“Has she? Then why have you been bringing Phoebus back into the stables every morning quite exhausted? And where, exactly, do you go on your rides?”
Cecilia looked at her father-in-law in astonishment. “I had no idea when I came to Hatherley that I would be under constant surveillance. How do you come to know of Phoebus and the hours at which I ride?”
“Since your illness, both Ormiston and I are reluctant to allow you too free a rein, my dear. We nearly lost you then, so now we watch over you where we are able.”
“It is over two months since my misadventure. I am quite recovered.”
“In that case, you can have no objection to setting a date to share with us your groom's secrets.” Mrs. Selby was quick to pounce.
Cecilia looked around in vain for her husband, who would surely put a stop to this ridiculous business. But Ormiston was nowhere to be seen.
“Very well. I will ride for you. But, Marquis, there must be no audience other than yourself and Mrs. Selby.”
“Now, now,” drawled Lazenby, “Mrs. Selby will not agree to the wager without my presence. There must be an uninvolved party to adjudicate. Let us set the date immediately. A twelvenight hence?”
“Very well, Earl Lazenby. If Mrs. Selby is intent on this arrangement, a twelvenight hence. But only if my husband agrees to my making a spectacle of myself.”
Just then, the musicians rounded off their latest dance and withdrew for a brief rest. Ormiston escorted his partner back to her escort and rejoined Cecilia, who was still simmering beside her father-in-law. Dacre lost no time in discussing the proposed trial with his son, who glanced over at his wife with a quizzical air.
“If Cecilia is ready for such a display and you are intent on this foal, who am I to gainsay you?”
“If you think it unseemly, you must say. I would not wish to do anything you might consider to be improper.” Cecilia's pleading gaze spoke volumes to Ormiston, but he chose to ignore the message she sent him so speakingly.
“A private exposition before a select group of friends is hardly unsuitable. I myself should be intrigued to see you ride. After all, my notice was drawn to you when you rescued your companion's hat while riding in Paris.”
Cecilia looked sharply at her husband before turning to Lazenby and Mrs. Selby.
“You have your wish, then. I shall do what I can to earn a foal from you.”
Ormiston reminded her that she had agreed to dance with him and removed her from her tormentors' presence before she could be further provoked.
“Why on earth did you agree to this? All you had to do was cut up stiff and the matter would have been dropped and then forgotten.”
“You misread our hostess and our neighbor if you think that would have been an end to the matter. This is containable, but allow their baiting any further rein and we shall all become a public spectacle.”
“But I am not a performer. Once in a fit of ridiculous exuberance, I lapsed and collected up Louise de la Trémouillère's hat. Otherwise, I have never performed in public and I am hideously out of practice. Since our return to Sawards in February, I have scarcely drilled at all.”
“But you have been out every morning for the past six weeks, I believe.”
“I am weak and out of condition.”
“Frankly, Cecilia, I believe you need do very little to impress. It will be a little like Dr. Johnson's views of dogs walking on their hind legs and women preaching.”
“Not done well, but surprising to find done at all. You may be right, but I don't wish to appear a charlatan. It is trueâthose riders were nothing out of the way, but neither am I at the moment. At one time, I could have done all manner of fine maneuvers.”
“At least now you need not conceal your practice from all of us. You may take more time to train. What if we summon Jem Anderton from Sawards? He could be here in three days if we send for him at once.”
“You would do that for me?”
“It is scarcely anything at all, and the very least I should offer, having placed you in this position. But do you see my point about Lazenby? Mrs. Selby is a different kettle of fishâyou need only hint at withdrawing your friendship and I am sure she will come around. But I am uncertain about Lazenby. I feel he could be an unpleasant enemy, and this is so simple a way to defuse his mischief.”
“But what if it gets out?”
“Dacre and I will ensure that it don't. You may rely on us for that at least. And once this is done, we can dismiss him from our circle of intimates.”
“Perhaps it will work. But only if Dacre can be brought to see how untrustworthy he is. That I must leave to you.”
“Very well. Now, are you ready for more dancing or shall we call the carriage?”
“We must wait for the final round of entertainment from the Muscovites, I think.”
The viscount and viscountess withdrew soon after the finale to Mrs. Selby's party, which was a somewhat dismal display of tumbling and dancing by a troupe of rather mangy bears who clearly would have preferred to sleep and were only sustained by the promise of sustenance and excessive prodding from their two ringmasters. There were whispers of a livelier show on offer to gentlemen only in the small hours, but Ormiston was far happier to return home in the carriage with his wife.
True to his word, the viscount summoned Jem Anderton and within three days, the groom arrived at Hatherley. Cecilia trained on a barrel for a couple of hours before climbing into the saddle for up to three hours each day and her strength and suppleness increased markedly. Jem harrumphed over the business of the wager, but after speaking with the local men, he had established that the official stake was worthwhile. Ormiston, meanwhile, put it about that Cecilia was suffering from overexertion after illness, thus excusing her from numerous calls upon her time.
Once he understood that Cecilia's antics had not brought any disgrace on him, Jem Anderton was an eager coach.
“We must work on the movement, for laymen are more impressed the more you move about. They don't realize that the real skill lies in holding a balance on a beast. So plenty of vaulting, some roll-ups, and a couple of
obryvs
if you've the flexibility. Lots of scissoring and an arabesque. Can you still do a shoulder-stand?”
“I can try. I can't hold it for long.”
“Don't need to. Short one on either flank and that'll please the gawpers. We'll start with that.”
Jem soon worked out a routine that did not demand excessive strength, but did require a great deal of flexibility. He was complimentary about Phoebus and the way Cecilia had built up a rapport with her new mount and this increased her confidence. On the eve of her appointed exhibition, Dacre, Ormiston, and the children demanded to watch her training session. Jem was dubious and laid down strict rules for the viewing. He stood the group, which included Lavauden, of course, at a certain point in the paddock, out of Phoebus's eyeshot, gave them strict instructions not to clap, whistle, or whoop, and indicated to his pupil that it was time to perform.
As Cecilia brought Phoebus into the ring at a trot, the first shock for Ormiston was that his wife wore the uniform of a Zouave, which had clearly been tailor-made, for it fitted to perfection, exposing her long, slim legs, her high waist, her straight back. Her hair was drawn back from her face in a tight plait, every fiber of her being concentrating on controlling her mount. Phoebus bore a strange-looking saddle with additional straps passing under his belly, extremely short stirrups, and a very loose rein hooked round the pommel, which Cecilia did not touch at all. She eased the horse into a canter and when the gelding was moving smoothly around the ring, she rose until she was standing, feet securely in the stirrups. Then she fitted her boots into toe loops on the saddle and stood as Phoebus steadily increased his speed to what seemed to be a full gallop. Ormiston's mouth was dry with fear for what she would do next.
She knelt down, her knees together, then began to vault first to one side of the animal, then the other, very evenly. Then she slipped down and rode a circuit, hanging first from Phoebus's right flank, then from his left. Then she directed her mount to gallop down the middle of the ring, alternately picking up first a ring from his left and then one from his right until she had amassed six rings.
Once again, she stood in the saddle and threw the rings one by one to Jem, who caught them neatly and nodded. She began a series of balances, kneeling, lying back with her legs in the air, performing arabesques like a ballet dancer facing both forward and backward, and finally balancing entirely upside down, her shoulder and head balanced against Phoebus's neck, facing backward as the horse continued in his steady canter. Then she swung back into the saddle and, quite suddenly, dived under the horse's belly, disappearing entirely from the spectators' view for heart-stopping seconds until she reappeared, climbing back into the saddle. With a broad smile, she eased Phoebus down to a trot and then to a walk before bringing him over to Jem. She slipped from the horse's back, patting him fondly and bringing out a handful of carrots to reward him for his steadiness. Then the viscount came over and embraced her, as though to check that she was still in one piece.
“And this is
out of condition
!” exclaimed Ormiston. “I cannot tell how long this took to perform. To me it seemed an eternity, yet now you have finished, it seems too short for such grace. Mrs. Selby will see at once that her Muscovites were small beer.”
“Do you think it will quell Lazenby?”
“That I cannot tell. I fear it may inflame him further, but Dacre says he will deal with the earl. Our more immediate problem is likely to be your brother and sister.”
It proved as Ormiston indicated. The Marchmont children were hopping with excitement, desperate for lessons from Jem and eager for him to stay forever at Hatherley that he might teach them. Cecilia had to be very firm with them.
“Before we initiate any program of training, we must have approval from both the marquis and Jem. It is no good having the approval of one without the other, and I have no idea whether Jem will be prepared to remain at Hatherley. Certainly, if he will not stay, we may try to find another trainer, but it will take some time.”
“You could be our trainer, surely, Ceci.”
“No, Reggie, I could not. I am still learning myself and you know how busy I am here. There are always callers to be received and people to be seen on the estate and all sorts of functions. I cannot promise to give you regular instruction.”
Lavauden calmed the children and escorted them back to the house, leaving Cecilia with Dacre and Ormiston. The marquis was looking extremely pleased.
“What an asset you are to the family, Lady Cecilia! Why, if we are ever on our uppers, we need only hire you out and our fortunes will be remade in an instant. The Vaulting Viscountess!”
Cecilia rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You are not meant to be pleased by such nonsense. If that sobriquet ever becomes known in Society, I shall know where to look, and I warn you, I will have my revenge.”
They returned to the house, where Cecilia changed into regular clothes before spending a quiet afternoon with as few distractions as possible, followed by an early night. Somehow, she felt that Lazenby would not allow his strange campaign of action against Ormiston and herself to rest after the morrow's display. A more permanent means of distracting him or avoiding him altogether must be found, but in the meantime, she would play her part.
Sixteen
Early in the afternoon, Mrs. Selby arrived with Lazenby in her carriage. They were welcomed by Dacre, given refreshments, and taken to an open-air ring behind the stables where seats had been arranged for them. They commented on the absence of both Cecilia and Ormiston, but the viscount soon joined them.
“I have been trying to encourage Lady Cecilia. She is a little anxious this afternoon. But if you are quite ready?”
The guests nodded and Ormiston signalled to Jem Anderton. Phoebus and Cecilia appeared from around a corner at a full gallop, with Cecilia standing tall and elegant on the saddle, eliciting a gasp of astonishment from Mrs. Selby and a sharp intake of breath as Lazenby took in the viscountess's costume, with her jacket tight about her torso, flaring out at the waist, her long legs accentuated by the billowing Zouave britches she wore, tucked into riding boots which reached her mid-calf. Rider and mount carried out their routine flawlessly. Mrs. Selby could not help applauding, but fortunately her hands were gloved, so the sound was muffled and did not distract Phoebus in any way.
Cecilia vaulted from the saddle at the end of the routine. To Lazenby's astonishment, Ormiston, who he had always thought of as such a dry stick, ran to his wife, who was handing Phoebus's reins to Jem Anderton. The viscount embraced her and kissed her soundly before laughing with delight. Then he turned to look Lazenby full in the eye before leading Cecilia over to their audience. Mrs. Selby was effusive in her compliments, which Ormiston affably accepted on behalf of his wife, his demeanor more than his words emphasizing that this exhibition was private. Cecilia excused herself so that she might change.
As the party walked back to the house, Lazenby was utterly silent. It was difficult to read this silence, which might have been awe, infatuation, or anger. Since Mrs. Selby was in continuing raptures about the display, wishing she might have the honor of presenting a similar act at her next party, yet understanding that it was quite out of the question for the viscountess to perform publicly, Lazenby's subdued response was not overly conspicuous. Tea had been laid out in one of the larger public rooms this afternoon, for Ormiston had decided that it was time to remind Mrs. Selby of the substance and preeminence of the Dacre family. She might affect an insouciance about rank and riches, but if Cecilia so chose, invitations to Hatherley would always have more cachet than her own.
Cecilia joined the party to general congratulations, which she accepted with wry amusement. She suspected that both her guests had hoped to see her make a fool of herself, but she felt that she had acquitted herself with honor and some aplomb. She sat down, not entirely relaxed, but appearing very cool in a gauzy dress of duck-egg blue trimmed with lace, complete with matching fan.
“Why, you look so very elegant, I can scarcely believe that we saw you not half an hour since in your uniform. It appeared to be specially tailored?”
“Yes, Mrs. Selby, I devised it some years ago. It is comfortable and practical without being unduly immodest.”
“If you wore such a costume in London, it would be all the rage inside of a week. Most fetching, is it not, Lazenby?”
“Indeed.” His eyes were hot as he recalled the viscountess's figure, at once taut and curvaceous. No wonder Ormiston had so proprietary an air. The thought of what other wonders that athletic body might perform in a more private arena inflamed Lazenby and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wished to go, but he was also reluctant to leave Cecilia's presence. She seemed to become more entrancing by the minute.
Lady Ormiston then asked about the arrival of Jasper's foals, which flustered Mrs. Selby, for she leapt up and declared that she must go, but that she would consult her chief groom and write with full details in the very near future. Naturally, Lazenby had to accompany her. As he left, he took Cecilia's hand and made a deep obeisance.
“I seem to have underestimated you, Viscountess. I shall not make that mistake again.”
Cecilia removed her hand from his and watched him as he stood tall before her. To her ears, his simple statement was an open threat. She flicked open her fan and fluttered it gently.
“According to some of our writers, it is the fate of all women to be underestimated. I should hope you do not succumb to such an error, although generally speaking, when men do so, we are quick to use such lapses to our own advantage.” She snapped her fan shut.
“I am warned.
à bientôt.
” The customary twinkle had left his eyes. “My best wishes to your brother and sister.”
In the carriage, Mrs. Selby was very chatty. “We have been thoroughly trumped, you and I. If we make this public, it is we who will appear foolish. At the same time, we have been shown our place most firmly. Still, I do not hold it against them, though I am a little dismayed about losing my horseflesh. That is the last time I shall challenge the Dacres.”
“Not much bottom, Mrs. Selby.”
“You do not depend so nearly on their good will as we cits. Selby would be very cross if I lost their favor. You had better look out nonetheless. Dacre will not stand for it if you try to make his son or daughter-in-law ridiculous, you may believe me.”
“I do believe you, madam.” The earl was close to losing his temper. He concerned himself with flicking dust from his pantaloons, evading Mrs. Selby's eye. It had not escaped his attention that Dacre had been markedly cooler toward him this afternoon.
“All very well to speak softly, but I don't like the look of you, Lazenby. I should be sorry to see you lose your last champion. Tread warily, is my advice.”
Lazenby smiled, but his eyes were cold. If he did not answer, perhaps she would be quiet. Eventually, Daphne Selby did fall silent, allowing Lazenby to muse on what he had seen that afternoon. Lady Ormiston had made her own position clear. She might not love her husband, but she was no easy target driven to recklessness by boredom. This, of course, made her more desirable. She was beginning to appear in the guise of a worthy opponent. The marriage had clearly been a dynastic alliance. The Marchmonts were connected with half the noble families of England, and no doubt the dowry had been considerable. There seemed to be some affection between bride and groom, certainly, but as to love, Lazenby could not swear to it. They were somehow too courteous, too careful with each other, despite Ormiston's show of affection and pride in his wife's odd accomplishment.
The earl was prepared to play a waiting game. He had plenty to do in exercising his hunters and coursing his hounds, inspecting the brakes and bounds of his lands and generally preparing for the hunting season to come. He did not come to Hatherley for more than a fortnight after the viscountess's triumph.
It was a crisp morning when he did come, the cooling air hinting at autumn. His ostensible reason for riding over was to fulfill a promise made to Reggie to show him a new gun come from Purdey's, the gunsmiths fast superseding Manton's. It was a disappointment to hear from young Marchmont that Lady Cecilia was knee-deep in dreary ladies calling to arrange some dull doing. Worse was to come. Reggie led the earl to a target range he had set up, whereupon Ormiston popped up like a rabbit emerging from its warren. However tempting it might be to shoot him, Lazenby concentrated on the official targets, showing Reggie the new gun, helping him to hold it correctly, for it was much too large for a boy not yet twelve, showing him how to check the sights and load it. Lazenby fired at the targets, picking them off very neatly. Reggie clamored for a turn, but both Lazenby and the viscount said the kick of the gun would be too great for him. The earl offered Ormiston a try with the rifle.
The viscount took it. Lazenby was not sure what he was expecting. Certainly not the smooth, even routine of cleaning, loading, and firing with scarcely a blink until each of the eight targets had a neat, accurate hole at its center. Ormiston might be a dandified aesthete, but he was also a very fine shot.
“What a talented family! With your skills, you might settle in a wilderness and never want for anything.”
“Wherever I am, I hope I shall be able to protect and feed my family.” The warning was unmistakable, however smilingly it was given.
Lazenby glanced at the viscount and turned the subject slightly. “I do not remember your being so fine a shot.”
“I would be surprised if you remembered me at all. I generally have not mixed with my father's acquaintance until now. I was at school, he was often away. We saw very little of each other.” Ormiston changed the subject swiftly, inviting Lazenby up to the house for refreshment. In the hope of seeing Cecilia, Lazenby agreed, chaffing Reggie as they cleared up the makeshift shooting range and walked to the terrace. He caught a glimpse of several ladies sitting in a morning room, a flash of black amongst them which made his heart leap. While Cecilia did not wear mourning for informal calls, he had noticed that when entertaining larger groups, she conformed to Society's dictates. She displayed a beguiling mix of rebellion and duty.
“This way, Lazenby,” said the viscount, holding open one of the French windows into the gun room. After storing Lazenby's weapon there, they went to the library, where Buchan was reading
The Spectator
. He willingly left his article to join in a general discussion of shooting, guns, and the prospects for the hunting season.
“Does Lady Cecilia hunt?” enquired Lazenby.
“She has no suitable hunter as yet. Phoebus might serve, but I would be reluctant to see her take to the field on him since she has trained him so superbly for her own purposes.”
“But you do not object to her taking to the field?”
“Why should I?” Ormiston's eyebrows shot up, making it clear he found Lazenby's line of questioning intrusive. “My wife would never behave in a way that anyone found ill-becoming in a viscountess, I am sure. Certainly, her skill on a horse is more than adequate to meet the challenge.”
“I am sure Dacre will not leave her unmounted for long. Our hunting is excellentâit would be a shame for her to miss the chance to ride out over such fine country.”
The door opened and Lady Cecilia entered. “Burden said I might find you here.” She saw Lazenby and checked before advancing more composedly, offering a languid hand, which he kissed. “Viscountess.”
“Lazenby. I had forgot you were due to show Reggie the wonders of your new gun.”
Ormiston stepped forward. “What was it you wished to speak to me about?”
“Nothing urgent. Simply an idea of the ladies which requires our support.”
“We are due to ride out this afternoon. We will have an opportunity then to discuss any plans you ladies may be hatching. In the meantime, Lazenby, we must not keep you after your generosity with young Reggie this morning.”
Aware that he was trespassing on the borders of hospitality, Lazenby tried to press his host. “I was hoping to see Dacre also.”
“I am afraid the marquis is engaged for the day. He has already had to disappoint Reggie and Amelia, so you are in good company.” Ormiston's smile of welcome was distinctly frosty. Cecilia had engaged Buchan in conversation and they had moved away. Lazenby gave a slight bow.
“If you will ring and ask for my horse to be brought around, I would be grateful.”
There was nothing hurried about his leave-taking, but it was uncomfortable to feel that no one in the room wished him to linger. It was with some relief all around that he made his farewells when the footman came to say the horse was ready for him. Buchan accompanied him out of the room.
Ormiston and Cecilia were left alone. “We were not too blunt, were we?” asked Cecilia, anxiety furrowing her brow.
“You were not, although I may have been. I am certainly no favorite of his. You should have seen his face when I appeared at Reggie's range. I half feared he might turn his gun on me and render you an available widow.”
“If that is a joke, it is in poor taste.”
“You do not wish to be free of me?”
“Not at present.” Cecilia did not appreciate being teased by Ormiston. Also, his intelligence about Lazenby merited more thought and less levity, in her view. “He is not someone to be trifled with, Ormiston.” She did not mention how disquieting the earl's gaze had been when she had come into the room. He had seemed to follow her every movement, reminding her of the ball where Dacre had first introduced her to the earl. Lazenby had rather summarily kissed her hand and excused himself, preferring to spend the greater part of the evening watching the current object of his interest, a young wife who was intrigued but not yet entranced by him. His eyes had tracked the woman as she danced with various partners, and he had positioned himself so that he must catch her eye from time to time as she moved about the room. He had eventually danced with Cecilia when it was clear that the young woman had no free dances and he had spent the entire passage of the dance attempting to maneuver himself closer to his quarry.
“My father has said he will discourage the earl's visits. He is planning to ride over to Edenbridge in the next day or two to speak with Lazenby. You know that we have only to say the word and Buchan will draw him off should he come here again.”