Mistress of the Hunt (30 page)

Philippa laughed. “Really, sir, do you expect to find a lover or a felon?”

“This is no laughing matter, madam,” he said seriously, straightening to look at her sternly. “You have seen what those fellows are like. Neither your rank nor your position will protect you from one who is sufficiently intoxicated. Perhaps you do not know that the duke saw fit to put guards on the stairs to the upper floors in order to prevent anyone from harassing the children. If he felt it necessary to protect them from the rabble out there, can you blame me for wishing to protect you?”

He took a step nearer, then seemed to think better of the notion and turned away to continue his search. When he was thoroughly satisfied that they were alone, he turned back to face her.

Philippa had not moved. She regarded him speculatively, thinking he looked uncertain, which in her experience was most unlike him. “What is it, my lord?” she asked when he continued silent.

His lips tightened briefly, and for a moment it was as though he could not meet her steady gaze. Then he visibly gathered himself together and shot her a straight look from under his brows. “Did you truly wish to leave the dancing because you are overtired, or have I vexed you again in some way?”

“Vexed me?” She wrinkled her brow.

“Perhaps I ought not to have pursued the matter with Miss Pellerin when it was clear she hadn’t meant to say anything about it, but I—”

“Pursued what matter? Oh, you mean your conversation with her at dinner about her marriage proposal and her supposed betrayal. I didn’t quite catch your words at first, what with the music stopping and people talking and moving about, but you know how it is, Rochford. The echo of words comes back to one. I cannot think why she should think of her impending marriage in such a light, for I have no contract with her, so her own interests must come before mine. I shall no doubt find another companion, though perhaps not one so congenial.”

“I first learned of her impending marriage to my scholarly relative when you did, sweetheart.” His eyes were gleaming now with amusement and renewed confidence. When Philippa stared at him, more confused than ever, he said lightly, “Her betrayal was in letting slip the fact that you did indeed have every right to post Wakefield’s land. Why, after so much stubborn struggle, did you yield without even a challenge? I believe I know the answer,” he added, moving toward her with the clear intent of taking her in his arms, “but I should like to hear the words from your own sweet lips.”

P
HILIPPA EYED THE VISCOUNT
coldly. “Is this an attempted seduction, after all, then, sir? Because I can think of no other reason for your odd behavior tonight.”

Rochford stopped short. “Seduction? Good God, Philippa, why would you think such a thing as that?”

“Because your confidence—nay, your arrogance—this evening makes it clear that you believe I yielded, as you put it, through a desire to please you. You should know, sir, that I believed silence at that point provided the simplest way out of what had become an intolerable situation. It was a decision I made based upon many factors, not an impulse based upon emotion.”

He was silent for a moment, digesting her words, but then a smile began to tug at his lips, and he took another step toward her.

Knowing she could not trust herself to hold to her principles if he were to touch her, Philippa stepped hastily back. “Please go, Rochford,” she said in an expressionless voice. “There is nothing more to say.”

For a moment he looked as though he would argue with her, but then his hands fell to his sides, and he turned away. With the door open, he turned back long enough to say harshly, “Lock this behind me,” and then he was gone.

Having obeyed his instructions to lock the door, she moved to survey herself in the cheval glass near her dressing table. She looked much as she usually did, and the first thought that was allowed to gain purchase in the chaos of her mind was a hope that she would be able to get out of her silken ball gown unaided, since it was clearly not sensible to ring for Alice.

Even if the abigail were within hearing of the bell, the chance that she might reach Philippa’s bedchamber unmolested was a slim one.

Without giving thought to her movements, she began automatically to divest herself of her clothing and to prepare herself for bed. Not until she was safely tucked under the eiderdown did the thoughts so carefully held at bay come flooding in upon her mind. Was she being unpardonably foolish to keep him at arm’s length when her love for him was growing stronger by the day? Had the late baron done her a disservice by giving her such a taste for her own independence of spirit and decision? Philippa wriggled beneath the covers, thinking of the look on Rochford’s face as he had begun to approach her. She could think of nothing more pleasurable than to be held in his arms, and she had no doubt that she would enjoy his certain expertise in matters of the flesh. Really, she thought, considering that she had been married five full years, she knew little of such matters. That had been one area Wakefield had not explored with her beyond assuaging his own needs. Of course, during the last two years of his life, his health had not permitted any such activity, but before that there had been a time or two when she had suspected that there might be a great deal of pleasure to be found in carnal pursuits. No doubt that was wicked of her. Still, by virtue of the fact that Rochford stirred her blood by his very presence, and in a way that Wakefield had never stirred her at all, she rather thought she would like to discover just how much pleasure might be enjoyed under the viscount’s guidance.

Nevertheless, she could not bring herself to accept his guidance in everything else, and if he would not allow her to discover her own limits in the hunting field, how could she believe he would allow her to discover those limits anywhere else? Though her thoughts always seemed to come back to that same point, the course they took seemed to grow more and more complicated until there was nothing more than a jumble of words in her brain, but at last she slept, and when she awoke there was little on her mind other than the thumping on her door.

Sitting bolt upright, she called, “Who’s there?”

“ ’Tis Alice, my lady. The door be locked.”

Remembering, Philippa jumped from the bed and snatched up her dressing gown, flinging it around herself as she moved to unlock the door. Alice stood in the corridor, holding the chocolate tray and looking rather sheepish.

“ ’Tis sorry I am, ma’am, that I didn’t be here to help when you came to bed.”

“Never mind that now, I know how it must have been,” Philippa said, “and I came up quite early, you know.”

“Well, I know the dancing went into the wee hours, ma’am. They say the dowager was the last to give it up and that the poor musicians was ready to throttle her by the time she did.”

“Oh, dear, I hope that does not mean she will not hunt today!” Philippa exclaimed. Then, ruefully, as she realized how selfish she must sound, she added, “I would not wish her to overtire herself, of course.”

“No chance o’ that,” said Alice, setting the tray down upon a table when she saw that her mistress did not intend to get back into bed. “Her grace left orders to be awakened for the hunt breakfast. Said she means to be in at the kill. She’s a grand one, she is, right enough.”

Glancing at her clock, Philippa was dismayed to see that it was already ten o’clock. “What time is breakfast, then? I should have thought they would be finished by now.”

“Oh, no, ma’am. They will begin serving at half-past, but the meet ain’t till half after eleven, so you’ve plenty of time.”

Nonetheless, Philippa hurried, with the result that she, like Cupid, whom she had chosen as her first mount, was fairly champing at the bit before the huntsman had organized his hounds to draw the first covert. At last, however, the horns were sounded, the hounds were loosed, and it was not long after that before the “View Halloo” was heard and the field was off in a burst across the Vale of Belvoir. The dowager was there among them, just as she had promised, wearing an emerald-green habit and a matching hat with a startlingly bright red plume and a veil that she could pull over her face to protect her if she had to push through a bullfinch.

Philippa’s hat also boasted a veil, but her habit was not nearly so dashing, being of dark brown velvet with gold trim and barrel snaps down the front. She guided Cupid in the dowager’s wake, settling well into her saddle, feeling delight swell within her at the exhilaration of the hunt.

There were nearly one hundred riders in the field, and it soon became obvious that the duke had not planned a tame ladies’ hunt but one that would test the mettle of every hunter. The fox made a long point, and the scent was breast-high. Across the pleasantly undulating country of alternate grass and plow they rode until they came to a wood, where it seemed at first that the fox must go to ground. But the wood was cut in both directions by rides, broad corridors made to accommodate an even bigger hunt than this, and the earths had been efficiently stopped. After disappearing momentarily into the underbrush, the fox was sighted first across one of the rides and again as he broke covert at the end of the wood.

“Gone away!” shouted the huntsman, and the cry was taken up by hounds and men as the long sound of the hunting horn echoed through the wood. Glancing to her right, Philippa saw Rochford beside her on his big black. She grinned, feeling nothing but pleasure in the sport and wanting nothing more than to be in charity with everyone. To her relief, he smiled back at her, and when the suspicion crossed her mind that he was riding near in order to keep a sharp lookout for her safety, there was no resentment in the thought, only a deepening of her love for him.

A part of the pack, in high feather, had struck the line of a fresh fox, and the hunters thundered past, leaving it to the whippers-in to clear the hounds from the wood. Fortunately for them and for some of the hunters, as well, there was a check a few moments later, the huntsman having to make a wide cast, and before he hit the line again most of the stragglers had caught up.

By the time they neared Bottesford, Cupid was beginning to sink, but the dowager had warned Philippa to have a second horse ready, so she was able to change to Black Nestor after the second exciting run. More than half the field, including Lord Robert Manners, Lord Alvanley, Kegworth, and nearly all of the ladies, fell out at Bottesford or before for lack of a second mount or merely because they were exhausted. Philippa was not tired at all, and she and the dowager were at the head of the field after the change. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Rochford and the Duke of Rutland were close behind them.

There was another check ten minutes later, and the huntsman was forced to cast again, but the hounds soon hit the scent, giving the hunters scarcely time to draw breath before they were off again in full cry, sterns feathering merrily. The second run was well over eleven miles long, through bullfinches and over blackthorn hedges, timber fences, water-filled ditches, and oxers, before the fox went at last to ground. By then they had crossed into South Nottinghamshire, so by rule the fox could not be dug out nor the covert be drawn for another fox—not without risk of bringing the wrath of Squire Osbaldeston, master of the South Nottinghamshire hunt, down upon all their heads. The horn was blown, calling the halt.

While the huntsman and his whippers-in stopped the hounds, several of the gentlemen could be heard cursing their bad luck, but most of the hunters, like Philippa, cared more for the hard riding and the challenge of the obstacles than for the kill and were perfectly contented with the day’s sport. At first the twenty or so riders who remained stayed together, but as they passed one inn and then another, the numbers dwindled accordingly until by the time they were within three miles of the castle, Philippa found herself riding in a much smaller group with the dowager, another lady whom she did not know, two gentlemen who seemed to be with the lady, the duke, and Rochford. A few moments later, the two gentlemen and the lady turned off together when one of the gentlemen mentioned knowing an excellent posting house less than a mile to the east.

When they had gone, the dowager chuckled. “I confess I should have liked to go with them but for the stir it would cause,” she said. “Haven’t had a chase like that in weeks. The exercise does bring on a thirst.”

The duke smiled at her. “You never cease to amaze me, ma’am. At your age, you ought to be thinking of a nap, not a mug of stout ale.”

Philippa looked at the dowager duchess, wondering for the first time just how old she was, and catching her look, the dowager winked. “Fifty-seven my last birthday,” she said, “though ’tis the fashion to keep such stuff a deep dark secret. Born in August like my illustrious, long-awaited grandson, and they say those of us born under August stars are like to be stubborn and cling to the things we enjoy, even when good sense tells us to leave well enough be.”

“I, too, am August-born,” admitted Philippa.

“And stubborn,” muttered Rochford at her side.

She shot him a speaking look, but the dowager laughed and said, “No need to swallow your words like that, Rochford. Say it or don’t say it. To my mind, there is nothing wrong with a lady’s having a bit of spirit.”

Philippa looked at Rochford again, grinning saucily, but he said nothing further. In fact, now that she came to think about it, he had been strangely silent most of the way back.

They had been riding at an easy, distance-eating canter across an open plowed field flanked by a thicket of stout oaks on one side and a field of stubble on the other. Ahead of them rose a long, low, neatly trimmed blackthorn hedge. Philippa, thinking about Rochford’s odd silence, was no longer concentrating or she might have chanced to remember Black Nestor’s contrariness with regard to hedges, but by the time she realized he had not gathered himself for the jump as he ought to have done, he had refused it altogether and she had flown right off the saddle. Twisting frantically to avoid landing on her head or shoulder, she landed flat on her backside instead, the wind whooshing out of her in a sharp cry of dismay.