The Spinster and the Earl (22 page)

“Indeed, sir,” she said smiling, listening to the happy, steady thumping of his heart.

“Yes, vixen,” he murmured into her ear. And when they reached dry land, he reluctantly put her down.

A group of young dandies made their appearance, boisterously insisting that they needed her ladyship to come settle an important dispute between them. Without a backward glance at their host, they proceeded to whisk her away.

*    *    *

On the morrow, the first planned hunt turned out to be a misty one. North Sea fog rolled into the hills and valleys surrounding the castle. A light, hazy rain had dampened the fields the night before. Spring flowers bloomed brightly in contrast along the sheep paths beyond the stone fence. One’s blood raced with anticipation at the sound of baying hounds. It was, in Lady Beatrice’s opinion, a glorious morn for a hunt.

She watched attentively the Master of the hunt come up the castle drive, a tall, dignified Irish gentleman about fifty years of age with gray sideburns and a portly figure. He was dressed in a striking, scarlet hunting jacket, black, polished hunting boots, and wore an elegant tri-corn with a single pheasant feather gaily saluting from the hatband. He carried a beautiful silver flask on his belt with the best hunting recipe in the parish, perhaps even the entire country.

She smiled and waved a hand in recognition. For it was her own father, Lord O’Brien, who served as Master of the hunt. She did not know by what miracle had brought about his leading, but she highly suspected it figured with her. The sporting lord rarely loaned himself and his hounds to anyone, no matter how important his consequence. He valued his hounds far more than his neighbors or any of the puffed-up English titled.

The servants stood about in the Earl of Drennan’s livery, passing out hot tankards of mulled port or watered whiskey topped with cloves and a dash of sugar on lemon rinds to the assembled gentry.

Among the castle’s guests were many familiar faces, those of Urlingford locals, among whom she had grown up hunting. Many came by and greeted her with smiles, nods, and a kind word.

Her father grinned at her as he passed on her left, begrudgingly admitting to the castle’s hostess, “The brew’s passable, m’dear. Although mind, it doesna have the numb blinding effect of one of me own. But I suppose that be for the best, as I donna want anyone knocked off his mount before we get started.”

“Aye, sir, ’tis best we save that event for the hunt itself!” she quipped with a coquettish wave of her whip. This light remark brought about a scatter of chuckles from those nearby, who knew that before the day was out, several of the assembled followers would find either themselves, or their mounts, the fallen losers in the field.

Captain James, she noted with surprise, was mounted on a superb black thoroughbred that appeared to be a little high strung. The animal kicked out at another horse from behind him that had drawn a little too close.

He was elegantly attired in a black-waisted hunting jacket and sported a matching black hat with a modern brim. His white cravat was properly tied in the square knotted mathematical and held firmly in place to his starched white shirt by a sapphire stud. Although his mount appeared to be spirited, the earl looked completely at ease on the animal, and she noticed he remained admirably in control of the horse’s movements.

She had thought that maybe he would forego that day’s hunting due to his previous injury from the bog. The hunt would not be the simple easy trot into the countryside that they had enjoyed together when she had shown him the parish. The hunt required a great deal of stamina and skill. Not only because of the demands of the obstacles met in the field, but because it was not uncommon to remain mounted on one’s horse up to six hours at a time.

One of the whips in charge of the dogs approached Beatrice and asked where the final rendez-vous place would be at the end of the day’s hunt. She answered that they would stop at the castle for a repast at midday. She glanced again in Captain James’s direction when she heard his horse give a snort of eagerness to be off.

He caught her glance and brazenly winked at her, tipping the brim of his hat.

She blushed, remembering the feel of his strong, sturdy arms beneath her when he had carried her away from the boat.

Her father gave the signal to release the dogs from their pens.

The hunters, who for the most part were seated on their own sturdy mounts, which they’d brought expressly for the purpose of this event, prepared themselves.

Beatrice watched her father lead. The whipper-ins were in charge of the hounds and the assembled hunters followed them down to the field below the castle.

Red foxes were frequently sighted by the old castle ruins, having dug sturdy dens full of numerous exits and entrances under the fallen stones. A more perfect place to find foxes would not be found in the entire parish. The castle was located near a thickly bracketed field not too far from ripe crops of grain. The foxes ate and hunted mice and ground fowl, which made it a perfect habitat for their game.

A forest grew along a quick running stream, which ran through the fields. It was perfectly suitable terrain for the horses to follow the dogs as they chased the line of scent of the chosen game.

Lord O’Brien gave the order to cast the hounds, which meant setting the pack loose in a set pattern in search of the scent. Upon casting, the huntsman blew his horn signaling the beginning of the hunt. Everyone waited with anticipation. From a bush down near where the ruins met a cornfield, a red fox slipped out from under the broken remains of a toppled chimney.

Espying the
reynard
, as the fox was affectionately called by the huntsmen, the Master of the Hunt lifted his hat in the direction of the fox.

“Tally ho!” he yelled out to all, immediately following the dogs on the field that were already in pursuit. Lady Beatrice and the others followed from behind. It was bad form to pass the Master and the dogs during a hunt.

The first obstacle in the form of a sturdy sheep rail loomed up quickly. Beatrice watched with admiration as her father and the whips jumped over the fence. The dogs ran rapidly beneath it. The rail did not so much as twitch or twang at their passing.

She rode a good, solid horse that day. It was a white mare, who was fresh and willing to go wherever commanded. Eagerly, she followed them, her horse jumping the rail effortlessly as she kept her seat.

The earl and Beau Powers followed, both of them successfully making it over. The next gentleman rider, young Lord Reginald Fortescue, was not to be so blessed. The back hooves of his horse knocked off the top post.

She turned to see two debutantes stuck behind the fumbling jumper. Their horses, now skittish from the falling post, refused to take the jump. It was only on their second attempt that they were able to follow over the post. It was at that moment the pace of the hunt quickened. The fox was spotted again. It appeared as a red dot off in the distance, racing across the stream. The hounds were a grave danger to his brush, as his tail was so fondly called.

“Grand day for a hunt, Mistress O’Brien!” called out one of the tenant farmers. He tipped his hat as she passed him leaving the field.

She waved a hand in greeting at several of the workers who had gathered in the field to watch the gentry.

“Yes, it is, Master Flanagan!” She nodded in agreement and with a click of her tongue set her horse at a brisk trot to catch up with her father and the hounds. The hunt then raced across the muddy path near the brook where the previous night’s rain had left pools of wet and muck.

She could not help but laugh out loud as she witnessed dainty Laeticia Powers, who had been trying to keep up with the earl, receive a direct hit from a flying clod of mud from the rider in front of her. The pocket Venus had not been paying attention to the path ahead and took the flying mud clod squarely on her face, dirtying her dainty nose, mouth, and chin. She now wore a mask of splattered mud and dirt.

Not surprisingly, young Lord Fortescue gallantly rode up to the pretty blonde and offered her his monogrammed kerchief with which to wipe her face.

Upon entering the woods, they met their next obstacle, the dark running stream. The horse in front of Beatrice, a dappled gray quarter horse, which belonged to one of the whips, balked at the water.

Her own mount hesitated only briefly, she was proud to say later, and effortlessly sailed over the stream. Others, including Captain James and Beau Powers, did not manage quite so well.

She watched as Captain James came up from behind. He looked a little ruffled and dirty from his own mount’s balking and leaving him on the ground. But with a tip of his hat and a happy smile, he rode on.

It was at this point by the water’s edge that the hounds lost the fox’s scent and the riders took a needed pause.

Hunting flasks were passed around as all shared a word or two about how they had so far fared. Already some of the hunters had given up and returned to the castle.

The quest for other game and another run took them until midday. At this point, her father and the whipper-ins called an end to the hunt and a return to the castle.

She did not know how it came to pass, but as she was turning towards the castle, her horse stumbled near the stream. She dismounted to check the animal’s hooves and legs. She had to be certain it was not lame.

Captain James and Beau Powers reined in their mounts. James lightly dismounted. Self-conscious of the handsome gentlemen watching her, she made a few quick brushes at her riding habit and tidied a thick strand of hair back into place. She was not aware of how pretty she looked when she did so. The sparkling stream and green forest served as a picturesque backdrop behind her.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” said Beau Powers, removing his hat gallantly and smiling down at her from his gelding, Aries. His own handsome blue eyes shone with amusement at how the earl had tossed that lucky coin of his and won the privilege of being the one to dismount and help the winsome lady.

Blushing, secretly delighted that the two most handsome and dashing gentlemen of the field had stopped to check on her, Beatrice answered, “Aye sir. ’Tis as grand a day as we could wish for. Lord O’Brien, to be sure, ought to be pleased. Monsieur Le Reynard led us a merry chase.” She watched as the earl checked her mount for any possible injuries.

“And how are you, my lady?” he asked when he’d finished his inspection.

Lowering her eyes, she smiled, dimples appearing, “I’m fine, Your Grace. ’Twas kind of you and Master Powers to stop and keep me company.”

Nodding, he said, “I think it’s safe for you to remount. May I offer you a leg up?” He cupped his hand under her right foot at the ready and pushed her gently up into the saddle. Then he swung up on his own mount. His sapphire blue eyes shining with delight at the beautiful, dark-haired lady whose hunting hat was now coquettishly tilted to one side.

“Uh—hmm.” Beau Powers coughed discreetly, reminding the couple of his presence.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” murmured Beatrice.

“The pleasure, my dear, was all mine,” he answered, tipping his hat. The trio turned their horses in the direction of the castle. Upon their arrival, a sumptuous feast, presided over by the ever-efficient Davis, was served soon afterwards.

Blissful thoughts of happiness were not, however, what occupied Aunt Agnes’s keen mind at supper that night. She had been closely observing the one person at the table with whom she was well acquainted, her niece. And she was worried. Beatrice had not taken more than a few nibbles of food off the full plate set before her.

Her young niece was not known to eat like a little twittering bird. And knowing that her niece had planned the menu, Aunt Agnes quickly dismissed the notion that the food somehow had not agreed with Beatrice.

“Are you feeling well, my dear?” she asked from across the table as a footman collected the still full plate. “I’ve noticed that your cheeks have been frequently flush of late. Perhaps you caught a chill when you were out hunting today with your father?”

“No. I’m feeling quite the thing, Auntie.” The niece sighed, looking with mooncalf eyes in the direction of the earl who sat at the opposite end of the table. “You needn’t concern yourself with me,” she reiterated, merely glancing at the beef pudding the footman set in front of her.

“If you are certain,” answered Aunt Agnes, glancing slyly in the direction of the most eligible bachelor in the room. The earl was at that very moment lifting his crystal goblet of wine in a silent toast to her niece.

Beatrice, a radiant smile on her face, lifted hers in return.

“Quite fine,” she replied blithely, sipping her wine, never taking her smiling eyes away from that of his.

“Oh,” her aunt beamed with delight, “I’m so relieved to hear it, my dear.”

But a fairy tale ending was not how the evening concluded. After dinner, it had cut Beatrice to the quick to see Lady Powers try once more to monopolize the earl’s attentions. The dasher’s full white arms stuck to the earl’s coat sleeve as if she had sewn herself to him. It had been a near impossibility for Beatrice to enjoy the gifted tenor they had hired from Dublin for the musical entertainment they had planned. She was too occupied by the other lady’s presence.

The dapper tenor, stood before the assembly with an elegant, pointed beard and mustache. He had been requested to sing some Irish ballads. Both she and the earl thought that it would be a fine treat for their English guests, who had never heard many of the songs before.

When Master O’Shaunasee sang a haunting, love ballad in ancient Irish, tears sprang into her eyes. She felt deep within herself a tender swelling of emotions, as if the gentleman had brought forth the words written over two hundred years before expressly for her. It made her sad and wistful for the earl. She had to admit to herself she had felt attracted to him from the first, when they met in the bog and his body had brushed up against hers, sparking an ember in her heart she had thought would never catch flame. It continued to burn until finally it culminated with their lovemaking. Her heart had known all along, but she had denied what it told her, that she was in love.