Evelyn Richardson (28 page)

“You know he wouldn't allow Squire Tilden to convince him that it was dangerous. He would know what an old woman the squire is,” her brother scoffed.

“That may very well be,” Frances retorted. “But Lord Mainwaring is a man, fully able to scare respect into a band of Gypsies. No matter how well I am able to look after Cresswell, not to mention you two hellions, I don't scare Gypsies. And besides, he isn't here,” she concluded triumphantly.

Here she received unexpected help from Kitty, who had ridden over to visit at the earliest opportunity. “You know, Freddie, everyone says that all those wonderful feats—sword-swallowing, fire-eating, conjuring, and the like—are the basest trickery. They don't really do it at all, but rely on their own quickness and the stupidity of their audience.'' She looked meaningfully at the twins, then concluded with a master stroke: “I am told they are hideously cruel to their animals. They beat their poor ponies unmercifully and they're too nip-farthing to feed their dogs properly. That's why they steal dogs wherever they go, because theirs are always starving to death.” Kitty's cheeks pinkened and her large velvety eyes glistened with' tears. In her earnestness, she remained oblivious of Frances' quizzical smile.

Lady Frances by no means believed these hair-raising stories, but if they kept the redoubtable twins from a situation bound to land both of them in some sort of trouble, so much the better. “Come,” she said briskly, taking pity on their very genuine disappointment. “We must plan a great picnic instead to welcome home Kitty and Ned.”

The twins were mollified with this idea, and when Frances discovered that the elder brother of the youngest housemaid added knowledge of a few magic tricks to a far-reaching reputation as an accomplished juggler, they were almost completely reconciled to the loss of the Gypsy fair.

The day chosen for the outing dawned clear and warm but not hot. In short, it was a perfect day for an expedition to Shooter's Hill, a spot beloved by picnickers for its commanding view of the surrounding countryside. Frances and Kitty had planned to travel sedately in the barouche, but the day was so fine and both of them had missed their long country rides so much while they were in the city that they chose to join the children on their ponies. Aunt Harriet had been offered a place in the carriage but had responded acidly that moments of such peace and quiet as this were too precious to waste, and besides, she must see to her precious plants after their upsetting journey. So the only traveler in the carriage was the well-stocked picnic hamper.

Ned, mounted on a recently bought chestnut his uncle had helped him select at Tattersall's, was the envy of the twins. And Freddie, seeing how well he sat a mount that was quite obviously full of spirit, was impressed. He wanted to know Xerxes' history, parentage, and fine points in minutest detail, and once again was surprised to find himself enjoying Ned's company so much. More inclined to conceal his accomplishments than call attention to them, Ned at first resisted Freddie's urging to “Show us what he can do, Ned.” But when Cassie begged, “Oh, Ned, please do put him through his paces,” he showed himself and his animal as proudly as though he were in the ring at Astley's. The twins then could no longer contain themselves, and itching for some violent exercise, galloped on ahead at breakneck speed, doubling back every once in a while to admonish the others, “Do hurry, we'll never get there at this snail's pace, and we're so hungry. Do come and look at Farmer Stubbs's new bull, Fan. Isn't he the most monstrous mean-looking beast you have ever seen?”

Ned fell back to listen to his sister and Frances discussing the progress of Frances' book. “In truth, I neglected it sadly while I was in London, and of course the first few days I was back at Cresswell I had my hands full, but I now am coming along better.” Ned shyly asked what period of history she had chosen to present to the public first. “I've decided to try the most difficult first, the Greeks, and then, if I can make a go of that, I shall be so encouraged that I shall try the easier things—the Crusades, the Wars of the Roses, the Tudors. But, Ned, how have you come on with your own Greek studies? I know you had set the most ambitious plan to fill your days in London.”

The boy flushed with pleasure. He had always regarded the twins' sister with awe. That she could be so learned, but so warm, adventurous, and gay, seemed a miracle to him. For years he had secretly envied Cassie and Freddie their close relationship with someone who could teach them so much. Dearly as he loved Kitty for her sweet and affectionate ways, he recognized that her mind was not as keen or inquiring as his. And here Frances was talking to him as a fellow scholar. He was in heaven.

Kitty rode on, amused by his admiration and happy in his pleasure at being treated as an equal. She was the only one of the party who seemed to feel anything but relieved to be back at home. Such an attitude was understandable in one who had exchanged exquisite ball gowns for a riding dress, a constant throng of admirers at a variety of dazzling social occasions for a family outing, and letters and bouquets for the complaints of the housekeeper and her elderly cousin. But the air felt so fine, the country looked so fresh, that she was content to ride along enjoying the fineness of the day and the peace and quiet of the countryside. She would have been astounded to team how often Lady Frances' thoughts strayed back to the gaiety of the past Season and that her “Do tell me about the rest of your stay, Kitty,” was as much to indulge the listener as the regaler.

Kitty was only too happy to oblige with dance-by-dance descriptions of the last of the Season's balls, as well as repeating word by word the conversations and detailing flounce by flounce the gowns at the final routs and fêtes. Young Lord Willoughby's name was featured rather frequently and always alluded to in such an offhand manner that Lady Frances was able to gratify her narrator by remarking on the apparent interest of that young peer. “Oh, yes, I daresay we did see a good deal of each other. He seems to enjoy the same things I do,” replied Kitty with her adorable blush much deeper than usual. “He is all that is gentlemanly and attentive, not like so many of them, who only care whether one is impressed with the set of their coats, the intricacies of their cravats, or their athletic prowess. The tone of his mind is extremely nice. I think you would like him, Fan. At least, I hope you would. I do. I don't think I could like anyone else half so well,” she concluded in a rush, with such a glowing look that her friend refrained from the obvious observations on the extreme youth and inexperience of both parties.

And, she thought to herself, just because I would not be happy with someone as naive and innocently optimistic as Willoughby doesn't necessarily mean that Kitty wouldn't be. Experience of the world does not ensure freedom from bitter disillusionment any more than naivete assures it. After all, there was never a more naive and sentimental pair of lovers than Kitty's parents, nor a happier one. No need to be hard on them or her because they weren't to my taste. This last thought brought forcefully to mind the deep blue eyes and burned face of one who was infinitely wise in the ways of the world, an image which, despite its instantaneous banishment, caused a warm fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach and a certain breathlessness that had begun to affect her recently.

Kitty could not divine any of this complicated thought process, but she could recognize and correctly identify Frances' own blush and distracted air, and was instantly intrigued. For a while it had seemed to her that her guardian and Lady Frances had shared some special understanding, and she had hoped, not very optimistically, that something would come of it. She did not set such store by the relationship as Lady Streatham and her great-grandmother did, but then, she was not as well-acquainted with her uncle as they were. At any rate, she had been far more impressed with the tonish group paying court to her friend just before her abrupt departure from London. Perhaps one of Bertie's friends? She began her investigation adroitly, she thought. “But you were quite gay down here yourself. Didn't Bertie Montgomery host a large party of friends directly after the Season ended?”

“Yes, he did,” was the totally unsatisfying reply. There was no betraying consciousness, and the air of abstraction still remained. Kitty was at a loss to explain, but renewed her efforts. “Who was here?”

“Oh, Lord Alvanley, Lord Petersham, the usual, you know.” Frances was patently uninterested in> this select group.

The thundering of hooves ended any farther questioning. “Do come on! However can you be so slow?” demanded Cassie.

“Women!” Freddie muttered, looking at Ned with all the world-weariness of an eleven-year-old who had just come home from a London Season. “Can you believe they would rather talk than ride or eat? Come along, Fan, we're so ravenous we've got pains in the breadbasket.”

“In your what?”

“Well, that's what Jim calls it. Ain't it a great expression?”

“It is, I admit. And it's all very well for Jim, but it isn't for you.”

“But, Fan, you're always telling us to write descriptively and enrich our vocabulary.”

“Freddie Cresswell! You know very well that I refer to refined richness and not some stableboy cant,” she retorted crossly.

Her brother grinned engagingly. “Come on, Ned. Cook made some delicious game pies and we must get to them before Cassie does or there won't be a crumb left.” Having provoked both his sisters to his satisfaction, Freddie dashed on ahead to oversee the laying-out of the picnic.

The rest of the afternoon passed in the deliciously lazy way a perfect summer afternoon should. The children, under the critical eye of John Coachman, put their mounts through their paces, and Freddie even essayed the feat that had brought him to grief earlier. After many unsuccessful attempts he was able to stand on Prince's back long enough to ride in a circle at the end of the rein. “Fan, Fan! Look at me, I say,” he was able to shout just before beginning to lose his precarious balance, but he was able to keep dignity intact by turning a slip into a jump off his mount's back and finish with a flourishing bow.

There was nothing for it then but for the others to try. Frances resumed her reading of Guy Mannering, just received from Hatchard's in the morning post. Kitty was once again, after the Season's absence, busy with her sketchbook. Frances found the companionable silence and the hum of the bees very restful after the emotional turmoil of London and her own recent feverish activity at Cresswell. Slowly she drifted off and, for the first time in several months, fell into a deep sleep unbroken by any dreams or thoughts.

She was awakened by the rattle of tea things being set about and the arrival of William, complete with top hat and pet rabbit. The children spent a blissful hour stuffing themselves with jam tarts and exclaiming in delight as he made various articles disappear and reappear in the twinkling of an eye—and in the strangest places. He totally mystified the sharp-eyed Cassie with card tricks she thought she knew completely, and dismayed them all by making a dear little rabbit vanish altogether. He won all their admiration when, keeping five fresh eggs in the air, he reached deep into his empty hat and produced the rabbit, contentedly munching some dandelion greens. All in all it was a splendid afternoon and the Gypsies were totally forgotten.

Chapter Twenty-nine

While the Cresswells and their neighbors were thus enjoying the summer, the marquess was tidying up a few last details in town before descending on this unsuspecting crew. At last, two weeks after Kitty and Ned's departure for Hampshire, he was tooling toward Camberly, savoring the freshness of the country air and the chance to spring his grays after the crowds, noise, and claustrophobic atmosphere of the city. He did enjoy the wealth of interesting companions and the variety of entertainments to be found in London, but feeling sated with sophisticated pursuits, he welcomed the exhilaration of the drive, the test of his physical rather than his mental skills. For a while he gave himself thoroughly to the managing of his horses and the challenge of driving to an inch, but it wasn't long before unwelcome thoughts began to intrude. How was he going to convince Lady Frances to see him? And even if he were able to, what would he say? “I love you”? She would laugh in his face. No, that was not true. She would never allow herself to be unkind or vulgar. She would merely look at him in patent disbelief. How would he ever show that he cared about her? Well, then, should he tell her that she was the only woman he had ever wanted to marry? Despite the truth of this he knew her disbelief would turn to sheer incredulity. He would show her, make her see that he loved her, but how? In his frustration he took a corner much too fast and nearly locked wheels with a lumbering farm cart. Cursing himself, his stupidity, and his mismanagement of the entire situation, he gritted his teeth and drove the rest of the way, concentrating rigidly on nothing but the road ahead.

Before he was halfway to Camberly, Lord Mainwaring, for all his years and experience, was in no better shape man any young man in love. I was resisting matchmaking mamas and determined young women and carrying on liaisons with dozens of delightful ladies while she was still in the schoolroom, and now I am no better than someone in his salad days—or perhaps I'm already in my dotage, he thought bitterly. Humiliating as it all was, he reflected ruefully, it must mean he was in love. He had never in his life put himself out for a woman, and now he was allowing one to inflict agonies of self doubt—a hard lesson for a man who had been accustomed to holding his own alone in any situation, anywhere, for so long.

These serious reflections occupied him so that it seemed no time at all before he was in the yard at the White Hart, claiming the attention of several eager ostlers and the genial Crimmins. “Well, my lord, it's been some time since we've seen you here.” Beaming, he ushered Mainwaring into a private parlor. “How are they all at Camberly? I fancy Miss Kitty did fairly make them stand up and take notice in London. We heard she's just come back. A lovely lass. And will you be staying on at Camberly or just passing through?”