Amanda Scott (11 page)

Under his enthusiastic influence the atmosphere at the abbey grew more festive, and he and the Lady Susanna set the servants to decorating the house with a vengeance. Evergreens were brought in, holly, ivy, laurel and bay, as well as sweet rosemary, and cypress. Mistletoe was strung above every doorway, and holly berries were strung together and wound through the evergreen branches decking all the main-room chimney-pieces as well as the grand staircase in the great hall. A huge kissing bough in the form of a crown of greenery adorned with lighted candles, red apples, rosettes and ribbons, with mistletoe hanging below, was suspended from the ceiling of the gothic new hall and Lord Roderick, Lady Susanna, Simon, and Diana busied themselves with tying small, gaily wrapped parcels at the ends of the long ribbon streamers.

On Christmas Eve the Ashen Faggot, that enormous bundle of green ash sticks, very thick in the middle and tightly bound with bands of ash and hazel, that was Somerset’s traditional substitute for the Yule Log, was carried in and placed in the huge new-hall fireplace with great ceremony and as much excitement as was possible with Lady Ophelia making part of the company.

Simon supervised the lighting of the fire with a fragment from the previous year’s bundle. “Be certain you have sufficient tinder and kindling,” he told the young footman who knelt to help guide the heavy bundle into place, “and do not let them set it in such a way as to smother the fire before it can take hold. A fire needs air to burn as well as fuel, you know.”

“As if the poor lad has never built a fire before,” Diana said, shaking her head at her husband.

He grinned back at her, but Susanna spoke up at once. “’Tis prodigiously important that the thing be done correctly, Diana, for the fire must burn the whole twelve days of Christmas if the Warringtons are not to suffer ill luck the rest of the year through. And there must be a bit left of the ash bundle, too, to light next year’s fire, you know.”

Diana did know, although the custom was slightly different in Hampshire. But here in Somerset, during the feast of Twelfth Night, the fire would be quenched, and of the bits of ash that were left, one or two would be carefully put by to use in kindling next year’s fire to ensure a continuity of blessing in the house. Such had been the tradition at Alderwood Abbey since Sir William Warrington’s first Christmas in the house, and she had a warm feeling that she would watch her grandchildren continue the tradition.

Christmas Day passed peacefully, with prayers led by Lady Ophelia’s chaplain in the chapel, followed at midday by a magnificent meal that was set before the family in the large first-floor dining room. The final course, as always, was a huge, flaming Christmas pudding, and even Lady Ophelia joined in the merriment when she discovered the wedding ring in her portion. Lord Roderick, biting down upon a silver coin, jubilantly waved it about and informed the others that now his fortune was sure to be made.

After the meal they retired to the new hall, where they were soon joined by all the servants, who had come to drink a toast to their master and to receive their gifts. The gaily wrapped parcels were removed from the kissing bough and distributed, after which there was much merrymaking and singing of carols, followed by evening prayers, Before the household retired at an early hour to replenish their energies for the morrow.

B
OXING DAY DAWNED IN
a blaze of sunlight upon a light crusting of snow. Looking from her window soon after rising from the warmth of her bed in the cheerful blue and silver bedchamber, Diana gave a small sigh. The world outside looked crisp and clean, stimulating, invigorating, inviting. Suddenly she felt as though she had been confined indoors, hemmed about by family, forever, and she longed for a taste of solitary freedom. The thought lingered, was savored, and a glint of mischief leapt to my lady’s eye.

No doubt Lady Ophelia would have a list of chores for her to see to before the first of their guests began to arrive soon after midday, but her ladyship could scarcely set her a task without first laying eyes upon her. Accordingly, Diana rang for her maid, moving at once to pull a nut-brown velvet riding habit from her wardrobe, then scrabbling through the oddments on the floor for her riding boots.

“Whatever are you about, m’lady?” demanded a soft voice from the doorway.

Diana, on her knees before the wardrobe, glanced ruefully over her shoulder. “Looking for my boots, Marlie. I’ve a mind to ride before breakfast, and I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“Well, all the same, Miss Diana, you’ll not find them boots down there,” said her handmaiden, shutting the door behind her and stepping swiftly toward her mistress. “As if I’d put your boots down amongst them hatboxes and such. No, nor Miss Floodlind wouldn’t neither, being so niffy-naffy in her ways as she be.” Marlie reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a bundle carefully wrapped in white paper. “Here they be, where they belong to be, safe and sound, where naught can put scratch or smudge upon ’em. Now, do you get up from that cold floor, m’lady, before you catch an ague. ’Tis mighty cold outside fer riding, I’m thinkin’.”

Marlie stood over her mistress, her lips folded primly in disapproval. Her feelings were likewise evident in the way she held her sturdy body, for Marlie had been with her mistress nearly as long as Ned Tredegar had, and she was not one to mince her words. Diana also employed a very expensive dresser, Miss Floodlind, but that haughty dame, a good deal higher in the instep than her mistress, rarely showed her face abovestairs before midday unless the occasion particularly warranted her skill. So, unless Diana wished to cut a dash, she infinitely preferred Marlie’s services.

“Quickly,” Diana said now, ignoring the maid’s disapproval. “If anyone comes in search of me, I’m sped. It is not too cold for riding, either, Marlie. Doubtless the Duke of Beaufort will have his pack out by eleven. And unless I miss my guess the ground will be perfect, neither frozen nor slushy, but just right for a good ride. So do hurry.” As she spoke, Diana stepped quickly into a short, thin chemise, then pushed her arms through the sleeves of the soft lawn shirt Marlie held for her. The shirt was made doubly thick for warmth, but because of the thinness of the material, it was still a good deal softer next to her skin than linen would be and more practical than silk for riding.

Next came her stockings and garters, then the heavy velvet skirt, and lastly the riding coat, designed à l’Écuyère with small lapels faced like the collar in deeper brown velvet. Seated upon her dressing chair, Diana allowed Marlie to pull on her boots, then spoke quickly when the maid picked up the silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table.

“Just brush it out and stuff it into a gold net, Marlie. I’ve no wish to sit still for more.”

Marlie obeyed, expressing her opinion of such laxity with a small sniff. But moments later Diana was ready, her golden curls confined in a net and tied at the nape of her slender neck with a brown grosgrain ribbon. She tilted her plumed, velvet hat rakishly over her right eye, gathered up her whip and gloves, and slipped from her bedchamber after Marlie looked outside the door to be sure the gallery was clear. Once she had made her way safely from the second floor, it was an easy matter in that large house to evade other family members who might be up and about at that early hour and to make her way through the tall, mazelike hedge garden to the stables without encountering the slightest check.

She found Ned Tredegar brushing one of her favorite mounts, a dappled gelding some fifteen hands in height. The groom looked up from his task. His eyes twinkled.

“Escapin’ again, Miss Diana?”

She chuckled. “You may well say so, Ned. Is Crispin fit for a gallop?”

He rubbed the gray’s cheek. “Aye, mistress, ’n me bay as well.”

“Well, I don’t want you,” she said bluntly but with a smile. “I want to gallop the fidgets out of myself so I can be a lady again when our guests begin to arrive. I am quite as full as I can hold of family togetherness, and I’ve a good many days more of it before I shall manage another opportunity such as this one, I daresay. So bustle about and fling a saddle on that gentleman. He looks as if he feels the same way I do.”

Crispin tossed his beautiful gray head just then and pawed the ground with one dainty hoof as though to second her words, and Ned Tredegar smacked him fondly on the rump.

“Aye, he’s fit t’ go, ’n no mistake, but I’m thinkin’ the master won’t like it much an ye go alone, Miss Diana.”

“Pooh, I’m only going through the home wood and about the park a little. No one will molest me, and I promise not to be out above an hour. I just want to be alone, Ned. I’ve had little privacy these past months.”

Tredegar argued no more but saddled the dapple gray and tossed her up. Only as she was leaving the stable did he warn her to keep a tight rein and to mind her wits didn’t wander. “There be a good crust, but ye’r like t’ find a patch ’r two of ice as well, mistress.”

“I’ll take care,” she promised. Looking back over her shoulder a moment later, she was not surprised to find him standing in the stable entrance watching her. It gave her a good feeling to know that Ned cared about her safety, but a moment later she put all thought of him out of her mind as Crispin, practically champing at his bit, made it clear to her that he had no wish to dawdle along like a carthorse. Accordingly, having seen by now that the snow was little more than a thin white crust and that Crispin would have no difficulties with ice, she dropped her hands, and leaned forward slightly over his arching neck.

“Let’s go, then, boy,” she murmured. He understood even without the light touch of her heel against his flank, and she could feel his muscles gathering beneath her like coiling springs. His stride lengthened quickly until the chill air was like a wind against her cheeks, and she could feel her blood stirring with the familiar sense of excitement as the horse moved into a distance-eating gallop that quickly took them across the open, snow-covered field and into the home wood. The trail was wide and hard-packed, and the snow no deeper than it had been in the open field, so she scarcely checked Crispin’s pace, all but letting him have his head, letting him run until he began to slow of his own accord. When she turned him at last, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glowing from the exhilaration of the ride. She tossed her head, raising her face to the sun and drawing in long breaths of the cool fresh air. Thus it was that she did not immediately perceive the rider approaching her along the path.

When she did see him, some of her joy faded, and she nibbled unhappily at her lower lip, for she had no difficulty recognizing her husband in the large, broad-shouldered horseman so rapidly nearing. She remembered Tredegar’s warning. No doubt Simon would scold her, either for riding alone or for not taking proper care with regard to the snow on the ground. But even as these unpleasant thoughts crossed her mind, she thought how well he rode and how much to advantage he appeared upon a horse. Squaring her shoulders, she urged Crispin to a quicker pace. Let Simon scold if he wished, she told herself. He had been too busy to do so for days, so perhaps it would be better to let him vent a little temper before their guests arrived. She had had her ride, and he would be less likely, perhaps, to stir up a scene later. To her astonishment, however, she realized as they drew nearer to each other that her husband was grinning broadly.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he called. “Tredegar said I would find you along this ride.”

“And so you have,” she replied, watching the golden eyes carefully. “Did you wish to see me particularly, Simon?”

He chuckled, drawing in and turning the huge bay he rode to fall in beside her. “Aunt Ophelia wished to consult with you on some matter of grave importance. You see in me her courier. I was dispatched to rouse you from your slumber. Only you were not there, so I tracked down Marlie, who told me you had gone riding, whereupon I promptly discovered an overwhelming urge within myself to do likewise. Hence, my discussion with Tredegar.”

“What did Lady Ophelia want precisely?”

“How the devil should I know?” he retorted with another laugh. “That woman insists she leaves everything to the servants, but to my notion she’s set them all at sixes and sevens when by rights she ought not even to have left her bedchamber yet. It is scarcely nine o’clock.”

“I know.” Diana sighed. “She truly is a very good woman, Simon. It is a rare pity she never married. Instead, she has done her duty, first by raising you and Rory after your mama died and secondly by taking charge of dearest Susanna from the cradle.”

“Fudge,” said the undutiful Simon. “That is what she gives the world to believe, right enough, but Rory and I were already at Eton when my mother died shortly after giving birth to Susanna, and Aunt saw us only during holidays from school. She did her duty then by bringing every one of our youthful peccadilloes to my father’s notice. Poor Rory certainly suffered from that sense of duty of hers more than I did, but I, too, had my moments. As for her oft-touted devotion to Susanna, I wish I may see it. What there is of it is certainly of a recent nature. For the most part the child was raised by her nurse and her governess. I think Aunt pretty well terrifies her, for she was used to be a sprightly child, not nearly so shy and unsure of herself as she is now.”

“Well, I’ve seen her only in company for the most part, of course,” Diana said, “but I have seen indications of spirit from time to time when her ladyship is not close at hand. Must we go back at once?” she asked reluctantly.

“We most assuredly must not,” he replied, twinkling. “I’ve a wish to ride round the entire park, and I command you to attend me as a good wife should.”

She grinned saucily. “Sometimes your commands are very gratifying, my lord.”

“So I should think,” he returned with a leer that was only half mocking.

Diana blushed, shaking her head at him. They rode together in perfect harmony for some time, breaking off their conversation occasionally in order to enjoy a brisk gallop, then slowing again to talk. Diana tried to think of the last time they had ridden together like this, and failed to remember a single occasion after the first few weeks of their marriage. More often than not they were surrounded by others, and their time together seemed to have been filled with arguments and stiff, unpleasant scenes. But now Simon was laughing, relating a tale from his youth, the memory stirred by a gurgling, brook-fed pond they had just passed.