway.”

She impulsively squeezed his arm. “Oh, Luke, I am so glad. I have much more need of a friend than a suitor.”

He looked into her eyes with the sincere devotion of friendship. He patted her hand on his arm and they went on to talk animatedly of other matters.

She looked up to catch Rolsbury looking at them. She could not read his expression, but she thought it might be disapproving.

 

 

Very late in the evening, when they had already bade their guests good night, Thorne sought out his younger brother and offered him a nightcap of brandy.

“You must have something on your mind,” Luke said and Thorne thought he detected a hint of trepidation in his tone.

Thorne finished pouring and handed his brother a glass. “I have. I have been thinking of what you said several weeks ago.”

“About what?”

“About your being nearly of age and your capability of deciding certain matters for yourself.”

“Is that so?” Luke sounded confused.

“I merely wanted you to know that I shall put no obstacles in your way should you wish to pay your addresses to ... well, to any young lady.”

“I ... I do not quite understand.”

“What I am trying to say is that, should you decide to marry, I will not stand in your way. Nor will I deny you access to your fortune in that event.”

“Oh. Well . . . that is nice to know—gives me a deal more freedom, does it not? Annabelle will be surprised. I told her you were a great gun!”

This comment confirmed Thorne’s view of the relationship between his brother and Miss Richardson.

 

 

The next morning Annabelle arose to discover it had rained during the night; in fact, there was still a fine drizzle coming down.

“The weather has effectively postponed our picnic outing,” their hostess announced with regret at breakfast.

“Never mind, Lady Conwick,” Aunt Gertrude said. “I feel certain we can all busy ourselves indoors.”

And so they did.

Annabelle knew the gentlemen gathered in the billiards room located on the ground floor. It opened onto a covered terrace, thus allowing them opportunity to go out and smoke occasionally. The ladies all gathered in the drawing room where Helen Rhys played the pianoforte softly as others sat around reading, doing needlework, or playing cards. Annabelle sat at a small writing table which had a pull-down leaf with a blotting pad. Behind the leaf were concealed quills, ink, and other paraphernalia for writing. A drawer beneath contained fine vellum paper with the Rolsbury crest. She had been intending for some weeks to write Mr. Murray. Only lately had the idea for a new book jelled in her mind and now she burned to get it down for his approval.

She wrote quickly, dipping the quill pen repeatedly as her fingers fought to keep up with the words forming in her mind.

“Oh, dear!” she murmured softly as the quill slipped from her fingers at one point, sending scattered splatters of ink across the page. She sighed and began to recopy the page, finally slipping the damaged page to the bottom of the stack of paper. When she was finished, she folded her letter carefully, sealed it with wax, and slipped the missive into her pocket. She would ask Marcus to frank it for her later.

She then wandered over to the card table where Celia and Letty were at play with Mrs. Sawyer.

“Will you join us, Annabelle?” Letty asked. “ ’Tis more fun if we have partners.”

“Oh, yes! Isn’t it just?” Celia gave a naughty giggle.

“Celia, dear, do behave,” Letty admonished as the others laughed.

Annabelle joined them and they passed the time until luncheon was announced.

By noon the rain had stopped and most of the guests welcomed the chance to be outdoors in the clean-smelling air. A number of the gentlemen went off for the afternoon to hunt pheasants. Other men stayed behind to accompany their ladies on ambling walks along the graveled paths in the Manor’s extensive gardens. In the evening, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after dinner, there were more card games and a lively game of charades.

As she climbed into bed, Annabelle thought that, all in all, it had been a very pleasant day. Not once, so far in the visit, had anyone even mentioned Emma Bennet or her work.

 

 

The next day dawned sunny and bright and the picnic was back on the day’s schedule. The abbey ruins—remains of a once-magnificent achievement of man—were enhanced by the magnificent achievements of nature that surrounded them—woods and a lake.

The Rolsbury guests reached the site of the picnic after a carriage ride of a quarter of an hour. Several of the gentlemen, including their host, chose to arrive on horseback. The Rolsbury servants had already set up a table with covered dishes of food. And there were a number of blankets spread upon the ground.

Off to one side, Annabelle noted that the hoops and pegs for a game of Pall Mall had been set into the ground and there was a basket with the colored balls and wooden mallets needed for the game. A net for lawn tennis had also been set up with the “court” marked out on the grass with powdered chalk.

“Goodness! Rolsbury’s staff must have been out here at dawn,” Harriet commented as the vehicle carrying her, Celia, Letty, and Annabelle arrived at the picnic spot.

“I would venture to say that the reclusive Earl of Rolsbury has outdone himself these last few days,” Letty said. “Oh, thank you, dear.” The marquis, the first of the riders to dismount, extended his hand to assist his wife and the other ladies from their carriage.

Annabelle noticed that Thorne performed the same service for the ladies in the next carriage, including Helen Rhys. She immediately took herself to task for her recurring twinges of jealousy. She had never before resented others’ happiness or friendships. Why should he not seek out the blond beauty? They would probably be a good match. But this idea sent her spirits plummeting.

“Annabelle!” Luke’s voice distracted her from that pointless train of thought. “Would you care to go on the lake?”

“On the lake?” she asked blankly, looking toward the water.

He laughed. “There are rowboats. I am not asking you to walk on water—though I daresay an angel such as you might manage such.”

She grinned as he came to take her arm. “If you continue with such taradiddles, the devil will be after you!”

Luke led her toward the lake. Sure enough, there were several rowboats that had been previously hidden by a small rise in the ground. He held a boat steady as she got in and sat down, then clambered in himself and used an oar to push the vessel away from the bank.

Both were silent until they were some distance out. Annabelle looked back to the bank where the ladies’ colorful dresses and parasols stood out like bright flowers against the more staid greens and grays of their natural surroundings. She trailed her hand lazily in the water.

“What a glorious day,” she said.

“Thought you seemed a bit blue-deviled earlier.”

“You, sir, are too perceptive by half.”

“Do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?”

“Maybe—sometime. But not now. This day is too perfect to be marred with petty problems.”

He gave her a penetrating look. “As you wish, fair lady. But if you need a friend’s ear, you know where to find one.”