An Unconventional Courtship

by Dorothy Mack

  When the group broke up for the evening, Cleone was quite satisfied to realize that Emerald had kept Lord Altern so well entertained that he had not so much as glanced in her own direction after thanking her for the brandy. It might take a little quick-footedness on her part, but with luck she could prevent any occasion when she was close enough to Lord Altern to attract any friendly attention on his part. That would be the safest way to avoid finding herself the target for hostile attention from Emerald.

  CHAPTER 6

  The weather was not nearly so pleasant on the second day of Lord Altern’s visit. Clouds had rolled in overnight and the air was much cooler.

  “Just right for riding,” declared Emerald at the breakfast table. “We won’t have the sun beating down on us over the Downs.”

  “If you venture too far today, you’ll have the rain beating down on you,” warned Cleone, casting a weather-wise glance through the oriel windows.

  “Don’t you mean to come with us?” asked Emerald, putting up her brows.

  “Why … no. There are a thousand and one things I must see to about the house today, what with our dinner party tomorrow night.” Cleone, too surprised at her cousin’s uncharacteristic desire for her company to be able to enumerate any specific tasks that would prevent her accompanying the riding party, was annoyed to realize just how inadequate her explanation sounded even in her own ears.

  “Can you not postpone your duties until this afternoon, Miss Latham?” Lord Altern asked politely. “Or, alternatively, we will be happy to delay our start this morning until you complete any urgent tasks.”

  “Yes, Cleone,” Lady Henley said, entering the lists unexpectedly. “I shall feel happier about Cecily being a member of this excursion if you are along to keep her company. The other two cannot be trusted to consider her limitations as a rider, although I am persuaded your presence will prevent them from doing anything really dangerous,” she added, addressing Lord Altern. Left unspoken was Lady Henley’s dislike of allowing her eldest daughter to cavort about the locality escorted exclusively by two gentlemen, even if one of them was her brother. Cleone took her meaning.

  “You always did coddle them too much,” Lord Brestwick accused his daughter-in-law. “What harm could come to them on this property? But go along, do, Cleone, if it will relieve your cousin’s mind. I don’t need you this morning.”

  Miss Latham capitulated with as much grace as she could muster, having by then assimilated the various reasons in favour of her inclusion into the riding party. None of them was flattering to her personally, but she shrugged that off. Her presence would serve to keep Cecily out of her sister’s hair and, as Isabella hoped, would put a restraint on any daredevil exploits Philip or Emerald might dream up. Both were fearless riders with more daring than sense. Cecily was a timid horsewoman, and Cleone considered herself an indifferent one.

  It was therefore an ill-assorted party that presently set off to show Lord Altern over the estate, but thanks to that gentleman’s diplomacy, they kept together, conversing light-heartedly and relegating horsemanship to an insignificant role. That Philip and Emerald were itching to be off on a gallop was clear to Miss Latham, but with their guest apparently content to ramble along at scarcely more than a walking pace, good manners forbade indulging their preference.

  Lord Altern confessed himself rather taken with the smooth rounded hills of the area with their belts of trees — pleasant terrain rather than picturesquely rugged. The rich loamy soil produced a springy turf that supported an impressive number of sheep to the acre. This much could be guessed by anyone with eyes in his head. As a result of Lord Brestwick’s immutable prejudice against the feminine mentality and his disdain for his youthful heir, none of Lord Altern’s guides proved terribly well-informed on those particulars that would interest a landowner, but ignorance could not hinder enjoyment of the pervasive scent of sweet thyme and the abundance of cowslip and milkwort in the fields.

  As anticipated, Cleone found herself keeping a tutor’s eye on Cecily, but to her secret relief they were not called upon to emulate any difficult feats of horsemanship. They had been riding for nearly an hour when it dawned on her that she had Lord Altern to thank for this consideration. So subtly that she had not even recognized his tactics at first, he had contrived to control the conversation and thereby the pace at which they moved, effortlessly blocking a number of tentative attempts on Emerald’s part to speed up the pace or engage in a short race. She actually began to relax her vigilance and was able to enjoy looking about her.

  It was the most unlikely mischance that brought this happy state of affairs to an abrupt end. Cecily too had been lulled into relaxing the death grip she had maintained on the reins of the well-mannered chestnut mare she was riding. The small group had ascended to the top of a hill in order to gain a wider view of the surrounding countryside. The horses were more or less stationary while Philip pointed out local landmarks to Lord Altern when a bee suddenly stung Cecily’s mount. Horse and rider were equally affected by the shock, the former bolting for the trees nearby and the latter emitting a stifled shriek before losing the reins and any control she might have exerted. The incident still might have ended safely but for the unfortunate positioning of a tree with a low branch at the exact spot where the frightened chestnut entered the copse. As the others galloped after the runaway, Philip, in the lead, gave a warning shout to his sister, but, as she later confessed, Cecily’s eyes were tight shut, and before anyone could reach her she had been swept off her precarious perch by rude contact with the tree limb.

  The shocked onlookers were upon the spot almost immediately, except for Philip, who went in pursuit of the riderless horse. Lord Altern was the first to reach the motionless figure on the ground. He flung himself off his horse, thrusting the big black’s reins into Emerald’s hands as she drew up beside him.

  “Do not move her,” warned Cleone, who pulled up just as the earl bent over the fallen rider. She scrambled down from her mount with more haste than grace before he could assist her. He relieved her of the reins after a glance showed that Emerald was managing, though with difficulty, to control Beelzebul while she calmed her own horse with her voice.

  Lord Altern automatically steadied Miss Latham’s horse, his watchful eye on her movements until he had assured himself of her competence to attend to the girl on the ground.

  “Her pupils are equal, thank God,” that lady declared, beginning to run her hands over Cecily’s limbs as she checked for broken bones.

  “The horse veered at the last second,” Lord Altern said quietly. “I am nearly certain the branch hit her only a glancing blow on the side of the head.”

  “I hope you are right.” Miss Latham’s grim tones lightened with relief. “She is starting to come round, I think.” She untied the ribbons of the bonnet that had come off when Cecily landed, and pulled it out from under the girl’s neck before her gentle fingers explored the skull. “There is a cut just behind her right temple. There is a lot of blood, but head wounds always do bleed freely. Have you a handkerchief?” She was using her own small handkerchief to wipe away the worst of the blood as she spoke, and gratefully accepted the large one he proffered.

  “No, no, do not move yet, my dear,” she warned as Cecily moaned and tried to put up a gloved hand to her head. “You shall sit up in a minute or two when I have secured this pad over the cut. Philip, may I have your handkerchief?” she asked without looking up, hearing the return of Lord Henley with his sister’s horse.

  “How badly hurt is Cis?” Philip demanded, handing his handkerchief down to Lord Altern, who passed it over to Miss Latham to use to tie over the pad she was pressing directly over the wound.

  “Not badly, I should think,” the earl replied, substituting his own fingers on the pad so Miss Latham could have two hands to tie up her makeshift bandage. “We believe there are no bones broken, and I would estimate that she was unconscious for less than five minutes.”

  “My head hurts,” put in Cecily we
akly.

  “I’ll warrant it does, but we shall have you home in a very few minutes now, and then you may rest, Miss Cecily.”

  Lord Altern smiled at the patient in a fashion that no one at Bramble Hall had yet been privileged to witness. Genuine kindness banished what Cleone had come to think of as a detached, slightly inhuman amusement that seemed habitual with him.

  Pink colour crept back into Cecily’s pale cheeks, and seeing this, Emerald’s eyes narrowed.

  “Now, Miss Cecily, if you will put your arms about my neck, we’ll get you on your feet again. If you feel any sudden pain or giddiness, stop me. Ready?”

  The young girl obeyed this directive, her situation compelling what her modesty would have deplored in other circumstances. She did experience an instant’s giddiness when set gently on her feet, and she clung to Lord Altern’s coat lapel for a moment until it passed and she was able to smile shyly and step away from the supporting arm about her waist.

  “Thank goodness you are better now, Cissie,” Emerald observed, “but I think you should allow Cleo to take you home so you may have a proper bandage put on that cut.”

  Miss Latham looked a bit taken aback. “Well, yes, of course, but I could wish we had taken one of the grooms with us. Where is Musgrove, Philip? I don’t recall seeing him in the stables earlier when we left.”

  “I sent him up to London yesterday on a commission for me,” replied Philip.

  “Excuse me, but I do not consider it quite wise to allow Miss Cecily to ride back on her own in the event she becomes dizzy,” Lord Altern objected.

  “I can take her up with me,” Philip offered.

  “If you will allow me, ma’am, Beelzebul is a stronger horse and might provide a smoother ride for your cousin.” The words were addressed to Miss Latham, who gratefully accepted his suggestion.

  Emerald protested lightly. “Surely that isn’t really necessary. You ought to get right back on your horse after a spill, you know, Cissie.”

  A look of dread crossed Cecily’s wan features, but Lord Altern interposed before she could open her lips. “In general that is sound advice, Miss Hardwicke, but not, I fear, after a head injury. You would not be able to draw a comfortable breath about your sister the whole trip.”

  Whether it was the charming smile he bestowed on her or the good sense of his words, combined with an implied belief in her concern for her sister, that caused Emerald to drop her objections, Cleone neither knew nor cared, so relieved was she to see matters arrange themselves in the safest manner. Philip lifted his sister up to the earl, who made her comfortable in the security of his strong arms, and they accomplished the ride back to the Hall without further incident.

  Lord Altern carried on a gentle conversation with Emerald, interspersed with compliments on her horsemanship and her success at holding his own “Prince of Devils” quiescent during the tense period when they were taking stock of Cecily’s injuries. The big black was not an easy horse to manage, good manners not being his strong suit. He whiled away the return trip with several amusing stories of Beelzebul’s antics in the Peninsula. Emerald’s sparkling look, which had been in eclipse since her sister’s accident, returned in full measure by the time they reached the side door at the Hall.

  Cleone thanked Lord Altern warmly on behalf of a subdued Cecily and accepted the girl into her charge while the others went on to the stables with the horses.

  Cecily was missing from the lunch table an hour later. In response to Lord Altern’s solicitous inquiries, Lady Henley related that the cut, when cleaned up, had not proved serious but that she had invoked the imminence of tomorrow’s dinner party to coerce a fast-recovering Cecily into staying quietly in her room for the rest of the afternoon.

  The earl applauded this decision. “I am persuaded that is wise, ma’am. There is always the element of shock involved in cases like this, apart from the actual injury.”

  “I have to thank you, my lord, for your efforts on my daughter’s behalf this morning. She told me how very kind you were, and how safe she felt riding back with you.”

  “Do not give it a thought, ma’am. I did nothing but cushion the ride for her. It was Miss Latham who attended to her injuries in a most efficient manner.” The earl’s voice was warm with admiration, and Cleone felt her cheeks grow heated.

  “Yes, Cleone is a marvellous nurse, and so competent in an emergency,” Lady Henley agreed.

  “From the looks of that sky, we shall all be confined indoors this afternoon,” Emerald said, entering the conversation suddenly. “It will be a good time to show you the rest of the house.”

  “I shall enjoy that after I have written one or two letters,” Lord Altern replied. “Shall we say two-thirty?”

  “Better get Cleone to take you through the picture gallery,” Lord Brestwick said unexpectedly. “She’s the only one who knows a Van Dyke from a Hopner.”

  “Do you indeed possess a Van Dyke, sir?”

  “Two of ’em, actually,” Lord Brestwick said with pardonable pride.

  “I am most impressed and shall look forward to being conducted around the gallery by Miss Latham — at your convenience, of course, ma’am. This afternoon?”

  Neatly trapped, Cleone produced a smile and agreed to meet Lord Altern in the gallery at three-thirty.

  “And here comes the rain,” announced Philip unnecessarily as the first drops hit the long windows like individual explosions.

  A thought suddenly caused Miss Latham to sit bolt upright in her chair. “Oh, dear, my sketchbook!”

  “What’s that? What did you say? Don’t mutter under your breath,” reprimanded her great-uncle, who would never admit to impaired hearing.

  “Nothing of importance, Uncle. I just remembered something I have to do, that’s all. Would you all excuse me, please?”

  Cleone hurried out of the room, talk of the picture gallery having reminded her that she had left her sketchbook in the garden yesterday when she and Louisa had been interrupted by a procession of people. She headed for the back hall, where she kept an old hooded cloak on a wall hook for just such emergencies. Afraid from the hammering sound of the rain that her sketchbook would be reduced to pulp in a very few minutes, she grabbed the old frieze cloth cloak and dashed out the door, trying to secure the garment about her person as she did so.

  The stupidity of not taking time to cover herself properly was brought home to her in seconds. Wind-delivered rain struck her face with icy blows and swept the hood back from her head before she had gone a half-dozen steps. Gasping at the shock, she put her head down and sprinted, her hands clutching at the front of the cloak to keep it more or less around her shoulders. Wet skirts whipping about her ankles impeded her progress, but as she had no extra hands to lift them, she ploughed forward doggedly, her eyes on the ground at her feet. Which was why, halfway to the garden bench, she was unable to avoid the large obstacle in her path and ran full tilt into a man coming straight at her. The force of the collision knocked the air out of her lungs. Her hands clutching the cloak went out reflexively to break the impact at the last second, and the insecure garment slipped from her shoulders, exposing the only dry part of her to the downpour.

  Rocked off her balance and with no breath left for speaking, Cleone was in no position to protest as the strong arms that had gone about her back to steady her descended rapidly to her thighs and gathered her up, sodden cloak and all. She was unceremoniously hoisted over her bearer’s shoulder and carried like a sack of grain back the way she had come. Being tipped upside down in the rain completed the wetting process and delayed the return of her breath so that for a few seconds after her captor deposited her on her feet in the hallway, all her energy went into restoring her breathing apparatus to workable order.

  “Phew! I don’t know when I’ve seen so much water in such a short space of time,” Lord Altern said calmly.

  He was scarcely breathing heavily after all that exertion, the bedraggled creature staring up at him wide-eyed noted with a surge of unrea
sonable annoyance. “What were you doing out there?” she gasped as soon as she was able to utter a coherent sound.

  “I went out to retrieve this.”

  Before her bemused eyes, the soaked giant unbuttoned his blue coat and withdrew a damp pad, which he held out to her with his glinting smile. “It was lying under the bench, which protected it from the full force of the rain.”

  Her hands took it mechanically while astonished brown eyes searched his. “But how did you know…?”

  “I believe we both recollected it at the same moment. I hoped to save you a wetting, but I can see that I did not.”

  Cleone’s numbed brain had been slowly coming to life during this extraordinary exchange. Something, a certain masculine awareness in his eyes, drove her own eyes downward, and she gasped again, taking in the puddle at her feet and the grey cloak lying in a heap, taking in also the sheer blue muslin plastered to her form, saved from being transparent only by the shift and petticoat beneath, but revealing enough to send a wave of heat scorching through her body. Instinctively she clasped the pad to her, and that action released her tongue, which had seemed glued to the roof of her mouth.

  “Th-thank you for — for res—” A sneeze interrupted her poor efforts at articulation, and Lord Altern saved the situation with a brusque observation.

  “You are soaked to the skin. Get out of those clothes immediately and have your maid bring hot tea or coffee if you wish to avoid taking a chill. Go now,” he ordered as she hesitated. She stood rooted to the spot in sudden alarm as he moved forward, but she relaxed when he only bent down to pick up her cloak from the floor.