“Yes, ma’am,” Charles submitted with a wicked grin.
The days grew shorter and leaves began to change color. Flocks of swallows gathered in preparation for their yearly flight to warmer lands. The fields were stripped bare, and crows competed with sea gulls for the last gleanings until the stubble was plowed under. The sheep on the high fells were growing thick new coats for the coming winter. Hedgerows filled with scarlet hips and haws, and thrifty housewives sent their children gathering blackberries for pies and jellies.
The thoughts of all the gentlemen turned to hunting. Charles was very much envied that he was going into Leicestershire.
“The best country there is,” said Sir Donald, who had once hunted it in his youth. “Nary an acre o’ humbug country. Ye’ll be riding wi’ all the London gentry, Corinthians and whatnot, I daresay. Well, ye’re a fine rider, young Charles, ye’ll not let our county down.”
Charles did not dare mention that he was going to hunt a bride, not foxes.
Rosalind was a little nervous about going to stay with such exalted personages. Charles had given her a large sum, besides her pin money, to refurbish her wardrobe. When she appeared before him to show off a new evening gown of emerald green silk over a white satin underdress, cut simply in the way that best became her, he was stunned.
“You will be quite the belle of the ball, Ros,” he declared. “After my Lucy, of course.”
“You do not think it too…too
flashy?
I am past the age of pastel muslins but I do not wish to appear fast. And it was shockingly expensive, Charles. None of my other gowns cost half as much.”
“It is beautiful. It’s past time you had some new finery, and we can well afford it. No, don’t tell me how much. I might change my mind.”
He had had new clothes made for himself also and hoped that Lucy would not mind that he was now a private gentleman. He could have worn his Reserve Army uniform, but he was uncomfortable with the colonel’s epaulets, feeling he had done nothing to earn them. Looking at himself in the mirror, he thought he had avoided the excesses of the fops without becoming dowdy. Not being vain, he dismissed with a glance the blond hair and the face newly tanned by his active summer, merely deciding that he must send for the barber.
On a fine October day, with the bite of frost in the air, gold and russet leaves whirling around them, they set off.
Chapter 17
A kindly conspiracy had arranged that Rosalind should have a few days to become accustomed to her new surroundings before being called upon to face the Carstairs. Several other guests had been invited (“to provide cover for your goings-on,” Tony told Richard), carefully picked to be sure none had met “Miss Fell” in London.
Major Bowen and Miss Stuart joined the party late one afternoon, after three days on the road. They were greeted by Lord Denham. Rosalind showed no signs of recognizing his lordship. She was introduced as the cousin of Lord Harry’s friend.
“It is very kind of you to invite me as well as Charles,” she said to him, immediately attracted by his cheerful, friendly manner and the twinkle in his eye.
“Delighted to see… meet you,” he replied. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Rosalind looked a little surprised, but let it pass.
“Come and be presented to my aunt,” continued Lord Denham. “She is acting as my hostess, you know.” He led the way to a cosy salon furnished largely with comfortable leather armchairs. It appeared that he was more used to entertaining gentlemen than ladies at Disford Wood.
The major and Rosalind were duly presented to Lady Catherine, a plump, indolent widow as easygoing as her nephew, and were made acquainted with those of the guests who had arrived already. Charles found he knew several of them, including Captain William Denison and his wife. While Rosalind was chatting to Emma Denison, Charles asked his friend how he came to know Lord Denham.
“Lord, I’ve never met him before, Charlie,” the captain replied, “though I’ve known Harry any time these ten years. To tell the truth, I was devilish surprised to receive the invitation. Nearly turned it down, too, what with the Corsican monster hovering just across the Channel, but his lordship mentioned that you’d be here, and Richard Carstairs also. Know him? He’s some sort of distant cousin, been devilish good to all the family. Matter of fact, he just gave his home parish to m’brother Gerald. He and Lord Denham have been bosom-bows this age, so I daresay it’s him we have to thank for the invitation.”
Charles voiced agreement, though privately he wondered if Lord Denham had not rather been considering the comfort of Rosalind and himself. Whatever the reason for William’s presence, it was exactly calculated to put both at their ease. Until it was time to dress for dinner, he told his friend about campaigning in India and heard in return an analysis of the unfitness of the troops in Kent to face any massive invasion from the Continent.
“Only the navy can save us this time,” declared Captain Denison, “and since they let half Boney’s fleet slip past them out of Toulon, they’ve been careering after Villeneuve over half the world.”
“We’ll all be murdered in our beds!” shrieked a young lady. Unnoticed by Charles and William, the room had gradually fallen silent, listening to their conversation.
“No, no, ma’am,” soothed the captain hastily. “Lord Nelson and Admiral Collingwood have them locked in Cadiz, and the landing boats are still bottled up in harbour. I’d back Nelson against any man on the seas.”
“Captain Denison would scarcely be here if he saw any immediate danger,” pointed out Lord Denham, and calm was gradually restored.
The guests were all young people, friends of his lordship and his brother with their wives and sisters. The evening passed pleasantly in games of lotteries and speculation, much decried by the more dignified members of the party who, however, enjoyed themselves as much as anyone when overruled. Lady Catherine was persuaded to join in and won handsomely, to her evident delight.
When the tea tray was carried in, some bright spark suggested that the company might indulge in amateur theatricals during their stay at Disford Wood. The proposal met with general approbation and enthusiasm, and a delegation was deputed to drive into Leicester on the morrow in the hope that the bookshop might be persuaded to disgorge some suitable work.
Lord Denham was somewhat stunned by the way his hunting party had been taken over by what he freely stigmatized as “the nursery set.” His usual guests were gentlemen of all ages who desired nothing more than to hunt and shoot all day and play billiards or gamble a little in the evenings.
“Just wait till Richard sees what he’s got me into!” he said indignantly to Lord Harry, when that young man arrived the next morning.
“I can’t see Richard acting,” grinned Harry. “You two aged gentlemen can watch and make disapproving comments while us young ‘uns have all the fun. You had best join the Society for the Suppression of Vice.” He dodged as his brother shook his fist at him.
A carriage had left for Leicester, escorted by three young gentlemen on horseback. Several others, including Charles and William, had gone riding. Rosalind, descending the main stairs, found her host and his brother in the hall and had Lord Harry presented to her. Lord Denham, noting Harry’s wicked grin, was afraid he might tell her they had met before, but he merely asked her to go for a drive.
“You are just now arrived from London,” Lord Denham pointed out. “Should you not take a nap to recover from your fatigue? Miss Stuart shall drive with me.”
“Dash it, Tony, I came only from Leicester this morning.”
“I thank you both,” said Rosalind diplomatically, “but I am already engaged. Sir Peter Allington tells me that though it is frowned upon for a member of the Four Hand Club to take up a lady, he feels sure that an exception may be made in the case of a private country party. He considers that your grounds, Lord Denham, are of sufficient extent and beauty that we shall not need to leave them in the course of a morning’s drive. I believe he does not wish to expose himself to the admiring gaze of the populace with anything so…so
déclassée
as a lady in his curricle.”
Tony and Harry laughed.
“The man may be a top sawyer, Tony,” grumbled Harry, “but what a chucklehead! Why the deuce did you invite him?”
“On your urging, dear brother. You may remember his sister?”
Harry pondered a moment. “Allington, Allington…the blond one? Oh no, I remember, the little brunette. Pretty chit. I find, however,” he added in the grand manner, “that I have developed a decided preference for Titian hair.”
Lord Denham raised his eyes to heaven and sighed. “Do not heed him, Miss Stuart. My brother is a sad rattle.”
“The very words my cousin used!” cried Rosalind in amusement. “Whatever have you done, Lord Harry, to lead to such unanimity of opinion?”
“Alas,” he replied mournfully, “I am abused on every side by those who are jealous of my handsome face and winning manners. Come, Miss Stuart, will you ride with me this afternoon?”
Rosalind flushed, and Lord Denham glared at his brother.
“I do not ride, my lord,” she apologized.
“And I spent all day yesterday on a horse. We shall walk around the gardens and admire the…the… What do you grow at this season, Tony?”
Lord Denham looked blank.
“Chrysanthemums, I expect,” supplied Rosalind. “I shall be happy to join you. Perhaps Mrs. Denison might go with us? She is at present writing a letter to the sister who is caring for her children.”
“William’s wife? Certainly. You see, Tony, while you dither I have captured two beautiful ladies with whom to wander in the shrubbery.”
A loud “Hi!” from outside drew their attention. Sir Peter had just driven up and evidently did not feel called upon to leave his magnificent greys in order to fetch the lady he was honouring with a ride behind them. Lord Harry escorted Rosalind down the steps, and as he helped her into the curricle, he whispered in her ear, “You need not fear for your safety with such a driver, Miss Stuart, only for your sanity.”
Returning to his brother’s side, he said, as they watched the vehicle sweep round the bend, “I find Miss Stuart no end of an improvement over Miss Fell.”
“The poor girl was barely recovered when you saw her in London, and doubtless in a great worry over her future.”
“She’s turned out a devilish fine woman. I’ve half a mind to have a go at her myself.”
“Lay off, Harry,” warned Lord Denham. “You’re to consider her Richard’s territory unless or until we learn otherwise.”
“As you say, brother mine,” agreed Lord Harry, but there was a gleam in his eye.
By the time appointed for her walk with Lord Harry, Rosalind was ready to be entertained. She had been lectured for ten miles on the finer points of Sir Peter’s team, the design of his curricle, and the qualities that distinguished a member of the Four Hand Club from a mere whipster. Sir Peter, who had seemed to admire her the previous evening, now reserved his admiration strictly for himself.
Rosalind had accompanied Charles into Leicestershire determined to have a last fling before settling down to a staid married life with Ian Heathercot. She had dismissed her fantasy prince on his charger, white or chestnut, to the back of her mind, hoping she had banished him forever; and she intended to flirt with as many young men as possible and enjoy herself thoroughly. If the thought of becoming Ian’s wife did not exactly depress her, it did not excite her, and she foresaw the years ahead stretching monotonously into the future. She must seize a little excitement and gaiety while she was still free.
Lord Harry was the perfect foil. She did not for a moment take him seriously, but she found him amusing and was flattered by his attentions. For his part, he had decided that if Richard could not overcome a little competition, he did not deserve to win her. Accustomed to gallanting damsels more youthful, yet somehow more sophisticated, he found Rosalind’s combined maturity and innocence enchanting. She had all the wit and poise of females his own age and none of the coyness or brash worldliness that so often accompanied them. With no thought of marriage in his head, he would be happy to indulge her with the flirtation to which she seemed as much inclined as he felt himself. He did wonder briefly whether he might not end by hurting her; but in spite of his words, he was not a vain man, and besides, both his brother and her cousin had warned her against taking him seriously. He looked forward to an enjoyable fortnight.
A half-hour strolling round Lord Denham’s immaculate gardens gave neither cause for changed opinions. Emma Denison, who took Lord Harry’s other arm, was a grave, quiet young woman who was evidently anxious about the welfare of her absent children. Far from ignoring her in favor of his more amusing companion, he was at pains to draw her out. He asked after little Billy, whom he had met recently on his first trip with his father to London to see the Tower. Rosalind was delighted with his courtesy and consideration.
They were soon joined by Charles and William, and Sir Peter’s sister, Harry’s “little brunette.” She showed no disposition to believe herself ousted in his affections and would have clung to him had he not pointedly turned to Rosalind to inquire whether she should like to explore the birch woods at the end of the lawn. It was a decided brush-off, which made Rosalind revise her favorable impression somewhat, and Miss Allington looked decidedly discomfited. However, she soon turned her attention to Charles. William and Emma were deep in discussion, so Rosalind agreed that it would be pleasant to walk in the woods.
The birches and hazels were dressed in autumn gold, Michaelmas daisies abounded and they found a few late foxgloves. In the center of the wood they came across a small lake covered with wildfowl.
“They are so pretty,” sighed Rosalind. “It seems a shame to shoot them.”
“You will not think so when you have experienced Tony’s cook’s way with a wild duck,” Harry protested. “It is the only reason I ever visit him here.”
“Come, now, Lord Harry, I have heard you are a bruising rider to hounds, and is this not generally accounted the best country for hunting?”