Miss Ryder's Memoirs (3 page)

“How very rude of him to stare.” Really, the man had no finesse at all. Amanda is indeed as pretty as a picture, if you’re inclined to admire the fainting, placid-angel type. All that blond hair peeking out from under her bonnets, curling down her back. No doubt she had heard his horse and was posing for him, in the event it was Jeremy Woods from over to Newmarket.

Milly was affronted by my declaration. “Nothing of the sort, Miss Catherine! He was afluster with apology when Miss Amanda looked up and caught him at it. Made her the prettiest speech you ever heard.”

He certainly hadn’t made
me
a pretty speech, the villain. Now I was getting a better idea of his vast duplicity. And that made me impatient to join my family. He might be trying to take advantage of them, even now.

“That will do, thank you, Milly,” I said as she pushed in one more pin to hold up the mass of my hair. She loves to part it in the center with two wings over my forehead, and the bulk of it twisted into a flaming knot at the top of my head. Amanda professes to be very sorry for me for the color of my hair, but I would far rather have this glowing chestnut shade than her pale, insipid yellow.

They were all in the gold drawing room when I reached it: Mama, Amanda, and Sir John Meddows. I didn’t realize at the pond that he was so large a man, quite six feet tall, I would say, with impressive shoulders. When he rose to greet me, there was not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“And this is Robert’s other sister?” he said, stepping forward to grasp my hand. “How delighted I am to meet you. Your brother is not so forthcoming as I had thought, since he neglected to mention how lovely were the three ladies awaiting him here at Hastings.”

“How do you do, Sir John?” I withdrew my hand instantly from his warm clasp. It was too much, reminding me of him sitting there by the water, observing my naked body. I could hardly be so casual as he, though I eyed him quite boldly and with my most haughty expression. Which is not particularly haughty, I am told, after all. “What has brought you to our neighborhood?”

He smiled pleasantly and waited until I had seated myself before taking his place beside Mama on the sofa. “Your brother Robert assures me that the best bred horses in England are to be found at Hinchly Farms, not five miles from here. I want to find a pair for myself, and he begged me to look out a new pair for him as well. Apparently his old grays aren’t so lively any longer.”

Robert’s grays! They were Papa’s grays, to everyone at Hastings. And we expected them to live forever. “You must see that he returns the grays here, when he replaces them,” I insisted. “We’re all very fond of them.”

“So your mother was telling me.” He crossed his legs and folded his large hands on his lap, though he didn’t look at all like someone who made a habit of morning calls or visiting ladies for tea. Every athletic bone in his body must have cried out to be away from there.

Such a muscular calf as he had! Lord, I don’t think one of the fellows in the area could compete with it. And yet, I didn’t remember meeting him when I was in London for my Season. All the gudgeons I met then were the worst of the dandies, with their perfumed handkerchiefs and their dainty airs. No wonder I didn’t take! Who would want to take with a bunch of pinks of the
ton
like that? I couldn’t help wondering where Robert had found this man.

“Sir John was telling us that he comes from Hampshire,” Mama informed me. “He has an estate there that Robert has visited on several occasions."

There was a certain amount of accusation in her voice. After all, Robert hadn’t been to visit us for quite a while.

“Short visits. And I’m so close to London,” Sir John almost apologized for the occasions.

“What sort of pair do you need?” I asked. One of my passions is driving, but I’ve been warned that on no account am I to mention it to strangers, and only to our usual company if they happen to bring the subject up. “Do you drive a curricle?”

His eyes looked amused, as though I’d said something precocious. “I do. One of my own design, which is a little more hazardous than the usual, I fear. It’s balance is a trifle finer, and therefore it’s more prone to overset.”

“I should like to see it,” I said, noting that Mama’s eyes had narrowed in my direction.

“Perhaps someday you shall. My groom is bringing it along after me; he had to have the shaft repaired in Littlebury.” He turned to Mama. “Which reminds me. I’ve spoken for a room in Cambridge at the White Horse, which seemed a perfectly acceptable hostelry. Will they take good care of my horses?”

“Of course they will!” I asserted at the same time Mama exclaimed, “We wouldn’t think of letting you stay at an inn when we have the largest, most comfortable house in the world, and with a staff of stable fellows who could care for your animals far better than any public inn. Really, I’m surprised that Robert wouldn’t have told you that you were to stay with us.”

Amanda and I both stared at Mama. It wasn’t at all like her to make this kind of offer to a comparative stranger. In many ways, she’s a shy woman, as well as being eccentric. Or perhaps she’s shy because she’s eccentric. In any case, we were surprised, but I think not displeased, that she offered to house the fellow. Amanda because of his dashing looks, no doubt, but me because I was intent on keeping an eye on him. Warning signals were going off in my head, for I was sure there was more to his visit than met the eye.

Sir John accepted the invitation with becoming hesitation. “If you’re sure you have the room. I should hate to put you out.” That sort of thing. But I could tell that he’d never intended to stay at the White Horse at all. Though perhaps he meant to put his pair up there when they arrived.

“You must bring your luggage straightaway,” Mama urged him. “You’ll have the blue bedchamber, next to Robert's room in the east wing. I think you’ll like the prospect from the windows. Several of the church spires in Cambridge are visible. You didn’t by chance go up to Cambridge, did you?”

“No, ma’am. I’m an Oxford man myself.”

I wouldn’t have taken him to be an educated soul at all. Certainly not of the sort who read Latin in the original and have long, pithy discussions on Sydney Smith’s essays in the
Edinburgh Review.
Papa would have been able to unmask the fellow in short order if he tried to pretend to such learning. But Papa was gone, alas.

“I could show you around the grounds, if you like,” Amanda offered. “We have some delightful walks at Hastings.”

It’s a wonder she didn’t expire on the spot, putting herself forward that way. I studied her closely and saw the tint of a blush in her cheeks. She must have felt like a hussy, making such a daring proposal. Ah, it was clear enough that she was taken with the rascal.

Mama beamed on the two of them. You would have thought I wasn’t there at all. Just to throw them into a little disarray, I asked, “Where has Cousin Bret gotten to, I wonder? Usually he’s hanging about Amanda in the afternoons.”

The color in my sister’s cheeks rose even higher. “It is no such thing,” she declared hotly. “I understand Cousin Bretford is out with the estate manager, gathering a little information about crops and such.”

Amanda knows absolutely nothing about “crops and such.” Nor does Robert. And I’m afraid I’m not all that knowledgeable myself, though certainly a great deal more than the two of them put together.

Sir John laughed. “I hope you have no intention of interesting me in the crops when we make our little excursion,” he teased. “The grounds and the woods are much more to my taste.”

I was sure of it. He probably thought he could get Amanda among the trees and ravish her. Well, perhaps not ravish her, but kiss her at least. I could see how his gaze remained on her full, pouty mouth. Why does a man think it famous to spend time with a pouty woman? My understanding of men is of the smallest, I daresay, but I have no respect for the ones who want a woman they can wrap about their fingers. That may be because no one could wrap me around his finger.

Sir John agreed that he would like nothing better than to be taken through the grounds by Amanda—when he returned with his portmanteau and his carriage from the inn later that evening. Would he be with us to dine, Mama asked. Yes, he would certainly be here by then, he assured her. As he took his leave, he smiled kindly upon each of us, but I thought there was a slight twist to his lips when he looked at me, a rather sardonic twist.

“I look forward to seeing you again soon,” he said. To my ears there was an undercurrent of mockery to his voice. No one else seemed to notice.

I could hardly wait until he was out of the house before begging to see Robert’s letter. Mama dug it out of the deep pocket in her dress and straightened it out before handing it to me. “Your brother speaks very highly of Sir John,” she remarked. “I hope you will be pleasant to him.”

“Pleasant? Of course I shall be pleasant to him. When am I anything but pleasant to anyone?”

Amanda tittered and Mama gave a little puff of a laugh. Where they get this impression that I am rude or unfriendly, I can’t imagine, but I decided to pay no heed to them. The first order of business was to discover what information I could on this provocative stranger. Robert’s letter wasn’t much help:

My dearest Mama,

This letter will introduce Sir John Meddows to you. John is a great friend of mine, and an excellent judge of horseflesh. I’ve asked him to look out a pair for me for my phaeton while he’s in your area. He knew of the Overview stables, but not of Hinchly Farms, so he has a treat in store for himself. I’ve warned him not to let Catherine hoodwink him into buying
her
favorite animal, as she’s done to me so many times!

And he should be grateful to me, the cad. I’ve
never
led him astray.

My best to you and my sisters. Your letters are always welcome, though I’m afraid I’m a poor correspondent myself. Perhaps I’ll come down for opening day, but probably not. There’s much better shooting at Chelverton. Your loving son,

Robert

It was still more than a month until shooting season began and we’d hoped Robert would come down for Public Day in mid-July. He’d never missed one before, but then, Papa had been alive for all the others. Last year’s had been canceled because we were in mourning and I think all the neighbors and servants were looking forward to this one. I sighed and handed the letter back to Mama.

“Have you asked him about coming down for Public Day?” I asked.

“I’ve mentioned it in every letter for the last month,” she said with some asperity, “and, as you see, he makes no mention of it. Whatever can have gotten into the boy?”

It was a rhetorical question. Not that any of us knew the answer. It occurred to me that Sir John might, though. And perhaps that was what Mama had in mind when she asked him to stay. Very clever of her. Keeping an eye on him would be my primary concern.

I could manage that with a little perseverance. Sir John might not be willing to listen to my opinions about horses, but I was established, if only to his amusement, as the knowledgeable one in the family, and he might well be obliged to take me with him. In fact, I would see that he did.

When I went upstairs to dress for dinner, I insisted that Milly do something different with my hair. It wasn’t to impress our visitor; it was from a distinct fatigue with my usual style. Milly managed to coax my rambunctious curls to remain tamed at my temples, and the long tresses to stay down in back with merely a string of pearls capturing them at my neck. A very satisfactory solution, something the maidens in London might have done well to copy, I thought.

Amanda was green with envy. “What have you done to your hair?” she demanded in that shrill voice she is reduced to by hysteria. “You can’t wear it like that! You’ve let Milly get carried away. I tell you that girl ought to find herself a position as a hairdresser.”

“I think it looks quite nice,” I said, waving aside her concerns. “And yours does, too, Amanda. I don’t think you’ve worn it so fluffed out in the last two years. Is this the newest style in
Le Beau Monde?”

“That has nothing to do with it. I wanted to wear it in the usual way, but Mama insisted that her woman could make me look a good two years older by working with it.” It was hard to tell whether this distressed or pleased her by the simpering expression she wore. She straightened the lace fichu that closely guarded her modesty. “Mama says gentlemen don’t always pay attention to the youngest woman in a gathering, if she hasn’t been out in London. And while we all know that I should have been out but for Papa’s death, well, a stranger wouldn’t know that. So it seemed prudent to enhance my age by just this trifle.”

“It suits admirably,” I complimented her. “You’ll have Sir John eating out of your hand in no time.”

“Catherine! How can you say such a thing!”

“Never mind!” I dashed down the stairs away from her protestations. “He’ll be here soon. Don’t let your distress raise your color too high.”

I don’t know why I can’t restrain myself from teasing her. She’s such an easy target. Rather unworthy, actually. I had made it to the hall when there was a strong hammering on the front door. Our butler, Williams, is country-bred and consequently rather stiff with some of the more exalted personages who appear at our door. Without so much as a flicker of his eyes, he ushered the baronet into the house, but I got the distinct impression, nonetheless, that he disapproved of Sir John. Our visitor wore a driving coat with more than a dozen capes; we dress more conservatively than that in the country.

Behind Sir John I could see the curricle being taken away toward the stables. It was indeed a magnificent sight. Glistening black with red trim and yellow wheels. His groom held a steady hand on the reins as a pair of perfectly matched chestnuts strutted off down the drive.

“Think you could handle it?” Sir John asked me as he handed his gloves to Williams.

It was an impertinent question, and meant to depress my pretensions to some familiarity with horses. “Of course I could handle it,” I said stoutly, though I wasn’t at all sure because it had been more than a year since I drove Robert’s. But Sir John had put my back up and I wasn’t going to admit it. I have always taken some pride in my riding and driving skills.