Amanda Scott (5 page)

“Simon,” she whispered, snatching back the covers and springing lightly from the bed to hurry, barefoot, across the chilly floor to the window. Hastily, she pushed aside the heavy curtains and shoved open the casement to peer anxiously down at the sunlit scene below.

B
RIGHT SUNLIGHT FROM A
cloudless blue sky sparkled on puddles and green grass, on glistening bare shrubbery, and on the irregular, picturesque landscape designed some years before by Humphrey Repton for the Viscount Ethelmoor. Ethelmoor Hall had been designed by the architect John Nash to settle comfortably into the broken landscape of the Wiltshire valley in which it was situated. The viscount had desired to build a modern house in a parklike setting for his bride, and that was exactly what Nash had built. Repton, his partner at the time, had designed the landscaping to suit the same modern taste, which demanded that one’s house be incorporated into its natural setting. Consequently, the park at Ethelmoor came practically up to the house itself, separated from it only by the drive, a broad still-green lawn, and an informal garden, barren of flowers at this time of year, but still sporting neat hedgerows and rich, well-cultivated earth. The view was the thing, and the view this morning was magnificent. Through the thicket of gnarled oak trees at the southern end of the garden, Diana might easily have seen sunlight dancing on the waters of a small lake, had she been at all interested in doing so.

But Diana had eyes for nothing other than the yellow chaise rolling to a stop near the conservatory entrance. A man leapt from the vehicle even before it came to a complete halt, and as he strode toward the house, he reached up and snatched the chapeau bras from his head, clapping it flat under his arm. Crisp yellow curls were thus thrust into view, and Diana let out a long breath of relief. Her brother had come home.

The tingling apprehension that had propelled her to the window subsided rapidly, and she was conscious of a sense of disappointment that deepened when, glancing at the little clock on the dressing table, illuminated by a shaft of light from the window, she noted that it was already half past ten o’clock. Perhaps Simon would not come after all.

Diana opened the pale green curtains properly, letting the morning light flood the cheerful room. A floral carpet of greens and golds covered a good portion of the polished oak floor between the nigh, sea-green-draped bed and the door into the hallway, but the boards between the bed and the window were bare and, now that she noticed, quite chilly beneath her feet. She shut the casement and skipped back to the bed to tuck her toes underneath the eiderdown. Hugging her knees, she considered what she would do if Simon failed to come for her. Recognizing her disappointment for what it was, she remembered certain things that Lydia had said to her the previous night. Was she merely playing bride games with her husband? Could their frequent quarrels be the result of such childishness as that? Diana grimaced, wriggling her toes in order to hasten the warming process, not liking the turn her thoughts were taking. Surely the fiery nature of their relationship was not entirely her fault.

Where was Simon, anyway? Why did he not come for her? He would be furious, of course. At least, she certainly hoped he was furious. Her thoughts seemed suddenly to suspend themselves as she turned the last one over in her mind to examine it more thoroughly. Would she truly be disappointed if Simon were not angry with her?

Stretching, she pushed the disturbing thoughts to the back of her mind. It was no use to wonder what would or would not happen or how she would or would not feel. The sensible course was to await the future and to deal now with the present. And that meant it was time to cease her idleness and get dressed to greet her brother.

Ringing for a maid, Diana quickly accomplished her ablutions and within half an hour, clad in one of her own morning gowns, a turquoise-and-green sprigged muslin with silk mistake ribbons banding the high waist and a ruffled flounce decking the hem, she made her way downstairs to the magnificent conservatory, which was the family’s customary daytime gathering place even in the wintertime.

During the past ten years, as turnpike roads and fast coaches had made country living more accessible and subsequently more fashionable among the members of the
beau monde
, their houses had begun to reflect their changing tastes, and in the conservatory at Ethelmoor Hall, Doth John Nash and Humphrey Repton had combined their considerable talents to make the room at one with the surrounding landscape. For some twenty years the trend had been moving away from the notion that the servants’ day rooms in a noble house needed to be beneath the main rooms. In newer homes, such as Ethelmoor Hall, it was therefore now possible to put the servants in a wing of their own so that the main rooms of the house could be at ground level.

Symmetry was no longer fashionable either, so the rooms on the ground floor of the Hall had been grouped to enjoy the sun and the view. All of the main rooms opened directly onto green turf or gardens, and each of these rooms had windows down to the floor. The furnishings, even in the Egyptian-style drawing room, were simple, so as not to compete with the view, and while the dining room, drawing room, and Ethelmoor’s study all had curtains framing their gothic-arched windows, the conservatory had none.

As Diana passed through the drawing room toward the door into the conservatory, she heard her brother’s deep voice.

“‘I wish you will tell Mama,’” he said, amusement coloring his tone, “‘that when she directs my letters, she must remember to direct Mr. Sterling and not Master, for every boy’s letter is now directed Mr. Thingabob. It is only a week to the holidays now, and that will soon be gone. I am to tell you—’ Good morning, Diana, I trust you slept well.”

Ethelmoor stood in the center of the spacious room, peering at her over a sheet of flimsy paper, crossed and recrossed in schoolboyish scrawl. He was a gentleman of slightly more than thirty years and was generally accounted to be a handsome man. Certainly his figure was well enough, though with his better than average height, long legs, and broad, rather bony shoulders, he had a tendency to look lanky rather than graceful when he moved. The expression on his face spoke of a sweet disposition, his eyes were wont to twinkle, and he possessed a smile of singular charm. The latter came into play now as he looked his sister over with his head cocked a little to one side.

Diana grinned at him. “I slept wonderfully well, thank you. Is that letter from the hope of the house?”

“From John, yes. His observations on life at Eton are always amusing. I picked up the morning’s post at the lodge as I came in. But I can finish reading this later, of course,” he added reluctantly.

“Not unless it contains messages unsuitable for auntish ears,” Diana replied, taking a seat which provided her with a splendid view of the oak thicket and the grassy park. “I should adore to hear what he thinks of your old school.”

“Yes, darling, do go on,” Lydia put in encouragingly. “I am glad to know he has got over his cold,” she said, adding for Diana’s benefit, “The whole middle fourth seemed to be ill when last he wrote. What is it that he is to tell us, sir?”

“That he has been a good boy and has still not given them cause to flog him,” her husband replied, chuckling as he scanned to find his place again. “He is certainly well again. Listen to this bit. ‘We are all playing at marbles now. The bigger boys play at hockey, fives, and single stick, which is beating one another about as hard as you can with sticks. I should not think it was a very agreeable game.’” Ethelmoor laughed heartily, but his wife frowned.

“That does not sound at all safe to me,” she said. “What can the masters be thinking about, to let them do such things?”

“It sounds,” said Diana, “like precisely the sort of thing John will adore to do when he is one of those bigger boys, himself. Is that the lot, Bruce?”

“One more bit. ‘Cousin Dick’—that’s Lydia’s brother’s eldest—‘tells me to tell you that he has not had occasion yet to throw me downstairs, and that I do not make much noise.’”

“Good gracious!” Diana exclaimed, laughing. “Young Dick must be quite a ruffian.”

“Not a bit of it,” Ethelmoor retorted. “He’s been at great pains to look after our John. ’Tis merely that I wrote some time ago to inquire as to whether the task had proved overly arduous. This is my reply. John signs off now, informing us graciously that we need not write him again as he will soon be at home.” Ethelmoor folded the letter, moved to lay it upon a side table next to his chapeau bras, then bent a surprisingly piercing glance upon his sister. “What’s this Lydia tells me about you running away from Simon, Diana? Tantrums again?”

“Oh, ’tis nothing at all of consequence,” she assured him with an airy, dismissive wave of her hand. “’Tis merely that I have tired prodigiously of his scolds and sought to enjoy a repairing lease with you and dearest Lyddy.”

Despite the gesture and her casual tone, she was watching her brother warily. As Lydia had pointed out the previous night, he was not at all a temperamental man, but there had been one or two occasions in the past, which Diana remembered now with reluctance, when he had said some very uncomfortable things to her.

The twinkle in his eyes, which were much the same turquoise-blue as her own, reassured her. “You alarm me,” he said easily, gathering up his things from the side table. “I trust we are in momentary expectation of Andover’s arrival?”

She shrugged. “As to that, I’m sure I wouldn’t presume to hazard a guess.”

“Well, I would. Seems to me it’s dashed well inevitable. But he won’t trouble me, and I daresay that, given enough time, he’s still the man to teach you to obey him, chit.” He grinned at her, ignoring the stormy look she cast him as he turned to his wife. “I shall be in my study, sweetheart. Mind,” he added with a mock-fierce frown, “that you don’t send any more letters to Eton directed to Master Sterling.”

“Yes, my lord,” replied Lydia demurely.

“Baggage. Get up from that chair and give me a kiss. I know I’ve been away only the one night, but Lord, I missed you.” He pulled her out of the chair and gathered her into his arms, kissing her heartily.

Diana watched them, thinking how easy it seemed for them to express their love for one another and feeling a little wistful.

Ethelmoor set his rosy-cheeked wife back on her heels, grinned again at his sister, and strode from the room. Lydia, still blushing, smiled. “You must be famished, Diana. Shall I ring for them to serve you right here on a tray? I rarely eat a nuncheon in the country, you know, so we do not dine again until four o’clock. Or I can accompany you upstairs to the morning room, if you prefer.”

She spoke rapidly as though her speech could cover her blushes, and Diana laughed at her. “Pray do not be so conscious, Lyddy. I promise I was not dismayed by Bruce’s unhusbandly display of affection. No one who knows him can fail to realize how very much he loves you.”

“But ’tis prodigiously unfashionable,” Lydia protested. “A man and wife are not supposed to live in one another’s pockets, and I promise you, Diana, we shall do nothing to embarrass you or Lady Ophelia when we visit Alderwood Abbey after Christmas.”

“Fustian. Lyddy, pray do not be such a goose, I implore you. You’ll never stop Bruce from looking at you as he does, no matter how hard you try, and no one will mind a bit. The two of you make other people feel good. Why, if Simon—” But she broke off at once, realizing that such a change of subject might well carry her into waters she had no wish at the moment to explore. “Dear me,” she said instead, laughing, “how I do carry on. I should adore to have something served to me here, Lyddy. This is quite the most charming room in your very charming house. With three sides all glass, clear from ceiling to floor, as they are, one quite has the feeling of being outdoors. And how
do
you contrive to keep the park and the hedgerows so green in winter. I am persuaded Alderwood and Andover Court must both be looking quite sickly by now.”

Lydia answered glibly as she rose to ring for a servant. A few moments later, tea and a light repast having been ordered for Lady Andover, they were alone again, but Lydia made no attempt to turn their conversation back to Simon, and Diana was grateful. She was also grateful that her brother had taken her arrival in stride, but she had to admit that his amusement didn’t sit too well with her. Nor did his casually-expressed assurance that the Earl of Andover would soon find a means by which to ensure her obedience to his will.

Her breakfast soon arrived and the conversation continued desultorily, covering a myriad of topics from Master John Sterling and his little sister, Amy, to the new dairy maid and the latest London fashions.

“Are you certain you are not cold in that thin dress?” Lydia asked anxiously.

“No, of course not,” Diana replied smiling her thanks to the maid who had come to remove her tray. “How could anyone be chilly, sitting in this sunny room?” But just then, as if to belie her words, goose bumps rose on her arms and a tingling chill raced up and down her spine. She froze, her lips parted slightly as she stared at Lydia. Then the sound that she had heard almost subconsciously grew louder, the sound of carriage wheels on gravel, and Lydia returned the anxious look with one just as anxious when the sound reached her ears.

Diana had been sitting with her back to that portion of the carriage drive that swept past the east side of the house, but she turned now, nearly certain of what she would see.

Four horses hove into view, drawing a light tan chaise, its wheels and, edgings picked out in yellow, a familiar crest emblazoned upon the door panel. A large trunk was strapped onto the front of the chaise, and a liveried footman stood up behind. The two postboys mounted on the lefthand horses wore the same blue and green livery with yellow jackets and beaver hats. As they brought their charges to a plunging halt just outside the conservatory, the nearside door of the chaise was flung open from within before the footman had time to jump down from his perch, and a pair of well-muscled, buckskin-clad masculine legs swung to the ground.