The Rogue's Reluctant Rose (9 page)

On the way to the dining room, she stopped by the nursery, where her little nephew slept in a crib that had been in the Barrington family for over three hundred years. His nurse was mending a gown while she hummed tunelessly to herself and watched over the baby. A fire crackled merrily in the nursery hearth.

Henry had grown in her absence, she noted, remembering how tiny he had been when he was born. The doctor had pronounced him a fine, strong boy, much to everyone’s relief. Harriet’s pregnancy had not been an easy one, and they had all expected him to be born weak and sickly.

Araminta wondered if it was her imagination, but she was sure that the baby had her brother’s nose and mouth. She felt her heart clench with love for him, as she watched the child sleep. Araminta knew that she would not let little Henry grow up penniless and without the family Seat. She would not have him disconnected from the home and the long line of family with whom she felt linked within these walls. She would do anything within her power to save them all.

Careful not to wake the baby, she retreated from the room, thinking of Charles. Absently, she made her way into the little dining room, another symbol of how reduced their number had become. They had taken to eating in the smaller dining room soon after Charles’ passing, when neither she nor Harriet could bring themselves to dine in the overwhelming emptiness of the big dining hall, the very size of which seemed to highlight Charles’ absence.

Harriet had arranged a pleasant supper small enough for two, though Araminta assured her that she need not have waited for her to arrive. The spoke quietly together, discussing London, and their situation. Araminta had considered leaving the conversation till morning, but she was sure that postponing the inevitable would only make it worse. She made it half-way through the main course before finally feeling ready to broach the subject.

Her eyes darted between Harriet’s kind, pretty face and her own plate, and she kept moving the remains of a potato around her plate while she tried to find the words.

“My dear, you look most distraught all of a sudden. What could be the matter?” Harriet asked, concerned.

Araminta sighed and met her sister’s eyes. “I do not know how to tell you this, Harriet, for I know that I encouraged hope, where perhaps I should not have been hasty to do so. I know that we are nearly out of time before we must sell the house… Please do not think me unaware. I have done all I could these past weeks in London to save our situation, but I have not been able to secure a suitable match. I know that with the time we have left, there is little chance of a sudden rescue. I fear that I have failed you and Charles, and little Henry.”

Listening to the younger woman speak, Harriet looked equally distraught.

“Oh, my poor Araminta! It is I who ought to apologise. I had not realised how set you were on your success in this venture. I am sorry that you have spent all this time with such a burden, when it was never yours to bear. You are still so young. It was never expected of you to rescue us. Charles would not have wanted it that way, and neither do I, though I fear that in my panic, I may have given you a mistaken impression.” Harriet earnestly watched Araminta’s anxious face as she spoke. “You have not failed us: you have been so brave and strong, I do not see what more could have been asked of you. Your brother would have been proud of your selfless effort to help us. No, my dear, you are not at fault here, and I wish you would not think that you are. I am Lady Fanshawe, and it is up to me to do what I can. There, too, I feel I owe an apology, for certainly I have been so caught up in my own melancholy that I have not done all I should to rescue us.”

Araminta’s tears had been threatening again, and Harriet too looked ready to weep. Harriet pressed her sister’s hand across the dining table, and Araminta felt comforted. She was determined, more than ever, because of Harriet’s kindness and love, to do all she could to find the money. She felt that she was no longer alone. It was good to be home.

***

The sky loomed low and grey all of the next morning and Araminta felt oppressed by the heavy clouds which nevertheless failed to bring forth rain. Early in the morning, Harriet had written to Mr Davies, requesting an interview, though Araminta doubted it would do them any good. She did not see how the old solicitor could have anything new to say on the matter, or any new options to offer them. However, Araminta felt it would be unkind to say so, and so she let Harriet continue at her escritoire, while she herself paced anxiously across the morning room floor, mind racing.

She had been so very determined on Sir Timothy’s offer, and the offer might yet come, she knew, but time was so short. Araminta wondered if it would be possible to redeem the house once it was sold. And of course, once they lost the family Seat, it would be impossible to hide their impoverished state. With such a change of circumstance, Sir Timothy would be in full right to withdraw any offer he made, or he might simply not offer at all. She did not think any gentleman would offer for her then, for what money she had received upon her mother’s passing would not be nearly enough to make a tempting piece without her portion from her father, which had been lost with the rest of the Barrington fortune.

Both Araminta and Harriet spoke little that day, as if waiting in trepidation, though they both knew that the reply would take at least a day to reach them. Harriet sat with her sewing, though she barely made a stitch, and Araminta attempted to read, but found that she could not focus on a single word of the novel. By lunchtime, she had made little progress, finding that she had been reading and rereading the same few lines for the better part of the morning. It was an exercise in futility, and at last she slammed the book shut and stared angrily out at the miserable sky, which put her in mind of winter.

Melancholy thoughts of Charles and their looming poverty mingled with thoughts of Chestleton. Her mind kept returning to the many strange encounters they had had since their meeting at the Snowe ball, culminating in his spectacular abduction of her. She remembered the way his eyes had travelled over her figure and the silent promise in his assertion that they would meet again. She recalled how complete had been his control of the horses, and how broad his shoulders had looked in his coat. For a brief moment, she ventured to imagine how they would look
without
the coat. Such brazenness was most unlike her and she couldn’t fight the blush that coloured her cheeks.

This only served to make her feel guiltier. What a time to entertain such thoughts, when everyone’s future hung so precariously in the balance! She berated herself sternly. However she tried to distract herself, her thoughts circled around Chestleton and Sir Timothy, Fanshawe Hall, Harriet, and the whole sorry mess.

The situation was simply intolerable, Araminta decided, and she could not abide it a second longer. They had had no good ideas all day, and she felt the urgent need to be outside. Excusing herself from Harriet, who nodded absently in acknowledgement, she hurried from the room in a flurry of skirts.

With another defiant look at the weather through a window on the upper landing, Minta called for a maid to help her dress.

She emerged a half-hour later, wearing a handsome purple velvet riding habit, with kidskin gloves, her hair pinned up under a matching purple hat.

Kitty met her on the landing as she flew down the stairs in a manner which the former nurse deemed most unbecoming.

“Miss Araminta!” the older woman sputtered, “Why are you dressed like that? I hope that you do not mean to be going riding. Have you looked outside? The weather isn’t right for it.”

“Nonsense, Kitty. I mean to be doing just that, and the weather will not stop me,” announced Araminta, sweeping past Kitty towards the morning room. “I cannot remain inside a moment longer, or I am certain I shall go mad.”

She opened the morning room door, and was met with the joint protest of both Kitty and Harriet.

“But you cannot go, Minta!” exclaimed Harriet, “It has been dreadful all morning and the rain could start at any moment. The clouds are a frightful shade of grey. You will be caught in the rain. You will become ill! You might become stranded or lost. Just think of the thousand things that might go wrong, I beg you.”

“Balderdash,” said Araminta with confidence, “it has not rained all morning, and I see no reason why it would start now. I know only that I need the fresh air and the exercise. I cannot be cooped up here with my thoughts any longer, or I shall simply burst. Oh, do not worry, Harriet. I shall be quite all right. I’ll take Nightstar, and a more reliable horse it is impossible to find. And I promise not to go far. I will stay on our land and I won’t be out long, only I
must
go out. Don’t worry yourself, Harriet. I shall be just fine.”

With a final smile at Harriet, Araminta spun on her heel, hurried out a side door, across the kitchen herb garden and out towards the stables. The sky glowered overhead, and the air held a slight scent of rain, but Araminta ignored it, and ordered her horse saddled and led out. While a stable groom attended to her request, Araminta argued against Kitty’s insistence that she at least take one of the grooms with her for her ride. Araminta, who felt the overwhelming urge to be alone, would hear none of it. She made a striking figure atop Nightstar, a big black stallion which her brother had intended for himself. Her dark hair, pale skin and purple dress made her appear like some sort of fairy-tale heroine, outlined against the bright green grass and the brooding sky.

With a wave at Kitty, Araminta spurred on Nightstar, riding furiously away, gulping the cool clean air, and relishing the chill wind against her face. She looked like a beautiful Valkyrie, as she galloped down the drive, and away from the house, heading for the park.

Ever since she had been a child, Araminta had loved riding. She loved the sense of freedom, adventure and possibility she got while galloping across the fields and through the little wood that were on the Fanshawe property. Nightstar, her beloved stallion, had been part and parcel of her adventures ever since her brother had presented him to her on her fifteenth birthday. Charles had meant to ride Nightstar himself, but Araminta had instantly fallen in love with the horse, despite the fact that he was much too big for her. It took some badgering, but eventually Charles relented and gave Nightstar to his sister.

Her father had been much harder to persuade. He had never quite approved her great love of riding, feeling that he would rather she have a love of painting landscapes or writing poetry, which were much more suited to a young lady. However, the viscount could never resist his daughter’s pleading wide blue eyes for long, and eventually agreed that Araminta should have the horse.

Having grown up at Fanshawe Hall, Araminta knew the layout of the lands very well. She knew the good hiding places, from playing in the park with her brother, and she knew the quiet places where one could sit and read, and enjoy a picnic. As a child she had climbed many of the trees, and gone swimming in the river, much to Kitty’s dismay.

The sky was darkening further, but because of her supreme knowledge of the Barrington lands, she felt confident in her ability to keep her promise and return home before any serious storm could begin.

She came to the edge of the park and drew Nightstar to a halt, patting the horse affectionately and feeding him one of the sugar cubes given her by a groom back at the stables. The horse danced impatiently under her, eager to press on, before reluctantly coming to a standstill.

Araminta was atop a small rise, overlooking the fields and some of the Barrington tenancy lands, the little cottages and wooden out-buildings spread before her picturesquely, a few chimneys smoking, and a little stream flowing past the nearest cottage. It was a familiar view, and Araminta hoped that this visit home was not the last time she would see it. She closed her eyes, her face a picture of relaxation and enjoyment as she inhaled the woody smell of trees and damp earth. A gust of wind rustled the leaves on the trees behind her. Minta stole another moment of enjoyment, before spurring the horse onwards, along the edge of the park and down the small hill.

The stallion’s hoofs beat a steady, muffled rhythm on the damp soil, as Araminta rode to the very border of her family’s lands. Over a little stream the Fanshawe estate became Dillwood Park, property of the Joscelin family, who had been old family friends of the Barringtons for many years.

Though not as expansive as Fanshawe Hall, the Joscelin house had been a spacious and comfortable abode, and Araminta realised that she had not been there since her father’s death. Lady Dillwood had called several times, as had her husband and her daughter Mary. Mary was a sweet and gentle girl, and a good friend of Araminta’s, though she was a few years younger and attended Miss Hiller’s Academy for Young Ladies of the Gentry. Araminta knew that she was due to leave the Academy and return home that year, but Mary’s letters from school were always irregular, and she was not sure whether she would already be home. Araminta regretted not having thought of calling on Mary before she left for her ride, else she might have asked Harriet whether her friend was still away at school.

She deliberated for a moment whether it would be the thing to call unannounced, but the Joscelins were old friends and she knew they would not mind. Deciding that it would be perfectly acceptable, she made up her mind to make a brief call to greet her neighbours and enquire after Mary.

As her horse cantered over the little round stone bridge, Minta found that she was quite looking forward to seeing Mary again, and she very much hoped that her friend would be at home. She knew the route well, as she wove her way through the wood and across an untended field that would take her to the house, which was situated a half-hour’s ride away.

A few drops of rain fell from the ominous sky overhead, but Araminta decided that it was still not even a drizzle and she was close enough to call at Dillwood Park and be home before the rain began in earnest. Should the rain come on sooner than she expected, she knew that she could take shelter at her friends’ house before setting out for home. Nightstar was beginning to grow restless and uneasy, and Araminta patted him softly on the neck, murmuring to him comfortingly to calm him down. Urging him on again, she noticed that more and more droplets had begun to fall.