The Bachelor Trap (10 page)

“Really?” Clarice's interest seemed genuine. After a moment's thought, she went on with a laugh, “I hope no one decides to write a history of the FitzAlans. The pages would catch fire.”

“Phoebe!” repeated Emily, this time her voice more steely than before.

“I've hardly started the history,” protested Phoebe. “There's nothing to show anyone except a few old letters and dates.” Her sister's expression did not encourage her to argue the point. “Come along, Flora,” she said in a resigned tone.

Flora obediently followed Phoebe out of the room.

On the other side of the door, Flora said, “Are you a cripple?”

Phoebe's breath stuck in her throat. She glared at the other girl, who was a good three inches taller than she. “No, I am not! I'm lame in one leg. That doesn't make me a cripple.”

“Fine,” said Flora. “Then we don't have to stay indoors, do we? We can go out and explore and have adventures.”

Explore? Adventures?
Those were heady words for Phoebe, but she was afraid that she might disappoint the other girl. “I'm not allowed to go far from the house,” she allowed dubiously.

“Then we won't go far, only to the rock pond. If you're quick, you can catch frogs. There are scores of them.”

“What about your mother? Shouldn't you ask her permission?”

“I don't have a mother,” said Flora. “She died when I was very young. I'm here to visit my aunt, Theodora, and she never objects to anything I do.”

“I wish Marion was like your aunt,” said Phoebe with feeling. “Both my sisters can be Tartars when they want to be.”

Flora laughed. “Well, are you game?”

The prospect was too good to resist. “I've never caught a frog before.”

“I'll show you how.”

“I should tell Marion where I'm going.”

“It's only a short walk away. You'll still be in sight of the house.”

That was good enough for Phoebe.

As they walked out the door, Flora said, “What's a family history?”

It was a bore, but Phoebe wanted to impress the other girl, so she made it sound exciting.

In the parlor, Clarice was reminiscing about old times. “You must remember the Priory ghost,” she said to Marion.

Marion shook her head.

“You don't remember the night we hid in the refectory pulpit and lay in wait for our ghost to appear?”

“No. I'm afraid not.”

At that point, Mrs. Ludlow entered and announced other visitors, Lady Theodora FitzAlan and Mr. Hamilton.

“Told you so,” said Clarice to Marion in an undertone. “They'll all want to look you over.”

The usual pleasantries were exchanged and when everyone was seated, Marion asked Mrs. Ludlow to bring more refreshments. Aware that all eyes were watching her closely, she forced herself to appear quite unaffected by Brand's presence. He seemed to be taking his cue from her. She thanked him for the use of his carriage. He replied in kind. Having cleared the first hurdle, Marion now turned her attention to the lady she did not know.

Lady Theodora was what Marion's father would have called a handsome woman. Marion judged her to be fortyish, tall and athletic, her black hair severely pulled back, her high cheekbones tanned by the sun. If her dress wasn't a riding habit, it was closely modeled on one. She looked as though she would feel more at home in the country than in town.

Lady Theodora said, “I won't pretend that I remember you, Marion. When you were last here, you were an infant in petticoats and I must have seemed like an old lady to you.”

“Don't apologize, Theo,” Clarice cut in. “I don't think Marion remembers you, either.” On the next breath, she went on, “Robert not with you?”

“No. You know Robert. He met friends in Windsor and decided to stay on.” To Marion, she added, “Lord Robert FitzAlan, my errant husband.”

Marion sensed a nip in the air and groped in her mind for a neutral rejoinder.

Brand saved her the trouble by abruptly changing the subject. “That's a showy filly you brought home with you, Theo,” he said. “Arabian, is she?”

“Half Arabian,” Theodora replied, and went on to describe the finer points of the latest acquisition to her stable, all the while her eyes wandering over Marion as though, thought Marion, she was judging her finer points, too. Theodora then proceeded to ask Marion whether she and her sisters liked to ride.

Clarice interjected, “Be careful how you respond, Marion. You're in the presence of a devotee of all things horsey. No one can keep up with Theo.”

Marion was becoming thoroughly annoyed. Since Lady Theodora and Brand had arrived, she and Emily had yet to get in one word. These FitzAlans, and she counted Brand in their number, were full of themselves.

Cutting across Clarice's next observation, she said, “We haven't done much riding of late, except in Hyde Park, and that hardly counts.”

“Poor you,” Theo commiserated.

As though her sister had been slighted, Emily said coolly, “Our father taught us to ride when we were infants. We are all comfortable around horses, but Marion…well, she is fearless.”

“In that case,” said Theodora, “perhaps you'd like to try out my new filly? Thunderbolt, I call her. She'll give you the ride of your life.”

To say that Marion was dismayed did not reflect her feelings. She was aghast. It was easy to be a fearless rider when Papa chose only docile mounts for his darling daughters. And they weren't all comfortable around horses. Since her fall, Phoebe had never ridden again. What was Emily thinking to exaggerate her skill?

Brand was aware of her dilemma and did not hesitate to step in and rescue her. Rescuing Marion was becoming a habit he rather enjoyed. “Thunderbolt,” he said humorously, “would give the devil the ride of his life. Tame your beast, Theo, before she does someone an injury.”

His humorous rebuke did not give offense. Theodora said, “You know that I wouldn't dream of allowing anyone to ride Thunderbolt until John trains her.” To Marion, she elaborated, “John Forrest is my trainer and man of business. Everything I learned about horses, I learned from him.”

Brand said, “He'll have his hands full with Thunderbolt. I looked in on her before I came on here. I'd say she has a temper.”

Theodora smiled. “If John says she can be trained, then I believe him. She'll give the FitzAlan stallions a run for their money. And when the time comes to breed her, believe me, I won't allow any of them near her.”

The picture that came to Marion's mind wasn't of stallions but of FitzAlan men. A sideways glance at Theodora convinced her that this was a veiled jibe that everyone understood but no one, least of all Theodora, found funny.

The tea tray was brought in and when everyone was served, Brand remarked, “Did I hear you aright, Clarice? When I first entered, you said something about a Priory ghost?”

“First I've heard of such a thing,” said Theodora.

“It was our secret,” replied Clarice, “Marion's and mine. A childish escapade that terrified us at the time but seems amusing in retrospect.”

Brand looked at Marion. “I'd like to hear what happened.”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don't remember. Clarice was just about to relate the incident when you and Lady Theodora arrived.”

“Clarice?” he said.

“There's not much to tell.” Clarice looked at Marion as though for help, saw that none was forthcoming, and said, “We were half convinced that the ghost of one of the monks wandered the Priory grounds at night, or maybe the ghost of the abbot. I'd caught sight of him from my bedroom window, you see, carrying a lantern in his hand. To cut a long story short, Marion and I agreed to keep watch one night when everyone was asleep. So we hid in the refectory pulpit—”

“Refectory?” queried Emily.

“Where the monks used to take their meals. The pulpit is all that is left of it, and it was moved when the conservatory was built. It's about halfway down the hill between the Priory and Yew Cottage. But the pulpit is still intact and made an excellent hiding place for two small girls. So imagine us there, giggling and trembling at the same time, when out of the trees the monk appeared, or so we thought.” She started chuckling as the memory came back to her. “We were stunned, we were terrified, and when some poor animal howled, we bolted like runaway horses, I to the Priory and Marion back here. Of course, there was no ghost.” She looked at Marion. “We should have known. Our ghost had a lantern, don't you remember? What self-respecting ghost would need a lantern to see by?”

Marion nodded. “Yes, it's coming back to me.”

Theodora said sharply, “You were lucky a smuggler or one of the gamekeepers did not see you. You could have been shot.”

Brand interposed in his easy way. “Oh, not so close to the house, Theo. The gamekeepers know better than to let off their guns anywhere near the Priory. I can't believe it was a smuggler, either, not when he was carrying a lantern. It would give his presence away.”

Theodora gave a disbelieving laugh. “Smugglers are as bold as pirates in this neck of the woods. They fear no one. And why should they? No one wants to stop their trade, least of all the magistrate. Who else would supply us with fine French brandy if it were not for smugglers?”

A flicker of a smile touched Brand's lips. “What you mean,” he said, “is that no one wants to pay the excise tax.”

“Precisely.”

Emily was staring at her sister. “How old were you and Clarice?” she asked.

“Seven, I think,” responded Marion, “or maybe eight.”

“And you went out when everyone was in bed?”

Clarice answered this time. “Your Aunt Edwina kept early hours, and my family wouldn't have noticed if I'd been gone for a week. We waited until it was dark, that's all, and we went out at night only once.”

“I'm amazed,” said Emily, still looking at Marion. “I can't imagine you creeping out of the house to go hunting for ghosts when everyone was asleep in bed. It's just not like you.”

“Oh, she has her moments,” observed Brand.

Marion smiled serenely. “Would anyone like more tea?”

As soon as she got back to the Priory, Theodora made for the stable block to check on Thunderbolt. Her husband's gelding was there; one of the grooms was currying it. She nodded to the groom as she passed the stall and crossed to the man who had her complete confidence in managing all her affairs.

John Forrest looked up and smiled when she joined him. He looked younger than his sixty years. He was spare and athletic, and his deeply tanned skin gave him a healthy glow.

“So,” said Theodora, “Robert is home.”

“This half hour,” replied Forrest. “He went up to the house.”

Theodora nodded, but inwardly she was irritated. Her husband was as careless with his cattle as a cuckoo bird with her nestlings. There would always be someone else to take over their care. In her opinion, the test of a real gentleman was that he put his horses first. She doubted that Robert would remember what to do with a curry comb even if she put a gun to his head. He was quite different when he found himself in a room full of beautiful women. No one had to give him lessons in flirting. No doubt, at this moment, he was in his favorite chair, a glass of brandy in his hand, reading Ovid, his favorite poet. She wasn't going to hold it against the gelding that his name was Ovid, too.