The Rogue's Reluctant Rose (22 page)

“Miss Barrington — ” the man began, a dubious look on his face, but Araminta interrupted with a brave smile.

“No, Robert. Thank you, but it is best if I go alone. I shall be just fine. Why, I grew up playing in this wood. And I am very capable, you know.”

“I know, Miss,” he nodded, untying the bridle and handing it to Araminta, who held it with expert ease. “Still, be careful. I would not forgive myself if I learned I’d let you come to any trouble.”

“Nonsense. You could not begin to imagine the trouble from which you have saved me. Thank you, Robert. You have been most invaluable and I am very grateful. Goodbye, now.” With a last smile, she turned Nightstar, and rode out of the paddock. Robert watched her disappear into the night with a sense of unease, before quickly vanishing into the shadows himself, lest the head groom’s wife should look out of her window and spot him.

“God be with you, Miss Araminta,” he whispered as he left the empty paddock, wondering what had really caused the young lady’s flight and what trouble would be sure to come of it.

***

Chestleton supposed that it wasn’t at all surprising that he could not bring himself to go to his bed, which suddenly seemed large and gaping and empty. It was odd that he should feel that way — he had always enjoyed the luxury of having all that space to himself.

If he were honest with himself, Chestleton had to admit that he was very much in his cups. The bottle of old fine brandy next to his half-full tumbler would certainly attest to this. Of course, he did not see what else he could have done short of returning to her door and bashing it open, if that was what it took for her face him. Mrs Becker had come to send him on his way, forbidding him to enter the corridor to Araminta’s room. The woman could be a harpy when she set her mind to it, but his instincts to heed her stemmed from his boyhood, and were unconquerable.

So instead he came to his study. He had even made a valiant effort to attend to some business pertaining to the repairs taking place on his own estate. It had not taken him long to give up on the task. Instead, he had spent the hours that drifted by him listening to the silence of the house, and partaking of the brandy Dillwood had been thoughtful enough to leave for his convenience.

He supposed he ought to have let the cursed chit alone, let her marry her fribble of a suitor. But he had interfered, and before he knew it he had made a point of running into her just to feel the burn of her midnight eyes and the sting of her delightfully sharp tongue. And then when he had found her, limp and unconscious, in the rain…

As he sat in gloomy contemplation of exactly when he had come to care for the absurdly green Miss Barrington more than any sane man should, he heard the sound — hoof beats, moving away from the house. Flying unsteadily to his feet with a string of expletives, Chestleton hurried to the window, though it did not look out onto the stables.

It was unthinkable of course, but, somehow, he still had the sinking, horrified, feeling that it was
her
. She had somehow sneaked out of her room, out of the house, and taken her horse to flee into the night. It did not bear thinking of the sort of mishaps that could befall her in the dark forest. With a roar of rage like a wounded animal, Jasper Devereaux launched his tumbler into the merrily crackling fireplace where it shattered in a most satisfying manner.

***

It took all Mrs Becker’s strength of character to stop him from pursuing the girl in his inebriated condition. At last, she wore him down by means of a thorough taking to task for upsetting the girl to such an extent that she would flee the house alone in the middle of the night. By virtue of having known the marquis since he had been a boy in knee-britches sneaking scones and apples from the kitchen, the housekeeper was immune to his dark scowls or attempts to tell her to mind her own business.

“…really, Lord Chestleton!” Mrs Becker was saying, her use of his title in that particular tone of voice making him cringe. “What were you thinking? And don’t you try talking your way out of it. I know exactly what the poor thing was so upset about. I daresay the whole house knows, with the way you raised your voice outside her door. What did you expect, I wonder, would come of lying to her? And a most needless lie it proved to be. Then you go and scare her witless with all your shouting and stomping about and pounding on her door, when you should have just left well enough alone. Stupid boy! And you may just as well forget going after her in your present condition, which I may add is most disgraceful. What will her family think to see you like that? That is if you do not break your neck riding like this in the dark!”

“
She
is out riding in the dark,” he attempted to interject, the steel in the old woman’s voice quickly having a sobering effect.

“Miss Barrington, by her own words, grew up riding in these woods, and I daresay
she
is not in her cups. Now if you want to vex her further, and thus completely destroy any chance you may have of having her hear you out in the foreseeable future, go ahead and chance after her. But I warn you, all that will do is cause some friend of hers to call you out for upsetting a lady so. You just sit right here, my lord, and give Miss Barrington some time. I have sent out riders after her, and they will follow her to Fanshawe Hall and ascertain that she arrives safely, don’t you worry. She’s a smart, capable young lady, your Miss Barrington — she’ll do alright.”

***

For some reason, Araminta felt her vision blur with tears as she paused to take one final look at the manor house behind her. In the gloom, it was an island of pale light, and she wondered if they had noticed her departure.

Clenching her jaw and steeling her trembling heart, Araminta reminded herself that she could not waste a minute of precious time on regrets and doubts. She knew she had done the right thing, and she had to get away before she could be caught by the inevitable pursuit.

She knew there would be pursuit — Jasper Deveraux was not the sort of man to give up and let her go. Not when letting her go was a matter of pride. She was sorry to leave Mrs Becker behind without so much as a goodbye, when the woman had been so kind to her, and she felt guilty over leaving Charlotte, when the little girl was already so lonely and could not hope to understand.

But she was certain she had to go, and so she turned Nightstar with a practised flick of her wrists and disappeared into the dark ahead, giving the horse his lead. Nightstar knew his way home. Araminta felt torn asunder as she galloped further and further from the manor house, further and further from the man who had captured her heart — and broken it.

Johnson, the butler, having no doubt been called from his bed by one of the stable boys who had been awoken by Araminta’s furious approach down the drive toward the stables, was ready to meet her when she at last arrived at the house.

Araminta could not see much of the familiar building in the dark, apart from the open doorway, where Johnson stood in his dressing robe, holding a candle.

“Miss Barrington!” he exclaimed in surprise.

“Hello, Johnson,” she attempted a cheerful greeting, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. By the concern that was still painted across his face, she supposed she had not succeeded very well.

She was ushered into the house and into the family parlour, where a fire was quickly stacked and lit and a warm blanket was brought for her. A servant was sent up to fetch Kitty and Harriet, who came rushing downstairs, just as Johnson brought in some hot chocolate and sandwiches for her. After the bewildered greetings, they waited until the butler withdrew before questioning the young woman’s sudden arrival. There was no excluding Kitty, who had been like a mother to her for many years, and who was nothing if not the soul of discretion.

“But, my dear, I do not understand why you are come home so late at night. Surely Lord Chestleton would know better than to send you home alone, and at such an hour.”

Araminta fidgeted before replying, feeling their concerned eyes on her.

“He did not send me back. I chose to leave.”

“Chose to leave?” repeated Harriet, “Tell me Araminta, did something happen? Was the marquis cruel to you in some way, was he inappropriate?” Her voice was concerned and angry.

“Oh, I just knew we should not have let Miss Minta stay with that man. A rogue of the most dangerous kind!” exclaimed Kitty. “What happened, child? Tell us, and we will have him answer for it.”

“Oh, no! It was nothing like that,” said Araminta quickly. She had visions of plump old Kitty, unstoppable and frightening when angry and defending her charge, rushing over to Dillwood Park in the middle of the night to give Chestleton a talking-to. The image was oddly comical, and Araminta’s mouth twitched momentarily before she sobered up at the very real possibility of a scandal — something the family could ill afford.

“Young women do not flee houses in the middle of the night for no reason,” said Harriet, still looking disturbed. “And you look so very dismal.”

“Think nothing of it. Please,” Araminta insisted, “I know it is most irregular, but Chestleton and I had a disagreement and I felt I could not in good conscience remain longer under his roof.”

“Has he done you any harm?”

Araminta could tell Harriet would start blaming herself for whatever she imagined to have occured because she had allowed Araminta to remain under the roof of a known dilettante. She hurried to assuage her sister-in-law’s concerns.

“Oh, no, not at all. Chestleton behaved with complete propriety, and I had a chaperone.” Araminta thought about the incident in her room, the feeling of his hot kisses on her skin, and shook her head as if to clear it, reminding herself than any affection he seemed to hold for her had been nothing more than a game to him. “No, Harriet, do not worry. I was ill then and there was no other choice but to stay. But I am well again. Whatever malady had come upon me is gone away.” She wished with all her heart that this were true.

“I’m not sure it would be at all the thing for a young lady to consider the Marquis of Chestleton a friend,” said Harriet, watching Araminta carefully.

A steely look came into Araminta’s dark blue eyes. “We are not at all friends, and our disagreement was not of the sort that is easily overlooked. No, Harriet, have no worry on that count.”

Kitty said nothing, but her eyes were fixed on Araminta’s face as though she could read much more behind the girl’s immovable determination than Araminta wished to display.

“I am glad to hear it. Oh, Araminta, it is good that you are come home. We were so frightened when you did not come back — I had all sorts of horrors flying through my mind.”

“And what a coincidence that the Marquis of Chestleton was there,” observed Kitty, “It was very fortunate that he come upon you, Miss Minta.” The old woman reached for her basket of knitting and began casting on.

“Yes, Kitty, so it was.” Araminta did her best to sound noncommittal. “It was very good of him to allow me to stay through my illness. But I am happy to be home at last.”

“Well, my dear, we are not the only ones pleased that you are home,” said Harriet, with a teasing smile. “Sir Timothy, you know, has already written half-a-dozen letters to ask after you, and he promised to come down at your convenience to escort you back to London.

Araminta felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, which had nothing to do with the pieces into which her heart had been shattered less than a day earlier. She felt a mixture of guilt and dread. Somehow, she had allowed herself to forget all about Sir Timothy. All about her duty. She did her best to seem curious and pleased, while twisting the blanket in her lap around her fingers nervously.

“Has he? That was good of him.”

“He seems a very good young man.” Harriet smiled at her encouragingly, mistaking nervousness for bashfulness.

“Yes, yes I think that he is.” Which only made the guilt eat at her more persistently.

It was late and Harriet soon returned to bed. Kitty came up with Araminta, calling for a bath and then brushing out Araminta’s long silky hair, and plaiting it before bed as she had done when Araminta had been a girl.

Before leaving the young lady in her room, she gave one delicate shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Alone at last, Araminta stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was pale and wan and her midnight blue eyes held a deep, profound sadness.

***

Charles’ portrait hung at the very end of the family gallery. It had been painted when Charles had come down from Oxford for the last time. Araminta’s eyes traced her beloved brother’s features, wishing more than ever that he was still alive, so that he could talk with her, and tell her silly stories to make her laugh.

It was with determined steps that the young woman strode out of the portrait gallery, her gown billowing around her. There was no sense moping about for what could never be. She had been a fool to believe in the fancies she had allowed her mind to spin during the brief sojourn at Dillwood Park, but those delusions were over with now. She did not know if her heart would ever quite recover from the disappointment of her first love, unreciprocated though it had been, and the only way to protect it was to make sure that it could never be hurt again.

It did not take her long to pen a letter to Sir Timothy. She knew now, that she could never love him the way she had come to love Jasper Devereaux, but she thought of him as a friend, and she knew that he could never hurt her, for he was nothing if not a kindly soul.

She tried to suppress her guilt at being unable to return Sir Timothy’s affections by reminding herself that friendship and respect were almost certain to grow into love, though she knew they would never reach the heights of breathless passion she had felt for Chestleton.

Araminta’s certainty of the kindness of Sir Timothy and his affections was assured a day later, when a barouche came to rest outside Fanshawe Hall.

Araminta had been in the nursery, gazing out of the window with little Henry in her lap. She was sure that he had grown in her absence and he looked more and more like Charles every day. He had the same eyes, which promised mischief in years to come, and the same stubborn chin.