by Jenny Hambly
“Oh don’t you flummery me, you old rascal,” she laughed, “I know I look quite haggard in this miserable black but please come up to my sitting room and take tea with me and let me know what is going on in the world, I feel sadly out of touch.”
“Of course I will, and I must say Sophia you must be very proud of young George here, he has more sense in his cockloft than many a young man.”
“I am very proud of my son,” she agreed, smiling at him fondly. “Could you arrange for poor John to be carried down, George? He must be sadly bored, I have asked Rosalind to try and do what she can to entertain him.”
“I brought her here to help you, Mama, not entertain my friends,” he grumbled.
Lady Atherton’s finely curved eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Entertaining my guests is a great help I assure you, dear. Why don’t you go for a ride? You have been cooped up too long and it is clearly irritating your nerves. Now Miles, how is dear Dorothea? It is an age since I have seen her, although her last letter was a great comfort.”
“I expect to see you soon, my boy, been a pleasure talking to you,” Lord Gifford flung over his shoulder as he was led out of the room.
Knowing John as well as he did, Lord Atherton was fairly certain he would refuse to come downstairs undressed, so he instructed his valet, Townsend, to offer whatever assistance Wrencham might require in achieving this. They walked into Lord Preeve’s chamber to find this fastidious person in an unusually agitated state, wringing his hands and looking extremely harassed.
“Please sir, do not get up today, I am persuaded it will cause you a great deal of pain.”
“N-nonsense Wrencham, I c-cannot spend the next few w-weeks lying in bed,” blustered his employer.
“Lord Atherton, sir, could you please persuade his lordship to stay where he is?” he pleaded.
“My good man,” he replied somewhat haughtily, “I have come to offer our assistance in dressing him so he can come downstairs and I cannot think it of so serious a matter as to cause all this heart-burning anxiety!”
Lord Preeve let out a crack of laughter. “That’s given y-you your own, y-you old fuss pot!”
The real cause of Wrencham’s distress soon became apparent.
“But please, sir, not the Petersham trousers! I cannot think it will add to your or my consequence to wear such outrageous garments!” he complained almost tearfully, casting Townsend a fleeting glance.
“D-don’t be such a s-sapskull, what other g-garment h-have I that will f-fit so easily over this d-damned splint?”
As this was unanswerable, the offending Cossack style trousers were retrieved from the wardrobe. If Townsend was startled by the lurid yellow and blue stripes of the voluminous garment he gave no sign and proved his worth by helping Wrencham ease them on with the minimum of fuss and discomfort to their owner.
“Might I suggest that you will be more comfortable in your dressing gown than a coat?” he suggested politely, casting a not unsympathetic glance in the direction of his fellow valet.
Feeling a small measure of relief, Wrencham hurried to produce a splendid double-breasted gown of quilted blue satin which largely covered the offending trousers.
Fortunately, Lord Preeve had suffered a straightforward break in his lower leg, however it was still of the first importance to keep it as still as possible whilst the bone knitted back together, therefore he was carried down by two footmen on a board, protected on both sides by the assiduous valets.
Once settled comfortably on a sofa in the yellow salon with his leg elevated by cushions, he pronounced himself to be perfectly comfortable.
“S-so th-thank you but you c-can t-take yourselves and your d-damned f-fussing off now!”
Lady Rosalind entered shortly after, her face wreathed in an apologetic smile as she dropped to her knees and took his hand in hers. “I am so very sorry to have in some part been the cause of your injury, my dear Lord Preeve.”
He returned the smile and patted her hand in an avuncular way. “Ah, d-don’t talk n-nonsense my ch-child, I have already h-heard enough of that to l-last me a l-life-time. It w-was not your f-fault anyway, I d-doubt even Atherton h-here could have p-prevented it and he c-considers himself a top-sawyer, d-don’t you know.”
Getting to her feet, she acknowledged Lord Atherton with a frosty inclination of her head. “I am sure he does. Lady Atherton requested me to see if I might find a way to entertain Lord Preeve, sir,” she informed him with icy civility.
“I am aware,” he replied with equal coolness. “What a shame he can’t help you indulge your newfound talent at dancing. What other amusements do you have in store for him?”
Turning her back pointedly, she gave the invalid one of her rare, wide smiles.
“H-how about a g-game of cards, my d-dear?” Lord Preeve suggested hopefully.
“No, I have something better than cards,” she said decidedly, flourishing the book she held in her hands. “It is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, I found it in the library and have always wanted to read it.”
Lord Atherton raised surprised brows at his friend, reluctant amusement creeping into his eyes. “I didn’t know you enjoyed novels, John, you are in for a high treat!”
“I – er, d-don’t as a r-rule, are you sure y-you wouldn’t r-rather play c-cards, my dear?” he asked a trifle desperately.
“Quite sure, if you are thinking this is one of those fanciful novels full of improbable happenings, where the heroine is forever fainting and the villain lives in some horrid gothic castle, let me reassure you. I believe it to be a most improving work and quite believable.”
“Improving d-did you s-say?” Lord Preeve answered faintly, his startled eyes darting back to his friend. “It is m-most kind of you, Lady R-Rosalind but you m-must have m-much better things to do than read to an invalid, p-perhaps George w-would l-like to p-play cards?”
Lord Atherton smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry to be disobliging, dear fellow, but I was just about to go for a ride, must keep up the practice if I am to remain a top-sawyer!”
He returned an hour later feeling much refreshed and couldn’t resist a peek into the yellow salon. He expected to find Lord Preeve with his eyes glassed over, if not snoring quietly. Instead, he found a very cosy scene; ranged around the room sat not only Lady Rosalind but Belle, Lord Hayward, Harriet and Sir Thomas. None of them appeared to be in the least bored but on the contrary were hanging on Rosalind’s every word; not only was her well-modulated voice easy on the ears, it seemed she also had a hitherto unsuspected talent for play acting and each character came alive as she spoke their words. He quietly took up a position by the door and watched her read. Most of the words washed over his head as he watched her mouth move and her animated face take on various expressions from comical to deadly serious.
Presently Lord Preeve looked up and spotted him still leaning against the wall, his arms folded.
“I s-say, G-George, you h-have missed out m-my boy, it is almost as g-good as being at the p-play. Although this D-Darcy chap sounds like a dam-dashed r-rum un, my m-money’s on Wickham to b-bring the thing off.”
It was like a painting become animated, everyone started moving and chatting so Rosalind closed the book. It took her a moment to come to herself for she had really got lost in it. When she did, she realised she had become the centre of attention with everyone singing her praises. Blushing, she got to her feet.
“It was nothing,” she smiled. “I was really indulging myself. I must go and see if Lady Atherton requires anything.”
She was not allowed to leave before she promised to let everyone know when the next instalment would occur.
She visibly stiffened as she neared Lord Atherton. He held the door open for her and followed her out into the hall.
“Wait!” he called as she carried on walking towards the staircase.
She turned and lifted her chin. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”
He looked uncharacteristically uncertain for a moment.
“No, no. It is just that, what I mean to say is, that was very well done. You have entertained practically the whole household, I am grateful and...” He paused, looking awkward. “And I apologise if I have been somewhat tetchy, I have had a lot on my mind.”
Rosalind curtsied before turning and mounting the staircase. Lord Atherton followed her slowly on the way to change his buckskins, a small frown puckering his forehead. His excuse had sounded weak even to himself, but it was no less true for that. He realised just what a cushioned life he had been leading but now he felt hedged about by responsibilities and although his mother might try and convince him otherwise he knew he and he alone was responsible for the wellbeing of his tenants, his family and guests. He straightened his shoulders, they were broad enough after all, he could and would carry the weight with pride and dignity.
Sir Philip had been absent most of the day, he arrived back an hour before dinner and hurried up to his room to change. Lord Atherton found him there just putting the finishing touches to his cravat. He remained silent and watched in amusement as Sir Philip lowered his chin, inch by inch until he had achieved the desired result.
“Anyone watching you, Philip,” he smiled, “would not believe you have carried honours on the field of battle.”
“Ah,” his friend smiled, “therein lies my advantage, always fool the enemy into thinking you are weaker than you appear.”
Lord Atherton waited for his valet to shrug him into his well-fitting coat, which anyone with any fashion sense would have known was designed by Schultz; its neat lines and military cut were unmistakeable.
“Where have you been all day my dandy?” he enquired as soon as Farrow had softly closed the door.
Sir Philip offered him a wry smile. “I have never been one for the indoor life, I have been tooling your phaeton about the countryside with skill and finesse, if you must have it.”
“Ah, cutting a dash I perceive. But if you think I am to be taken in by such a Banbury tale, you are mistaken. Cut line. What have you really been up to?”
“It is not a Banbury tale, oh suspicious one. I have been driving your phaeton, just seeing how the land lies you know. I may have partaken in refreshment at one or two hostelries, keeping my ear to the ground, so to speak.”
Lord Atherton laughed. “Now who is the suspicious one? Did you hear anything interesting?”
Sir Philip offered him an unrepentant grin. “No, nothing at all, but I discovered there’s a damned fine serving wench at the Angel in Shrewsbury.”
“Ah, indulging your taste for low company!”
“I am not so high in the instep as you, dear fellow. Besides, there was nothing low about Molly’s charms!”
They were still laughing as they made their way down to dinner. Rosalind, who had just come out of her room, stepped back into the shadows before they caught sight of her. Seeing Lord Atherton laughing in such an unrestrained fashion caused a strange, fluttering feeling inside her, he looked much younger and carefree than she had seen him before. She hardened her heart; she had felt they had reached some sort of understanding, almost friendship on their ride back from the lodge but she had clearly been mistaken for he had very soon reverted to type, taking every opportunity presented since to criticise her and make her remember her place. And although he had apologised earlier, it had been delivered in so stilted and awkward a fashion as to lack any warmth or conviction.
The following day brought fine sunshine and it was decided they would picnic by the lake. It boasted a very pleasing aspect, looking down over the park and had a small island in the middle which sloped up towards a cluster of trees. Hampers and blankets were carried down and they made camp near the small boathouse. It housed not only a punt but also two rowing boats. Sir Philip and Lord Hayward commandeered one of the rowing boats and scooped up George and Harry to go fishing.
Lady Harriet settled back on a blanket, content to be a spectator. “I’ll lay any of you odds that one or other of the rascals will fall in before long,” she said, quite unconcerned.
“I certainly went in enough times!” laughed Belle. “Oh, here comes John.”
They all looked up to see two intrepid footmen, carrying him down in what appeared to be a pair of curtains which they had turned into a sort of hammock.
“C-careful,” protested Lord Preeve tetchily as they lowered him down beside the blankets, nearly tipping him out. “I-I’m not a s-sack of d-dashed turnips!”
With humble apologies they fussed about for a few moments, propping him up on a bank of cushions and arranging a parasol to cover him before beating a hasty retreat.
Something had caught Belle’s attention and she shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun as she continued to look towards the house. She gave a low groan. “Quick, George, take us out in the punt, if I’m not much mistaken that is Letitia coming towards us!”
They followed her eyes and saw that a very elegant figure holding a parasol was being escorted towards them by Lady Atherton.
“Quick,” Belle repeated, grabbing Rosalind’s hand and dragging her towards the punt.
“Not a word about what caused your accident, John, or anything else if you can help it,” Lord Atherton sent over his shoulder as he swiftly followed them.
“I-I s-say, L-lady Rosalind, I thought you were g-going to r-read me some m-more of that b-book!” he called after them.
“I will later, I promise,” she called back as Lord Atherton pushed the punt away from the bank.
“Oh, let them go, John, I will bear you company and shield you if you think you need it,” Harriet said drily, getting to her feet.
Rosalind was not best pleased at having herself dragged aboard by Belle but could hardly say so. Leaning back she watched as Lord Atherton skilfully poled the boat away from the bank. He was grinning down at his sister with such a look of genuine affection that for some reason she felt her heart tighten in her chest.
“You rag-mannered brat!” he laughed.
She twinkled back up at him. “But dear George, it is not me she has come to see, I was protecting you!”
“Lord help me if the day that I need your protection ever comes!”
She pouted slightly at that. “I can do more than you give me credit for! I could pole this boat as well as you, for instance. Give me a go and I’ll show you!” she cried, jumping to her feet with all her usual impetuosity.
Rosalind grabbed hold of the side of the boat as it started to rock quite alarmingly.
Any chagrin Miss Grey might have felt at witnessing such a scrambling departure was well hidden and she was all smiles as she greeted Lady Harriet and Lord Preeve.
“What on earth have you done to your leg, Lord Preeve?” she asked with great concern.
“Oh, it is n-nothing, d-don’t give it a th-thought, a s-silly c-curricle accident, n-nothing more,” he assured her, then winced as he belatedly remembered George’s instructions not to say anything about it.
“May I?” she asked, all politeness as she gestured at the blanket next to him.
“Of c-course,” he stammered, reddening slightly. “F-forgive me n-not standing up.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she tittered, settling herself comfortably. “Now, tell me all about how such a thing could have occurred, for I am sure such a nonpareil as yourself, could not have been the cause.”
“Talk about tipping the butter boat over someone,” whispered Harriet, to her mother.
Lady Atherton merely smiled, her gaze taking in the scene on the lake. “How lovely it is to see everyone here together, oh, watch out Harry,” she murmured as she saw him suddenly get to his feet and lean over the side of the boat.
Harriet’s eyes crinkled in amusement as she saw a hand grab him by the collar and casually pull him back again. “Well done, Nathaniel,” she murmured approvingly. “He will make a good father, it would be good for Belle too,” she stated, her eyes swinging over to where her younger sister now stood poling the boat. “Calm her down a bit,” she added as she saw he
r nearly lose her balance.
“Hmm, who do you think will go in first, Harry or Belle?” Lady Atherton smiled.
“I’d say the odds are even,” said Harriet resignedly. “But I know who has the least excuse!”
Harriet grimaced as another irritating titter floated her way but she was a good-hearted woman and on glancing down, could not mistake or ignore the desperate plea in Lord Preeve’s panicked gaze. She was glad, however, when the others at last joined them for some luncheon, the fresh air having given them all appetites. Kind hearted she might be, but she was not known for suffering fools gladly and it took all her patience to parry the little questions Letitia would slip into her conversation of nothings, clearly designed to find out more about Rosalind or any of the eligible gentlemen at present residing at the house.
As Lady Atherton laid out a cold collation consisting of cold meats, fruits and sweet biscuits, Letitia turned her attention to Rosalind.
“You are so brave, Lady Rosalind, to sit out without a parasol, are you not afraid of ruining your lovely complexion?”
Her tone clearly suggested that she considered this disastrous event already to have occurred but if she had hoped to discompose her quarry, she was disappointed, Rosalind merely shrugged her shoulders carelessly. “If my worth is to be judged by whether or not I have a freckle or two then so be it. I would rather by far enjoy the fresh air and sunshine than either closet myself away or forever be worrying about taking out a parasol or if the brim of my hat was wide enough.”
Letitia’s eyes turned a shade colder even as her smile widened. “Yes, I have heard how intrepid you are, perhaps it was the sun in your eyes which led to you overturning Lord Atherton’s curricle and breaking poor Lord Preeve’s leg? I am sure that would account for it.”
Lady Rosalind coloured even as Lord Preeve jumped to her defence. “No, n-no, y-you are quite out, Miss Grey. It was the f-fault of the c-cart coming the other w-way, n-no blame attaches to Lady R-Rosalind!”