She vaguely recalled reading that there were white cliffs a few miles to the east of Margate town. She must find a path down to the beach, have the sun on her back and then she was certain she would rapidly arrive at a place she recognised.
Eventually she found a steep, stony path just negotiable on horseback and arrived without mishap on the sand. She wasn’t sure if the tide was coming in or going out but there were still a few yards of yellow sand showing at the bottom of the white cliffs which towered above her.
‘Come along, Bruno, we must travel by the water until we reach home.’
She pushed him into an extended canter and for the first few minutes was enjoying the ride. Then for some reason he was splashing in the sea and not on the sand. She glanced over her shoulder and to her horror saw that where there had once been a strip of beach there was now only water lapping the base of the cliffs.
The tide was coming in, she was trapped, not sure which way to go. The path she had descended on would be impossible to go up. She had no option but to continue and hope she found somewhere she could get off the beach before the water became too deep for riding.
She was a strong swimmer – she had no idea if Bruno could swim the way the duke’s horses did. She was going to find out as the waves now lapped his belly. She wrapped her hands firmly in his mane. ‘Nothing to worry about, Bruno, we shall swim to safety.’
The massive stallion appeared to be enjoying this unusual excursion. She was aware when he began to swim. It felt strange – like nothing she’d ever experienced before. He was a powerful horse, there was no danger he would weaken and be unable to continue. All she needed to do was stay in the saddle, which was harder than it might appear as wet leather was extremely slippery.
She couldn’t remember if there were rocks or other dangers close to the shoreline so guided the horse away from the cliff so he was swimming in open water. As they rounded the promontory the cliffs became smaller, the landscape slightly more familiar.
‘Good boy, we shall be able to turn towards the beach very shortly. I wonder if you can ascend a flight of steps or if I must find you an easier way to reach your stable.’
The horse flicked his ears and continued without slowing. She wasn’t sure if horses could swim at more than one pace – but Bruno was certainly making excellent headway.
*
Edwin completed his swim and whistled for his horse to come to his side. He’d become adept at swinging his leg over a swimming horse without becoming maimed by the flashing, metal-shod hooves. The sun was up, the reflection on the sea like fire, a truly awe-inspiring sight.
Then something extraordinary caught his attention. Othello had seen it too. Approaching rapidly, in the opposite direction, was another horse and the rider could be none other than the very girl he wished to avoid.
Lucy saw him and waved. She then yelled across the water – her voice carried wonderfully. ‘Good morning, your grace, as you can see, I was caught by the tide. Forgive me, I must not tarry, I shall be late for breakfast.’
He raised his hand but could think of nothing appropriate to yell back. He persuaded Othello to circle slowly whilst he waited for her to reach the shore. Even the cold sea he was immersed in failed to quell his desire. He smiled wryly. To think that initially he’d thought her plain.
Her horse, he now saw quite clearly it was also a stallion, charged out of the water and trotted up the stone staircase and vanished from view. The further he got from Margate and Lucy the better it would be for both of them.
The stable yard was now busy and he dropped to the ground and tossed the halter rope to a waiting boy. They were well used to seeing their master dripping wet, as were his unfortunate indoor staff who were obliged to mop up behind him as he made his way to his bedchamber leaving wet footprints everywhere.
The coachman would be driving him into the town to catch the packet from the pier at eight o’clock that morning. His mother never arose before midday which was fortunate as he had no wish for a confrontation before he left. Words would be exchanged that they both might regret later.
He consumed his usual breakfast knowing that however rough the sea he was a good sailor and would suffer no ill effects from his meal. His father had kept a private yacht and they had frequently sailed to the continent together when he was a boy. On inheriting the title Edwin had sold the boat and had no regrets for doing so.
Rogers had rebandaged his hand and removed the stitches from his thigh which had now healed perfectly leaving only the faintest of scars. His mouth curved. Being in love with Lucy appeared to be a dangerous occupation.
He dropped his napkin on the plate and drained the last of his coffee. On checking his gold pocket watch he realised he was tardy. The gig would be waiting outside for him.
‘Your grace, do not think you can run away from me, sir. I will not stand for it. You cannot treat your own mother so shabbily.’
‘I can do as I please, as you very well know, ma’am. You are an uninvited guest here and after your despicable behaviour last night I care not if you are offended at my closing the house and sending you back to Rochester Towers.’
‘How could you humiliate me in front of my friend? To have danced with a nonentity before leading Lady Catherine to the floor was the outside of enough.’ The lady drew breath to continue her tirade but he forestalled her.
‘Forgive me, ma’am, but I cannot keep the horses waiting. The carriage will be outside at midday. I bid you good morning and goodbye.’ He stepped around her leaving her almost gobbling with anger and strolled to the gig knowing she would not pursue him when there were staff to witness her anger.
There was already a crowd of spectators assembled to witness the departure of the sailing-packet. Porters were wheeling carts piled high with trunks, baskets and bandboxes. He and Rogers were travelling light, had booked no cabin for the journey, and he was surprised that there were so many travelling in what he considered to be the wrong direction. Surely visitors were not so soon dismayed by the lack of entertainment in this small seaside resort?
The town crier began to ring his bell signalling that those that wished to travel must board immediately. He bounded up the gangplank and found himself a position at the railing from where he could watch their departure. The spectators were shouting and waving handkerchiefs and the passengers were responding in kind.
The weather was clement, the sea calm, a perfect day for the sail up the Thames to London. His valet produced a folding stool from somewhere and Edwin perched himself upon it. He had no intention of going inside and being surrounded by twittering ladies and garrulous gentlemen all eager to make the acquaintance of a duke.
Rogers kept him well supplied with food and drink but his self-imposed isolation gave him too much time to dwell on what might have been. He was munching a palatable beef sandwich when something occurred to him.
Lucy would eventually marry and inevitably pregnancy would follow. Carrying another man’s child would put her in as much danger as if she was carrying his. His decision to only marry a woman who had proved herself successful at producing healthy babies suddenly seemed quite ridiculous. There would be no children, the human race would have ended a millennium ago, if childbearing was so dangerous.
He tossed the remains of his lunch to the circling seagulls amused to see them snatch the bread and meat from the air as it fell. He had allowed his natural grief at the death of his wife and child three years ago to cloud his brain.
He wanted to punch his fist into the air, to shout his joy to the world. He would marry Lucy. He could be happy again. On his return he would call on Lord Stanfield, court his daughter, persuade her that marrying him would be the perfect solution for both of them. Her desire to remain a spinster in order to educate her siblings was laudable but unnecessary.
He leaned his elbows on the rail, lost in thought, happily envisaging his future. He had no intention of curbing Lucy’s wild streak; they could swim naked together every morning. She could ride a
stride, as long as he was with her and they were on his land, and he wouldn’t force her to entertain unless she wanted to.
He gripped the rail so hard his knuckles were white. She was the most beautiful, desirable young lady he’d ever set eyes upon. The memory of her astride that massive horse in men’s attire, with her hair streaming down her back, would live with him for ever.
She usually wore it tightly constrained in an unflattering coronet of plaits around her head. He’d no idea it waved so gloriously. He couldn’t wait to run his fingers through it. If he had his way it would be a very short engagement – in fact he would prefer to apply for a special licence so they could be married immediately and not be obliged to wait for banns to be read.
He laughed out loud ignoring the curious glances from those who had also stayed on deck. They had the rest of their lives to spend together – he would have to contain his passion until their wedding night. He would give her time to reciprocate his feelings before asking her to marry him.
However, he would make it very clear to her father that his intentions were honourable. He recalled what Lucy had said on the subject. She had been quite emphatic in declaring that if her parents were aware of his interest, they would insist that she married him whether she wished to or not.
Perhaps it would be better to meet her, supposedly by chance, until he could be sure she was in love with him. He had no wish for her to be coerced into becoming his wife. He wanted her to be as eager as he to tie the knot.
*
Lucy was relieved the stables were still quiet allowing her to deal with Bruno herself. What the head groom would think when he saw the state of the saddle and bridle, she hated to consider.
‘There you are, old boy, dry and warm again. I shall have to tell Papa what happened and I hope he still allows me to ride you after our misadventures.’
She was now unpleasantly chill despite the sun having come up. Even the energy she’d expended on the stallion to make him comfortable had failed to warm her. The sooner she removed her sodden garments and stepped into a hot bath the better. She had removed her water-filled boots and had no intention of putting her feet back into them until they were dry. She hoped they were not past redemption by having been immersed in salt water for so long.
She took the back stairs, not the servants’ staircase, but those used by guests if they so wished as it led directly to the wing in which their chambers were housed. On the way up she peeled off her jacket hoping its removal would make her shivering less pronounced.
How could it only be just after six o’clock? So much had happened in so short a space of time. The likelihood of there being sufficient hot water for a bath was small – she would have to hope that rubbing herself dry and putting on fresh garments would be sufficient to restore her.
Her maid would arrive with her breakfast chocolate, sweet rolls and conserve, at seven. This was usually the time Lucy returned from her dawn walk with the dog. Good heavens! Where had Sydney been this morning? She had been so excited to ride astride that she had quite forgotten about him. He always accompanied her – why hadn’t he done so this morning?
Chapter Seven
Edwin was sorely tempted to wait on the boat and go back immediately to Margate. On reflection he came to the conclusion that visiting his distant cousin, now that he’d travelled so far, was the sensible thing to do. However, he would catch the evening packet so he could be back in Margate at first light.
‘Rogers, speak to the purser and book us a cabin for the eight o’clock sailing. I can complete my business in a couple of hours and be back in time.’
‘Yes, your grace. Do I have your permission to explore the neighbourhood once I’ve secured our cabin for the night?’
‘You do. Do you have funds?’ He dipped into his pocket, found his cloth purse, and tipped out a handful of coins. ‘This should be sufficient for any purchases you might wish to make. I’ll pay the purser myself.’
They docked and he disembarked confident he could find a hackney cab to convey him to the address he had memorised. Why anyone should wish to live all year round in London, when they could afford to remove themselves to the more salubrious air of the countryside, was a mystery to him. No doubt Gilbert’s business interests kept him here.
He was pleasantly surprised when the cab pulled up outside a substantial property in Wandsworth. It was detached, set back from the road and there was a handsome garden in the centre of the square for the use of the residents.
Immediately he spied a nursemaid playing with children on the grass and he wondered if these were the progeny of his cousin as they were directly outside the house he was visiting.
He strode to the front door and hammered on it. This week had been extraordinary. Here he was knocking on a door for himself for the first time, something he would not have considered doing before the arrival of Lucy in his life.
The door was opened by a butler as imposing as his own. ‘Rochester, to see Mr Gilbert. I am not expected.’
The man blanched, bowed deeply, and scuttled backwards. ‘Come in, come in, your grace. If you would care to wait in this anteroom, I will fetch the master immediately.’
The room he was directed to was quite commodious, held elegant furniture, had a window overlooking the square and was in every way acceptable. For some reason he’d expected his cousin to live in an inferior way to himself – his cheeks flushed at his arrogance.
‘Your grace, this is an unexpected pleasure.’
Edwin turned and bowed. If he had been expecting a facsimile of himself, he would have been disappointed. Gilbert was a head shorter, had green eyes and red hair. He couldn’t prevent himself from smiling as he offered his hand. Somehow this seemed more appropriate than bowing.
‘I apologise for arriving unannounced. I wanted to meet you in person, so here I am.’
The man’s handshake was firm, his smile genuine. ‘I can see you’re somewhat startled by my hair colour, your grace. My mother was Irish – need I say more?’
‘We are as different as chalk and cheese in appearance and yet we share almost the same name. I am Edwin Gilbert; you are Edward Gilbert.’
‘So we are. Come with me to my study, we can converse there without fear of interruption from the children or my wife.’
They spent a convivial hour getting to know each other and Edwin hoped that when he took his leave his cousin would have revised his opinion.
‘I must apologise again for the brevity of my visit, sir, but I intend to catch the evening packet as I have urgent business in Margate. I shall be living at Rochester Towers in September. Could I prevail upon you and your family to visit me there? I am hoping that I will have a duchess to introduce you to by then.’
‘Then I am to congratulate you, your grace. I take it your future bride is the reason you’re so eager to depart.’
‘Indeed it is. The young lady is at the moment unaware of my interest. Thank you for making me so welcome. Can I count on your coming to see me in the autumn?’
‘We should be delighted, your grace, and I thank you for your kind invitation.’
Edwin had paid the carriage to await him. He arrived in ample time to board the packet without undue haste and this time was content to dine with the other passengers, although he drew the line at conversation.
His cabin was adequate, the bunk comfortable but too short to accommodate his length, and Rogers was obliged to have a truckle bed behind a screen at the far end. They made excellent progress and docked at the pier at first light.
His valet was carrying the bags, as was his duty, but seemed agitated about something. ‘What is ailing you, man?’
‘As we have not stayed for as long as we’d intended there will be nobody to meet us. I doubt so early in the morning, your grace, that there will be a carriage for hire.’
‘Then we shall walk. It’s no more than four miles – a mere bagatelle. We shall accomplish the distance in an hour if we walk briskly.’
This informa
tion didn’t sit well with Rogers who was not given to outside exercise of any sort apart from riding which he enjoyed. He looked so dismayed that Edwin laughed. ‘You may stop at the White Hart Hotel, get yourself a decent breakfast, and I’ll send the gig for you and the bags.’
‘Are you sure, your grace? It’s most unusual for a duke to be wandering the streets on his own.’
‘It’s barely dawn. I’ll be back at The Rookery before most people are abroad.’
Walking through the deserted town was most enjoyable and he got into his stride as he left the final huddle of buildings and reached the countryside. He was tempted to stroll down to Margate Manor in the hope that his future wife was out with her dog but decided against it.
He already knew several smaller tracks used by passing peddlers and decided to take one of those and cut across country to his home. There was the sound of a horse moving fast. The track was narrow and the rider wouldn’t be able to see him. He had nowhere to hide as the hedges were too thick to penetrate and there were no trees to clamber up.
If he shouted a warning would the rider hear him over the sound of the horse’s hooves? He had no alternative if he didn’t wish to be mowed down.
‘Slow down. Pedestrian ahead.’ He shouted this twice and a familiar and beloved voice shouted back.
‘Your grace, thank God it’s you.’ This time she was on her grey mare. not the stallion, but was still riding astride. She tumbled from the saddle and ran towards him. ‘I went to The Rookery but the house is closed. No one answered my knocking yesterday.’
Instinctively he opened his arms and she fell into them. He embraced her but took no advantage of her distress. ‘What is it, sweetheart? Why are you so upset? How can I help you?’
‘Sydney has been kidnapped. I cannot persuade Papa of this as he insists my dog has just gone in search of a bitch and will be back when he’s done.’ She recovered her composure and stepped away from him but remained within his arms. ‘More to the point, your grace, what on earth are you doing wandering about on foot at this time of the morning?’
A Solitary Duke Page 6