ROSALIND: A Regency Romance (Bachelor Brides, Book 1)

by Jenny Hambly

  Rosalind decided to fill in the blanks for him, saying in a tight voice, “And you are afraid that I, who seem to always be in trouble, will lead her into some?”

  He surprised her by laughing. “Even I would not be so unreasonable,” he smiled ruefully. “I am afraid the boot is on the other foot. I fear she will undoubtedly lead you into some!”

  Rosalind felt herself mellow, unable to withstand the smile that transformed his countenance.

  “I will endeavour to keep us both out of trouble,” she assured him.

  He quirked an ironical brow. “Whilst I appreciate the sentiment you must forgive me, if an intimate knowledge of my sister leads me to place little dependence on it. But if you do find yourself in the briars, even though you feel I am always ready to place you in the wrong, please do not be afraid of turning to me.”

  They had by this time reached the yard that gave onto the stables; barely had Lord Atherton reined in his horse before two sturdy-looking boys ran towards him.

  “Uncle George, Uncle George,” they cried simultaneously. Clearly he was a prime favourite with them. They tried to shout over each other as they both begged him to take them up before him. He quickly dismounted and grabbed one in each arm, lifting them off their feet before they came to cuffs.

  “Not now, you rapscallions,” he laughed, giving them a brief hug before setting them on their feet again. “Escaped your mother already have you? Well Harry, George, make your bows to Lady Rosalind Marlowe, who is staying with us at present.”

  A mere female could not hope to engage their interest when their favourite uncle was present, so after bowing briefly in tandem they turned their attention back to him. “Uncle George, Harry says he will get a ride first ‘cos he is the oldest and so more important but I have the same name as you so it’s not true is it?”

  He was saved answering this thorny question by the appearance of his elder sister who came smiling up to them. “Ah, found you already George? I told you both not to plague your uncle so both of you go and find Nurse at once. What will Lady Rosalind make of your manners?”

  Looking a little shamefaced they made her another brief bow before racing each other back to the house.

  “Lady Harriet Denby, Lady Rosalind Marlowe.” Lord Atherton made the formal introductions.

  Whereas Lady Hayward and Lord Atherton clearly favoured their mother, Lady Denby was built along more queenly lines and reminded Rosalind of the portrait of the late Lord Atherton she had seen hanging in the gallery. She was far more at home in the stables than the ballroom and her bluffness was only equalled by her good nature.

  “Pair of rag-mannered brats aren’t they?” she stated, her hazel eyes smiling. “It’s George’s fault of course, he indulges them too much, there will be no peace until he has taken them for a gallop around the park! Should set up his own stable of course,” she added. “Pleased to meet you, my dear,” she said blithely, ignoring the long-suffering look from her brother. “My mother is full of your praises.”

  Rosalind coloured slightly at the compliment, said all that was proper and then hurried into the house to change her raiment.

  Lady Denby gave her brother a frank stare. “Glad to see you’ve remembered your responsibilities at last,” she said bluntly. “By the way, I like that young gal, knows how to hold herself together in the saddle and if I’m not much mistaken, not quite in the common style.”

  Deciding to ignore the second part of this speech, he informed his sister he needed to see his mother on estate business and made his escape.

  She was just coming from the kitchens when he came in and looked a little harassed. “Such shocking news! The poor dears, however could such a thing happen?” She looked like she was about to say something else when she thought better of it and asked George to come to her sitting room in five minutes.

  He found her pacing the floor but she came swiftly to him and took his hands.

  “There is something more to this than meets the eye, George. What do you make of it?”

  Her troubled eyes reminded him of a cloudy sky and he longed to put her mind at rest. He decided to proceed with caution, after all he hadn’t had time to sift his own thoughts on the matter as yet.

  “It could have been many things, a stray spark from the fire, a candle left burning, what has you in such a twitter, my dear?”

  “George, I am more than seven you know. Henchcombe told me it was quite a blaze and if you can explain to me how it took hold so quickly, I should be glad to know it.”

  “Damn Henchcombe,” he muttered, “he had no business worrying you so.”

  “Don’t blame poor Henchcombe,” she scolded him, crossing the room and sitting herself down. “How you think he can pull the wool over my eyes, when you can’t, is beyond me. Where do you think Belle gets it from?”

  Despite his annoyance, he smiled. “Indeed, the Spanish Inquisition would have been a far less barbaric affair if they had had the benefit of you two!”

  She smiled, slightly mollified. “Yes well just you remember it and don’t go blaming Henchcombe for not being able to prevent Rosalind lending a hand either, I admire her for it, she has a kind heart and a strong spirit, it is just what I would have done in such a situation.”

  “I know it,” he acknowledged, “but I feel responsible for her.”

  Lady Atherton patted the seat beside her. The haunted look that had been in his eyes since his father’s death had been bothering her for some time and she decided it was time to speak.

  “George, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” she instructed as he sat down and turned towards her. “You must stop taking the weight of the world on your shoulders. Every ill that happens to those nearest to you is not your fault. You had nothing to do with Rosalind’s misfortune, you are not expected to worry yourself sick over what Belle will or will not do next, that is now Hayward’s job, thank heavens. You must stop fretting about me for I am much stronger than you think and if you imagine I want my children permanently clustered about me you are mistaken and perhaps most importantly of all, you must stop blaming yourself for your father’s death.”

  She heard his deep inhalation of breath and witnessed the colour drain from his face as a flash of pain changed his eyes to the dull pewter they always turned when he locked his feelings away. “Who else should I blame, ma’am?” he said with unprecedented formality. “If I had helped him bear the weight of running the estate, if I had not argued with him when last we met...”

  Lady Atherton changed tactics; rising swiftly to her feet, she said, “Enough, George, if you wish to wear a hair shirt that is your privilege but it is quite unnecessary. If you think that your father was anything but proud of you, you are very wide of the mark. If his gout made him cantankerous when you last met that was quite his own fault for he could not bring himself to forgo his wine with, and port after, dinner. As to your argument having caused him to have a heart attack, it is a great deal of folly for he had already had two minor ones when you were not here and not in his black books.”

  Her son looked shocked. “But you never mentioned this!”

  “No, so now you can blame me if you will. He did not wish you to know and although I may be a managing female, if you think I would go against his wishes...” She broke off for a moment, shielding her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “Mama,” he cried, getting to his feet and taking her in his arms. “Of course I wouldn’t expect you to go against his wishes.”

  Lady Atherton gave something suspiciously like a sniff before continuing into his shoulder, “Whatever he may have said, the last thing your father wanted was to have you here for any other reason than that you wished to be and he was not at all ready to have you taking the reins out of his hands, so don’t think it! He was very much ashamed of himself after you had gone away but his health was unimpaired. The doctor assured me that it had only been a matter of time before it had happened so now you know and can stop torturing yourself!”

  Very much
shaken he sat back down again, drawing his mother with him. “I’m sorry Mama,” he said chastened, “I didn’t mean to add to your troubles.”

  She smiled shakily at him, her heart feeling considerably lightened as she realised she had finally gotten through his defences. “From now on we will share our troubles, my darling. It is far more worrying to be left in the dark. Speaking of which,” she muttered, crossing the room to fetch something from a side table. “Recognise this?” she asked, turning towards him.

  In her hands she held the package which had been stolen from him in Fenny Stratford. It had clearly been opened and roughly wrapped up again.

  “Arriving as it does on the same day as this fire, I would say it is a clear message as to who is behind it, wouldn’t you?” she said, a martial light in her eyes.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Lord Atherton said slowly.

  “You can be as damned as you like, dearest,” his redoubtable mother concurred, “but all I can say is that in taking on the Athertons so, so blatantly, that pathetic excuse for a man has taken on far more than he has bargained for.”

  Lord Atherton’s lips quirked as for a moment the picture of Rutley being confronted by his mother, Belle and Rosalind entered his mind’s eye, then his shoulders started to shake and in another moment both he and Lady Atherton were for some reason not entirely clear to either of them, laughing themselves into stitches.

  Chapter 7

  To Rosalind, who was wholly unused to big dinner parties, never mind large family gatherings, once she got over her nerves, the evening was vastly entertaining. Nobody seemed to confine themselves to speaking to their neighbour but on the contrary frequently interrupted conversations taking place across or even down the table, feeling free to contradict or challenge any comments made. Once she realised that although she may have been the lure that had drawn them, she was unlikely to become the centre of attention unless she brazenly put herself forward, she relaxed and found that she could quite naturally respond to any comment directed her way.

  Lord Preeve was seated next to her and she found him to be both amusing and sweet. Although he clearly enjoyed making her the object of his gallantry, she sensed that this was more because he felt it the natural thing to do rather than from any serious intent on his part and so was able to relax and enjoy her dinner.

  Little did she realise that her lack of predatory flirtatiousness (something which Lord Preeve’s radar could pick up in the wink of an eye), had stirred a hitherto unsuspected hunting instinct in him. His cherub-like countenance, his good taste in all matters of dress and conduct, together with his vast fortune made him a firm target with all ladies wishing to make a good marriage. It was not generally felt that his admittedly only moderate intelligence was in any way a hindrance to his eligibility, as it encouraged these ladies to think that they might (if they caught him), mould him to suit themselves. After racking his brains to hit upon some way he could attract the attention of a young lady who not only was not afraid to brandish a pistol, but thought nothing of aiding to put out a fire, he was finally hit by a sudden flash of inspiration.

  “I s-say, L-lady Rosalind, I have heard what a c- cracking rider you are b-but I wonder, are you a f-fine whip also?”

  His ploy worked, she turned to him, a suddenly arrested look in her eyes.

  “No, the opportunity to learn has never come my way,” she smiled encouragingly.

  “Well, I would be honoured to teach you, if you would like it,” he assured her. “Atherton has put his curricle and phaeton at my disposal, you know.”

  Rosalind offered him a blinding smile. “I would like it above all things.”

  “Oh, that is capital,” interrupted Lady Hayward from across the table, not at all embarrassed to reveal that she had been shamelessly eavesdropping. “When you have had time to gather the basics we can have a race!”

  Her fond but wary husband cast an uneasy eye in her direction. “Do you really think that is fair, my love, when you have been driving for so much longer than Lady Rosalind?”

  “Oh, don’t be such an old fuss pot, Nat,” she pouted. “Rosalind won’t care a fig for that, will you?”

  Lord Hayward took this in good part but cast a beseeching glance in Rosalind’s direction.

  “Well, we will wait and see,” she said, aiming for the middle ground. “I may turn out to be shockingly cow-handed after all.”

  “In which case you will be well matched,” interrupted Lord Atherton, “and will certainly not race any of my vehicles.”

  “I-I say, George, n-no need to be such a s-spoil sport, I’m sure L-lady Rosalind must add d-distinction to anything she t-turns her hand to.”

  Rosalind sent a smouldering glance in Lord Atherton’s direction, the middle ground forgotten, before returning her attention to her stalwart supporter.

  “I have always had a hankering to drive a phaeton,” she revealed, smiling sweetly. “Preferably a high-perch phaeton,” she dimpled. Then turning back to Lord Atherton, she added haughtily, “Do you have one, my lord?”

  Realising he was being baited, his firm lips twitched but he regarded her coolly. “Indeed I do,” he admitted. “And I would certainly not wish to deny you any reasonable pleasure so you must certainly learn to drive.”

  “That’s the d-dandy, George,” approved Lord Preeve.

  Lord Atherton began to smile. “Have you ever tried to impart your skill to another before, John?” he asked gently.

  “W-well no, b-but how h-hard can it be?” he replied cautiously. In his experience his friend was always at his most dangerous when he spoke in those soft tones.

  “That remains to be seen,” he replied. “I look forward to observing your progress. But as Lady Rosalind is a complete novice, you will start in the gig.”

  Everyone around the table had to stifle their smiles as they tried to imagine Lord Preeve being seen in such an unfashionable vehicle. He was clearly having some difficulty in visualising it himself and looked comically crestfallen, however he couldn’t argue with his host’s logic and so was forced to put on a brave face.

  “Y-yes, w-well of course,” he conceded. But seeing the disappointed look on his pupil’s face, quickly added, “Don’t w-worry my dear, as s-soon as you have shown m-me you can c-control the horse, we w-will move on to the curricle.”

  Lady Atherton decided it was time the ladies withdrew and left the gentlemen to their port. Lady Hayward linked her arm through Rosalind’s as they mounted the stairs to the drawing room.

  “I can see you are going to tease my brother nearly as much as I do!”

  She laughed as Rosalind coloured. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed, it will do him a world of good, he has been a trifle out of sorts recently and it is just what he needs, to have someone to spar with.”

  “I don’t mean to spar with him, Lady Hayward, but he does manage to put my back up quite frequently,” she admitted with characteristic honesty.

  “Oh please call me Belle, Lady Hayward sounds so stuffy and that I assure you, I am not!” she twinkled. “Besides, we are going to be the greatest of friends. How wonderful that you have such dark hair, we make quite an arresting couple, don’t you think?”

  Rosalind laughed. “Now how can I answer you?” she protested. “Either I will sound intolerably conceited or worse, insulting!”

  “Did I sound conceited?” Belle grinned. “I didn’t mean to but never mind that. I hear you were held up on the way here and shot the highwayman, it sounds vastly exciting, tell me all about it!”

  As Lord Hayward and Sir Thomas teased Lord Preeve on his latest undertaking, Lord Atherton took the opportunity to discuss the day’s rather startling events with Sir Philip.

  “I rode over there myself, this afternoon,” Sir Philip admitted, “and you were right, the fire was definitely set on purpose, and designed to cause the maximum damage in the minimum time.”

  “Yes,” agreed Lord Atherton, “but I don’t immediately perceive what the point of it was or why he would al
ert us to his presence by sending Mother her package back.”

  Sir Philip flicked open his snuff box and took a thoughtful pinch. “It’s all of a piece, George,” he said slowly. “He’s just the sort of spiteful type who probably pulled the wings off helpless insects or drowned kittens when he was a child. He’s playing with you, dear chap. Wants you feeling uncomfortable wondering what he will do next. As for his ultimate aim, I’m not sure. He has nothing left to lose and he hates you for some reason, he is probably jealous that you have everything he has not and wants to cause you some mischief before he is forced to leave the country. One thing you can be sure of, is that in this mood, he is undoubtedly dangerous.”

  “Well I don’t intend to wait to find out, this is my country and first thing tomorrow I will set some enquiries afoot; if he is near, I will flush him out.”

  Sir Philip gave him a lopsided smile. “No, no George, as you say it is your country and you are too well known, you will only set tongues wagging, something I am sure you wish to avoid. Leave it to me, dear chap. I have been itching for something useful to do and I’d rather be hunting Rutley than watching John’s efforts to teach Lady Rosalind to be a whip or be cajoled into some hare-brained scheme by Belle!”

  “Not interested in trying your luck, Philip? You could take the shine out of John any day of the week and I might feel my cattle were in safer hands!”

  Sir Philip grinned engagingly. “I am not so unfeeling. I have never seen John dangle after any respectable female before, I would not spoil his fun. It will also, I admit, be quite amusing to see if he can pull the thing off.”

  “By God, I hope you’re wrong,” Lord Atherton said, frowning. “She’d run rings around him!”