Miss Carstairs returned from church and came in for a bite to break her fast. She soon retired to the morning room with several volumes of sermons, and Richard asked Miss Fell how she usually occupied her mornings.
“I am quite at your disposal,” he said.
“Would you care for a stroll in the gardens?” she asked. “It must sound very flat after the entertainments of London, but it is a beautiful day. Your gardener told me another day like this might bring on the daffodils in the sheltered spots.”
“That sounds delightful.” Another point. If John, the old grouch, was willing to discuss with her his beloved flowers, that was praise on a par with Aunt Florence’s of Jeremy. It was hard enough to get a civil word out of the old man.
Helping her on with her wrap, he had to suppress an urge to kiss her neck. Suddenly he felt ashamed of the way be was totting up points for and against, as if she were a game of cards. He wished he could simply accept her for herself, as a sister.
She confused him with so many different emotions that he could not think straight. Some he recognized. He knew he felt protective toward her, though she was less in need of his aid now. Her music delighted him, as did her sense of humour. He admired her composure in the difficult situation in which she found herself, yet that same situation was appallingly unclear. Could she be an adventuress? He loathed himself for his suspicions but could not altogether suppress them. His desire to hold her, to kiss her, he distastefully recognized as lust. Well, that could be dealt with. He was not in the habit of keeping a mistress, but there were other, more temporary, remedies.
He refused to consider the possibility that he might be falling in love. Doubly afraid—of rejection and of making a fool of himself over a soubrette with no claim to gentility but her manners—he could not entertain the thought.
Nor did he wonder what her feelings might be. He had closed himself away from the idea that he could be personally attractive to women. She might be grateful, indeed she ought to be grateful, and appeared to be. Otherwise, he knew his only advantages were birth and wealth. The latter he had exploited not infrequently in casual liaisons with opera dancers who cared naught for his family or his face.
Unknowingly, deep in thought, Richard had escorted Miss Fell out of the house and toward the shrubbery. Regarding his stern face, she wondered, a little fearfully, what he was thinking. A strange man this, one minute laughing with her, the next lost in a reverie that did not seem to be pleasant. One moment strong and masterful, she thought, the next minute a hurt small boy. She longed to comfort the small boy, and even more to submit to the man. She suspected that the best she could hope for was the friendship of the kind, considerate person in whom the two were united. Unsure that she had yet earned that friendship, she decided wistfully that it would not be something to be scorned and sternly suppressed her deeper feelings.
At this point, Miss Fell stumbled over a low step in the pathway and instantly Richard’s hand was beneath her elbow.
“Take my arm,” he urged. “I beg your pardon, I was dreaming. It is amazingly warm outside, is it not?”
“I have high hopes of the daffodils,” she replied, “although March is early in the North.”
“It has been a mild winter and John has made all sorts of nooks and crannies that catch all the sun and no wind. Besides, tomorrow is the first of April.”
“Coming in like a lamb. I fear it cannot last.”
“I wish it may last until I have you safe in London.”
They were on a gravel walk between long beds of shorn rosebushes. Miss Fell nearly expressed a wish to see them flowering, then decided it might sound encroaching. Her companion was so relaxed and charming now, she desperately wanted to avoid anything that might make him stiffen. They came to the stone wall that supported the forsythia. It had lost its flowers and tender green leaves were appearing on its thin, spiky branches. At the foot of the wall was a drift of crocuses, purple, gold and white.
Miss Fell had watched them come out over the past two weeks. She felt an almost proprietorial pride in them, and was gratified when Richard drew a deep breath and said, “Beautiful! A promise of spring even if it should snow tomorrow.”
Walking on, they found a niche holding a huge alabaster urn. In it grew a score of daffodils at various stages of budding. None were fully open, but half a dozen showed yellow.
“Let me pick them for you,” suggested Richard. “They will soon bloom in the house.”
“I should not dare. What would John think?”
John appeared round the nearest corner. “Go ahead, missy,” he invited. “There’s plenty, an’ only me to see ‘em when tha’s gone up to Lunnon-town.” He disappeared again.
“Why, he was positively cordial!” exclaimed Richard in a low voice. “He is barely polite to my mother!”
Miss Fell laughed.
“Such an invitation cannot be refused. Will you gather some?”
Half an hour later they returned to the house. For the last five minutes Miss Fell had been leaning increasingly heavily on Richard’s arm, and he realized that she was not as strong as he had supposed. He took her to the morning room, where she sank wearily into a chair. He looked down at her pale face with concern.
“Are you sure you will be fit to travel on Saturday?” he asked rather harshly.
“Oh yes. I shall rest on Sunday at Arnden. We shall go by easy stages, shall we not?”
“I had intended to stay in Newark Monday night. That is not too far. Then I was hoping to get to Hitchin on Tuesday so that we might arrive early the next day in Cavendish Square. However, now I think that will not do. We shall aim for Huntingdon instead. If necessary, we may spend a day there.”
She looked up at him timidly. “Please, do not change your plans for my sake. I shall do very well. I expect you have engagements on Wednesday?”
“Nothing of importance,” he said absently, his mind on the journey. Then he noticed her worried face. “Don’t worry, goosecap,” he reassured her in a brotherly manner. “It will not be the end of the world if I miss a card party. In fact, it will no doubt be good for both my pocket and my liver. You must not think I am addicted to play. Now if it had been a concert… However, at present I can get as good a concert here as any in London!”
“Tell me about the London concerts,” she begged eagerly.
He described the Duchess of Devonshire’s musical evening. “Half the ton attends only to see and be seen,” he explained. “One must shut one’s ears to the whispering and fidgeting of the Philistines. In fact, Her Grace is not a noted music lover. Of course, the opera is worse. The audience is full of cits aping the Fashionable World.
“The duchess had hired an entire orchestra, the best of course. They played Mozart, Haydn, Handel, and a symphony by Herr van Beethoven. It is said he had dedicated it to Bonaparte; then the Corsican declared himself emperor and Beethoven changed his mind. A wonderful piece, rich and complex, yet full of melody.”
“Are not the orchestras on the Continent much superior to ours, Mr. Carstairs?”
“Every princeling has his court musicians, so there is certainly more opportunity to hear orchestral music. I do not know if the quality is superior. I believe Vienna has an exceptional orchestra. When Boney has been put out of the way, I should like to tour the musical centers of Europe.”
“That sounds delightful,” said Miss Fell wistfully. “Think you the French will invade our shores?”
“I think it unlikely. Our navy is too strong for Monsieur Napoleon. However, I believe there will be a deal of fighting yet. Russia and Austria are gathering armies even now.”
Bedford entered. “Mr. Richard, a message from Mr. Denison. The boy is waiting for a reply.”
Richard perused the note.
“He wishes to see me on some minor matter of business. Should you like to visit Mistress Susan this afternoon, Miss Fell?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Tell the boy that Miss Fell and I will do ourselves the honour of calling at Rosebay Cottage this afternoon, Bedford.”
“Very well, sir.” The butler departed.
“Perhaps we might ride over, Miss Fell, if you do not think the exertion would be too great. It is not above a mile.”
“I should like that, but I have not ridden since…that day.”
“I have an ambling old hack that will give you an easy ride. If you find it tiring, Jeremy shall send you home in his gig.”
Miss Carstairs appeared, and they told her their plans, which she approved. So after luncheon Miss Fell changed into her riding habit, the only gown she felt was truly hers, and joined Richard at the stables. He was holding the bridle of a placid-looking grey, stroking its nose, while a groom held Flame.
“This is Horace,” he greeted her. “Come, let me help you mount.”
Suppressing her unexpected agitation, Miss Fell set her foot in the stirrup and Richard swung her up. He adjusted the stirrups.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, and glancing up at her was horrified to see her white, panic-stricken face.
“I cannot!” she cried. “Please…”
At once he lifted her down and she burst into tears on his shoulder. He held her, while the interested groom looked on.
“Hush,” he said. “Of course, you need not ride. I had not thought it would upset you so.” He gave her his handkerchief.
“I beg your pardon,” she gasped through her sobs. “I do not in general act like a watering pot.” She moved away from him and blew her nose. “I don’t know what came over me,” she apologized. “I was simply terrified.”
“Your last experience on horseback was deuced unpleasant. Even if you cannot remember it, I suppose we might have expected something like this,” he reassured her. Realizing that the groom was drinking in every word, he turned to him. “Harness the trap, we shall drive.”
Miss Fell quickly recovered her composure, and Richard drove to Rosebay Cottage. As he helped her out, the Denisons appeared on the doorstep to invite them in. After a few minutes of general conversation, Richard and Jeremy went off to discuss business, and Miss Fell told her hostess of her horrid experience.
“Clara, how distressing!” exclaimed Susan with ready sympathy.
“I feel much better for having told you,” declared Miss Fell. “It is a great relief to me to have someone in whom I can confide.”
“I hope you will always turn to me,” said Susan warmly.
Meanwhile, the gentlemen, sprawling at ease in the tiny back room which served Jeremy for an office, had finished their business.
“I want to consult you on another matter,” said Richard. “Was not William in the Nth Foot at one time?”
“Yes, until they were sent to India. Having recently married, he transferred to a home regiment.”
“Did you ever hear him speak of a Major Charles Bowen?”
“Charlie? Why, yes, only he was then a new-made captain. A very good fellow. He stayed with us in Kent before embarking, as his home is in the north. What did you want to know about him, and why, if I am not prying?” asked Jeremy curiously.
“I know I may trust you to see that this goes no further. The major is dangling after Lucy, and he is not well known in London, so I must needs find out whether he is a fortune hunter and so on.”
“No fortune hunter he!” Jeremy assured him. “I believe he has a comfortable income; certainly he owns a very pretty estate in Northumberland. William visited him there. As I remember it, he was brought up by an uncle who manages the land for him.”
“What of his birth?”
“I will tell you what I know, though I would not have you take my word for it. As I understand it, his grandfather was a ships’ chandler in Newcastle, joined the East India Company and made a fortune. A regular nabob. He bought the estate from a Scots gentleman whose family was ruined after the Forty-five. Been hanging on to it by the skin of their teeth for years, I gather. Stuart, the name was. Then the Stuart heir married the nabob’s daughter. That, I fancy, is where the uncle comes in.”
“A royal name,” said Richard dryly.
“Charlie’s father inherited the estate and married some squire’s daughter. They died and the Stuart uncle took over until Charlie’s majority. He had always been hot for a pair of colors, so he joined up and left the uncle in charge. There, you have wrung me dry. I never would have thought I remembered, or even knew, so much.”
“Not as bad as I feared,” Richard admitted, “but quite ineligible for a Carstairs who might look to marry the heir to a dukedom.”
“Charlie is an officer. and a gentleman, and a damned good fellow to boot. I hope you will not give him too severe a setdown, Richard.”
Richard hesitated, then replied, “I think I need not speak to him at all. It may well have blown over by the time I return to town. If not, I shall simply forbid Lucy to see him.”
Jeremy wondered whether that would answer with a high-spirited young lady like his employer’s sister, but he did not venture to express his doubts. Richard changed the subject.
“I saw Rossiter in London, parading down Bond Street with a very fancy piece on his arm who looked most discontented. I suppose he would not buy her some brooch or bracelet.”
“The man’s a shocking screw,” agreed Jeremy, laughing. “I had a letter from your lawyer the other day. He thinks Sir Philip will have to drop the case because he is too clutch-fisted to pay to take you to court. It seems he has approached several lawyers and been frightened off by their fees. They charge high for a hopeless suit.”
“You think my thirty acres are safe, then? I trust you are right.”
“I think so. However, I beg you will watch out for Rossiter. He will surely hold a grudge and I believe he might be dangerous.”
“If he wishes to call me out, I shall be happy to meet him.”
“Oh, not that! He is as fat as a flawn! No, he is more like to come at you from behind in a dark alley.”
“I cannot think so. Well, I will keep an eye on him, since you are concerned. Come, let us join the ladies.”
The rest of the day passed pleasantly, and the next day likewise. Nothing happened to mar the growing accord between Richard and Miss Fell; he managed not to incur his aunt’s displeasure more than twice; and the weather remained fine.