The Folly at Falconbridge Hall (5 page)

Vanessa grew hot beneath her hat. Her balance never failed her on a bicycle, but then she had complete control. Horses were so unpredictable. She held the pommel and shifted slightly as Lovel adjusted the stirrup. His hand grabbed her boot, and she started at the familiarity of it. “Keep your left ankle flexed and the heel down,” he said, bending it.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

He handed her the whip. “Keep it in your right hand, and it’s just for urging, not punishment.”

“I have no intention of hurting the horse.” She only hoped that was Flora’s intention for her.

He stood back and nodded. Did he sense how he unnerved her or did he mistake her reaction for another emotion entirely? She could read very little in those black eyes before he turned away. She clutched the reins and turned Flora. The horse trotted obediently after the others.

On the bridle path, Lord Falconbridge reined in beside her while Blythe cantered ahead. “This is the best path to take when you ride with Blythe while I am away,” he said. “I wouldn’t want her persuading you to go too far.”

“I wouldn’t care for that either, my lord.” She was held spellbound by his vivid blue eyes. They could appear preoccupied and distant at times, but now, they met hers with a flash of compassion. He must have noticed how awkward and unsure of herself she was on a horse. She bounced up and down like a sack of potatoes.

“Lean back slightly,” he advised as they negotiated a slope to cross a shallow stream. Vanessa grabbed the pommel and gasped as gravity pulled her forward. She tried to do as he instructed, sure she was about to tumble over the horse’s head. They reached the bottom, and Flora splashed across to the other side.

“That’s it,” he said, riding alongside her. “You’ll get the hang of it quickly enough.”

They trotted along the path in what she hoped was companionable silence. There was no sign of Blythe ahead of them. He cantered ahead to the next turn in the path then returned to her. Undeterred by the other horse, Flora plodded along. Vanessa could sense his lordship’s impatience building. She hoped it wasn’t at her, but if so, there was little she could do about it. Finally he said, “I’d best go and see where that child has got to.”

He rode off on his beautiful Arab stallion, the color of honey. Vanessa watched him go, aware that her knees trembled from the awkward pose and anxiety tightened her chest at being left to cope on her own. Despite her sense of abandonment, she couldn’t help admiring the elegant triangle formed by his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and hips. He looked good in the saddle, rising and falling in rhythm with his horse’s gait. It made her feel even worse.

Flora continued to amble along at a sedate pace, and as the horse showed no inclination to go any faster, Vanessa’s confidence grew. She began to enjoy herself. The sun warmed her back. The pine-scented air was pleasant, and the banks of rhododendrons had a carpet of spent crimson and purple blooms at their feet. Birds chirped in the trees.

Around a bend, the path forked into two. There was no clear sign of which trail the other two riders had taken.

“Whoa! Hold up, girl.” Flora ignored her entreaties and continued down the right fork. Through a break in the trees, the other path appeared to meander onto a meadow. Vanessa shrugged; perhaps Flora knew more than she did. She let the horse have her way.

Five minutes passed into ten, and she found herself in the woods with no sign of his lordship or Blythe. Surely they would ride back soon to join her.

The thicket of trees blotted out the sky, and bushes narrowed the path. Ordinarily she liked woods, but not today. Perhaps it was because of what had taken place here. She shivered in the shadows. “This can’t be the way, Flora.” She pulled on the reins. Flora ignored her. Raising her voice, she pulled again using more force. “Stop, girl. We have to go back.”

A shot ricocheted through the trees, frightening a flock of wood pigeons to rise up as one, exploding into the sky. Flora pricked up her ears and took off at a gallop. Vanessa almost slid off the saddle, struggling to hold on to the reins with one hand and the pommel with the other. “Whoa, whoa girl!”

Now deep in the wood, gasping in distress and her thighs and back aching, Vanessa finally succeeded in pulling Flora up. While considering what to do next, her whip fell to the ground. There was no way she was climbing off to get it.

Vanessa could have cried with frustration for the horse showed no inclination to go in either direction, lowering her head to crop a patch of grass. “Flora, please!” Vanessa did everything she could think of to get the horse moving.

“Ye are lost, miss?”

She started at the voice.

Lovel walked towards her. His shirt had come open almost to the waist, revealing a thick mat of black hair on his brown chest. He carried a shotgun over his shoulder, and a bloody, dead rabbit swung from one hand. His dark eyes were unfathomable.

Vanessa shifted on the saddle. “Yes, I appear to be. I lost sight of his lordship and must have taken a wrong path.” She stared down at him, disliking being alone with the man in this isolated place.

He bent and retrieved her whip, handing it to her. His gaze roamed over her again in that unsettling rather imperious manner one would not expect to find in a humble groom. “They would have ridden over the meadow. His lordship don’t like to ride in the woods. Especially, after the lady’s death a while back.”

He shrugged as if it was a matter of indifference to him that some poor woman had ended her life somewhere amongst these trees.

It made Vanessa even more determined to ride away, but no amount of tapping and tugging made the slightest difference to Flora. “I’m afraid Flora doesn’t respect my authority,” she was forced to admit.

“Not good for a governess,” he said with a sly smile. “You have to teach a horse who is the master.”

“Could you assist me then, Lovel?” Vanessa tried to keep the impatience out of her voice.

Lovel had only to raise his hand, and Flora stopped chewing to watch him. He seized the bridle, backed the horse up, and turned her.

“Do as you’re told, Flora.” He slapped the mare on the rump.

Flora whinnied with indignation. She took off at a fast clip back the way they’d come.

Grinding her teeth, Vanessa held on grimly as Lovel’s laugh came from somewhere behind her. She doubted she could stop Flora now that horse had the bit between her teeth. They dashed along, bushes grabbing at Vanessa’s clothing and a low branch almost knocking off her hat. She dared not consider what the branch might have done to her head had she not had the presentiment to duck.

“Easy girl. Slow down.” Vanessa rasped out her infuriatingly weak command as her throat tightened with fear. She almost cried out with relief when she spied his lordship and Blythe waiting on the trail ahead, but it was short lived. It soon appeared that Flora was going to gallop right past them.

As they raced by, Lord Falconbridge angled his horse alongside and grabbed her reins. Flora gave in to his masculine command without a fight.

Vanessa sagged weakly in the saddle.

Lord Falconbridge grabbed her arm. “Are you all right? Not faint? It appears that you lost us, Miss Ashley.”

Struggling to gain her breath, Vanessa shook her head, gazing at Lord Falconbridge, imperious in his riding clothes, with his boots polished like mirrors. She felt so unattractive and inept she could have wept. “Or you lost me, my lord,” she bit back.

“Quite so,” he said mildly. “I didn’t like to ask too much of you this first time and left you to your own devices. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done so.”

“If you’d just told me which path to take, I would have followed happily behind you,” she said, knowing full well it was unlikely to have happened that way. Flora would still have ridden down the wrong path, and once the horse made up her mind, it was difficult to change it. Vanessa was positive Flora was half-mule.

Blythe rode to her side. “Are you all right, Miss Ashley?” she asked anxiously. “Your cheeks are red.”

“Just a bit hot from the ride, Blythe.” She glanced at Lord Falconbridge. She felt sure his lips twitched. “I hope I didn’t cut short your outing.”

“Oh, no. We had a grand gallop,” Blythe said. “Didn’t we, Father?” She gazed adoringly up at him.

“We did indeed, my dear.” Did he have the grace to look a little contrite before he guided his horse toward home?

“Thankfully, I met Lovel, returning from a spot of hunting, and he helped me.” She rather hoped it would add to Lord Falconbridge’s guilt, but he turned to scowl at her.

“Hunting?”

“Only a rabbit,” she said mildly.

His jaw tightened, and he rode on ahead.

Vanessa watched him curiously as she and Blythe followed behind at a more sedate pace.

Lord Falconbridge entered the stable yard as she and Blythe clattered across the cobbles behind him.

Lovel was skinning the rabbit. Lord Falconbridge dismounted as Lovel washed his hands at the pump. “I thought I told you not to go hunting in the wood without first seeking permission.”

Lovel wiped his hands on his coat and, with a slight bow of his head, took the reins. “Sorry, my lord. I couldn’t find the gamekeeper to ask him. Thought no one would mind.”

“Well, I do mind. Don’t we feed you enough?”

Lovel grinned. “It’s not about the food, your lordship.”

“What is it then?”

“I’m keeping my hand in. In case I need to fend for myself one of these days.”

“You may well have to fend for yourself if you keep flouting my authority,” Lord Falconbridge said with a frown.

“Sorry, my lord.” Lovel touched his cap and led Achilles to his stall.

His lordship helped Blythe dismount.

Lovel returned and approached Vanessa. “You stayed on the horse all right, Miss Ashley.”

“No thanks to you, Lovel. You hit Flora too hard, and she took off at a gallop,” she replied as he set her on her feet.

“I knew you’d handle her,” he said. “You’ll make a fine rider one day.”

“There you are, Miss Ashley,” Blythe cried. “If Lovel says such a thing, it must be right, for he knows everything about horses.”

“Then I thank you, Lovel,” Vanessa said crisply. She brushed down her skirts. “Come along, Miss Blythe, we have arithmetic awaiting us.” She ushered the child towards the house.

“Are you coming too, Father?” Blythe called.

Vanessa turned to see him watching them with a smile. “You go. I need to see the estate manager.”

*****

As Julian walked to the estate manager’s office, he found his mind dwelling on the new governess. She had spirit. He had thus far been impressed by her conscientious attitude to her work with Blythe and should tell her so. When she cast him a challenging glance from those serious green eyes of hers, he found he suffered from a desire to tease her. He would have to watch that, he didn’t want to lose another governess. And she’d handled Lovel rather well.

The thought of Lovel wiped the grin from his face. Damned man never could obey orders, but he was brilliant with horses and his care of Julian’s prize Arab stallion was first class.

As Julian entered the estate office Davison jumped up looking startled by his no doubt black expression. “My lord?”

Staff bustled through the house preparing for the social evening to be held at the Hall, complete with music.

Blythe took Vanessa into the ballroom where the musicians’ instruments had been set up. Large urns of fragrant flowers and potted ferns decorated every corner. Tables covered in white linen cloths brimmed with plates and glasses, silver and crystal dishes. Dozens of chairs lined the walls.

“I wish Father would let me come down and watch the dancing,” Blythe said wistfully.

His lordship had not issued an invitation to Vanessa, and she was glad of it. She had nothing suitable to wear, and even if she did, she wouldn’t wish to lurk in corners.

“Do you like to dance, Miss Ashley?” Blythe left her to dance alone, gliding away over the polished floor quite gracefully.

“I do,” Vanessa called. “But I doubt I’m as good as you.”

Blythe ran over and took her hands. “Come and dance with me.”

They moved across the floor as Vanessa concentrated on her steps with her father’s words ringing in her ears when he’d attempted to teach her at fourteen.
Two left feet.

The sound of clapping made them stop. Vanessa swung round, hot with embarrassment. Lord Falconbridge stood at the door. “Very nice,” he said, walking towards them.

“Will you dance with me, Father?”

“Without music?”

“I’ll hum.”

“Very well.” He took her hands, and they waltzed around the floor. Vanessa admired them both with an artist’s eye, as her father would do. Nature had blessed them with perfect proportions. The length of neck and limb and the symmetry of their bodies would fit the Greek ideal of beauty.

Blythe broke away. “Dance with Miss Ashley, Father.”

Vanessa stiffened. “Heavens no.”

“We can’t dance without music,” her father said.

Blythe pouted. “You danced with Miss Lillicrop.”

His eyes widened. “You saw us?”

“I saw you on the terrace from my window. She told you she’d never waltzed, and then you danced with her.”

He chucked Blythe under the chin. “You may stay up late tonight.” He turned to Vanessa. “Miss Ashley, please bring Blythe to the ballroom.”

In spite of Blythe’s delight, Vanessa’s chest tightened in distress. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve brought no evening clothes.”

“Clothes are of no consequence,” he said. “What you usually wear is perfectly acceptable.”

Just like a man, she thought furiously, placing a hand on her linen skirt.

He caught her gesture and paused. “You and Blythe might remain on the terrace and enjoy the warm evening and the music. I believe there is to be ice cream.”

Gratitude and relief flooded through her, which proved short-lived.

“I’ll come to fetch you for that dance at half past ten,” he said.

“If you wish, my lord,” she said, aware that her response lacked poise. She turned her back on the enthusiastic gleam in his eye. It hardly mattered what a governess wore. She would be invisible anyway. What would it be like to dance with him so close and have his arm around her waist? What had Miss Lillicrop thought of it? Did it have something to do with her leaving so suddenly?

While Blythe spent time with her father, Vanessa made her way to the servants’ quarters to offer her services. She hoped to gain a better footing with the staff after a rather awkward beginning.

The kitchen was a huge room with an enormous range, belting out a considerable amount of heat. Copper pans and dried herbs swung from hooks on the beams above. The scent of vanilla fought with rosemary and the gamey aroma of meat. It was a hive of activity with servants coming and going in a rush.

“Cook’s just stepped out, Miss Ashley,” Dorcas said. “She’ll be back in a moment.”

Vanessa smiled. “Then I’ll wait.” She watched the two girls hard at work. “I’ve come to offer my help.”

“You’ll have to ask Cook or Mrs. Royce, Miss Ashley,” Molly said.

Vanessa stepped out of their way. She stood watching them work. “Why isn’t there a footman at Falconbridge Hall?”

“The pantry boy, Jeremy, serves as footman on occasion.” Molly giggled. “We had a strappin’ handsome fellow, but his lordship dismissed him.”

“You shouldn’t go on, Molly,” Dorcas said. “If Cook hears you…”

“Stuff and nonsense, Dorcas.” Molly raised a defiant eyebrow. “It’s common knowledge that Baines kept ogling her ladyship. Some think she encouraged it.”

“Her ladyship was mistress here, Molly, and anyway, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Dorcas spluttered.

“Not gossiping I hope.” Cook walked into the room, a grey bun peaking from beneath her cap. With a nod in Vanessa’s direction, she began to inspect the maid’s efforts, her brisk movements belying her rounded body and face. She scrutinized the pile of pots, pans, and plates on the sink waiting to be dried and put away. “You can’t tell me that pot is clean. Give it another wash,” she said to Molly. “Use some elbow grease, girl.” She picked up a crock of food and hurried to the pantry before Vanessa could speak to her.

Mrs. Royce appeared with a man at her side. “Ah, Miss Ashley, I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Johnson, Falconbridge’s butler. He has returned from a short absence.”

Vanessa smiled. “How do you do, Mr. Johnson?”

He bowed, revealing a round bald patch on the crown of his head. “Glad to meet you, Miss Ashley.”

Vanessa smiled in greeting. Her first thought was that his butler’s attire looked incongruous. His black tailcoat strained across massive shoulders and muscled arms. There was a gleaming expanse of white shirtfront beneath his waistcoat and a small white bow tie perched below his thick neck. He looked more like a pugilist than a butler, and might have been in his younger days. Her second thought was that she liked his roguish smile.

“You must defer to Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Royce said, patting her white lace cap.

“I’m not an ogre, Miss Ashley.” Mr. Johnson smiled, his eyes kindly. “Any problems you may have, please seek me out.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson. I appreciate it.”

When Vanessa asked Mrs. Royce if she could assist in any way, the housekeeper nodded her approval. She suggested she give a final polish to the silver tureens.

Vanessa sat at a long scrubbed table covered in serving dishes and trays and took up the cloth. She admired the ornate tureen and rubbed hard at it until her distorted visage stared back at her. “Is there a reason for this occasion?” she asked the older woman who was inspecting the linen napkins Dorcas had folded into a clever arrangement.

“It’s a subscription ball. His lordship seeks funding for his next expedition to the Amazon.” Mrs. Royce handed a napkin back to the maid. “This one won’t do.” She removed a key from her belt. “Unlock the linen cupboard and find another to replace it. Make sure you lock it again, girl. And bring the key back to me.”

“Yes, Mrs. Royce.” Dorcas darted away.

A business enterprise, yet a social one too, Vanessa thought. Surely, he would wish to remarry? For Blythe’s sake, if not his own.

As if hearing her thoughts, Molly turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, a grey tabby lapping milk in a saucer near her feet. “I thought ’is lordship might announce ’is engagement to Miss Patterson,” she said. “They danced together more than once at the Patterson ball. I know because my cousin is under-butler in that household.”

Mrs. Royce’s brow furrowed. “Hush, girl, have you no discretion?” she said sternly. “I won’t have idle gossip in this house.”

Molly’s face went crimson, and she turned back to the pot. She shrugged defiantly as Mrs. Royce left the room.

Vanessa stroked the cloth over a ladle. So, Miss Patterson was the lady in question. It was of no consequence. Her only interest in such things was her concern for Blythe.

“He’s quite a lark, that Mr. Johnson,” Dorcas said, returning to the room with the napkin. “You wait until the staff Christmas party. He loves to dance. Fair flattened my toes last time, he did.”

Vanessa couldn’t visualize Mr. Johnson dancing but looked forward to witnessing it.

Cook scurried in. “If you let that custard catch on the bottom, Molly, it will be more than your life’s worth. And remove that cat to the stables before I measure me length!”

When she could contribute nothing more, Vanessa wished the staff a pleasant evening and left. She met Blythe in the passage, just as Mrs. Royce and Mr. Johnson emerged from the direction of the butler’s pantry. Mrs. Royce appeared unusually flustered.

Blythe’s eyes lit up. “I’m glad you’re home, Johnson.”

Johnson’s rugged face split into a smile. “Thank you, Miss Blythe.”

Vanessa and Blythe climbed the stairs. “You like Mr. Johnson.”

“Oh yes. I prefer to have him here when Father is away. He looks very strong, doesn’t he? And he’s always calm.”

“Is that important to you?”

Blythe considered it. “I suppose it is. You are, too, Miss Ashley. It makes me feel better. I don’t know why.”

*****

That evening, Vanessa rested her arms on the windowsill and contemplated the perfect summer’s night. The trees bordering the driveway were dressed with colored lanterns. Strains of a Chopin prelude drifted up from the ballroom.

Carriages and barouches arrived to deposit beautifully dressed couples at the front door. The ladies’ jewelry sparkled in the lamplight. Chatter and light laughter rose as they stepped inside.

Vanessa sighed as she pulled the curtains. This grand and exciting life should have been hers. She’d never really missed it until now. Why had her grandfather been so difficult? Her father had been the second son but was to be given a house and income before the falling out. He removed himself completely from society after that. And her mother along with him. She could never bring herself to lay any blame at her father’s door, but he obviously preferred the bohemian life he led.

The party in full swing, Vanessa hurried along to Blythe’s room to escort her downstairs. She smoothed the full sleeves of her favorite gown, the one her father had described as insipid. He preferred her in bold colors. She liked the jacquard-woven, pale green silk with its leaf pattern. Tiny buttons ran from the high neck to the waist, and the skirts swept back into graceful folds over the strapontin padding her behind. Although it wasn’t an evening gown, wearing her mother’s tiny emerald earrings enhanced the outfit.

Blythe waited in her figured organdie party dress, a ribbon threaded through her ringlets. “Those earrings suit your green eyes, Miss Ashley.” She came close to examine them, and her sweet breath touched Vanessa’s cheek.

“What a pretty compliment, thank you. Your dress is lovely. Let’s go down. Cook has promised us an ice.”

They sat eating their sweet strawberry ices on the terrace, listening to the buzz of conversation and the glorious music in the ballroom.

Three ladies strolled up from the gardens, exquisite in their gowns of faille, tulle and satin, their hair dressed with jeweled combs and feathers. They made Vanessa aware of how underdressed she was. Once they reached the terrace, they paused.

“What a pretty child,” the lady in crimson satin commented.

The one in pastel tulle stepped forward. She had light brown hair and pretty hazel eyes. “This is Blythe, Lord Falconbridge’s daughter. Are you enjoying the evening, my dear?”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Patterson,” Blythe said in a quiet voice. She seemed unimpressed by the dainty lady before her.

Miss Patterson entered the house with her companions. They looked like his lordship’s exotic butterflies.

Vanessa wondered if Blythe suspected this lady might become her new mamma. If she did, she wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea. That was to be expected. Blythe was used to having her father entirely to herself. Her adoration of him was apparent. As his trip grew closer, Blythe became more fretful and voiced her dislike of him leaving at least once a day.

By quarter to eleven, his lordship had not appeared. Blythe was limp and yawning. They could hear the guests departing, and Vanessa decided to tuck the child into bed and retire herself.

“Time for bed, Blythe.”

“Oh no, not yet, I’m having so much fun. I’m sure Father will join us soon. Can’t we wait a little longer?”

Vanessa sensed she was being manipulated, but at the sight of Blythe’s earnest little face, she relented. “Fifteen minutes and then you must go to bed.”

Blythe settled down again, crossing her legs at the ankle and spreading her dress over the seat. “I’ve never seen the sea. What’s it like?”

Aware she was being deliberately distracted from her purpose, Vanessa described the rugged Cornish coast and the sea birds nesting in the cliffs. She regaled her with the story of her first swim in the ocean. How her father had to rescue her in front of everyone. Blythe opened her eyes wide. “Did you almost drown?”

“I swallowed some seawater, but no, I can’t say that I was a death’s door.”

“Were there many people there?”

“Oh, yes. They were all clustered around the bathhouses and holding onto their ropes in the sea. I believe I surfaced looking like some strange sea creature with seaweed in my hair.”

Blythe pealed with laughter just as her father stepped out the door.

He smiled. “I’m late. I’m sorry.”

Vanessa’s plan to slip away unnoticed crumbled, yet she took her chance. “Blythe is very tired, my lord.”

“No, I’m not.” Blythe straightened her drooping shoulders. “Will you dance with Miss Ashley now, Father?”

Vanessa started to her feet. “It’s too late really. I think we must …”

“Please wait. I’ll return in a moment.” He disappeared inside. If he objected to the idea, he hid it well.

Vanessa’s breath quickened as she searched her mind for a polite excuse. “Surely the musicians have packed up,” she said to Blythe.

At that moment, the strains of a waltz his lordship must have requested floated out of the open door. He re-appeared and walked over to her. “I would be honored if you will dance with me, Miss Ashley.” He held out his arms.

Blythe giggled. “Oh do dance with Father, Miss Ashley.”

Vanessa hesitated, flushing at the suggestion of something she felt too intimate. Her reputation would be worthless if this was put about. No one would hire a forward governess. She rose and went to him with the hope that the servants were busy tidying up in the ballroom or retiring to bed. Holding her breath, she took his hand. He placed an arm around her waist.