Miss Ryder's Memoirs

by Laura Matthews

  For a long moment Sir John said nothing. Perhaps he was remembering the ton's delight with the last published letter. Robert had been chagrined almost beyond words. Mocking his management of his horses was a most vulnerable spot with him. I was sure Sir John knew that. His expression was thoughtful. “I'm glad you told me,” he said finally. “He's never commented on it, though I've wondered why ... But I may be able to find a way to ease his situation."

  “I do hope so."

  Suddenly I noticed that we were almost to the turn off the Newmarket Road. Unfortunately there was a long procession of cows blocking our path. Sir John drew his horses to a complete halt, and though they fidgeted with nervous energy, he paid little attention to them. His attention was entirely on me. Those insistent eyes studied my face, taking in every detail. I could feel the tension grow between us, as it had that day beside the pond. Good-humored, and even wry, he had been, but he had stubbornly refused to go away.

  His eyes now seemed to glow with the warmth he had shown then, and I felt myself catching it, a little. My cheeks grew hot as he continued to gaze into my eyes, and my breathing started to catch slightly. He lifted a gauntleted finger to brush back the hair that had slipped out from under my bonnet. “You're a lovely woman,” he said. “And quite remarkable. That sharp tongue and that soft heart are a potent combination. No wonder you found none of the London blades up to your weight."

  The warmth had spread from my cheeks down to my chest. I was so very close to him that I could almost feel his skin next to mine. His continued gaze unsettled me. Why was he doing this? There was no laughter in him now. Yet his concentration on me was total.

  The cows had long since disappeared in the direction of Cambridge. I cleared my throat and reminded him. He set his pair moving again, without a word. I gave directions when necessary. Otherwise, we said nothing. There were things that we might have said, that our bodies seemed to be saying to each other, that were not possible to speak aloud. Alarmed, I tried not to listen, but my body was as attuned to him as an ear to music.

  Chapter 7

  Mr. Hinchly was his inhospitable self. I'd often wondered whether he had become that way from living in the most inhospitable farmhouse I had ever seen, or whether he had chosen the building because it suited his temperament. Like the farm buildings in the west, his had originally been a long-house where farmer shared space with animal. Though the building had long since been converted to solely human use, it still looked cramped and unwelcoming, with its tiny windows and blackened bricks. Mr. Hinchly could have afforded to build himself a fine manor house, but apparently had never had the least desire to do so.

  I had sent a note informing him of our proposed visit and had received no word in reply. “He sort of grunted,” Jed informed me. His welcome consisted of an offhand remark about Sir John's horses—"Got ‘em from a good man, I see."—before he stumped off toward the stables, apparently expecting us to follow. Sir John handed me down from the curricle.

  “Friendly sort of fellow, isn't he?” he whispered under cover of our horses being led away.

  “I warned you. For him, this is positively affable. Sometimes when Robert and I used to come, he only met us at the stables after we'd investigated each of the horses."

  “But you assured me that you could handle him.”

  “And so I can. For one thing, you have to understand that he won't deal at all with strangers.” I was walking rapidly to keep up with him. “Unless he has an introduction to a buyer, he won't let one of his horses go off."

  “Very odd in him.” Sir John regarded the retreating form with interest. “Doesn't that hamper him a bit in making a profit from his breeding?"

  “Not at all. In this neighborhood he's extremely well known and can't produce enough horses to satisfy the demand. So don't expect to get away easily with one of his finer pairs. He'll charge you dearly for anything you show a real interest in."

  “I'll remember."

  And he did. At most stables it's difficult to find all the really necessary qualities in a pair. One will be truly noble, with strong loins and a perfect disposition, while the other is a most inferior animal. But Sir John was particularly interested in spirit and metal, so color, shape, and height were secondary considerations. A pair will look more beautifully matched if their paces suit well and they have an equal strength than if their markings are identical.

  Because of my special sensibility with regard to Sir John, I could tell when an animal interested him, though there was no overt sign Mr. Hinchly would necessarily have noticed. As we watched the animals put through their paces, I saw that Sir John was excited about the bays, and what magnificent animals they were! Strong firm necks, full broad breasts, short-jointed, strong-backed. They would have been my choice over the creams or the blacks.

  Sir John looked at a dozen pairs, questioning Hinchly on their breeding and their price. Only once did he refer to the bays, by saying, “I suppose my mother could use them for her phaeton."

  Mr. Hinchly may not have been taken in by this ploy, but he couldn't be sure of Sir John's interest, either. Less showy than the baronet's chestnuts, or even a dappled pair that he could have had at Overview, the bays were superb in their movement and speed. Sir John seemed especially interested in their speed.

  “It may be that I could use the bays,” he said, “but I'm not certain. Perhaps I'll take a few days to think it over."

  Mr. Hinchly merely grunted at him. “Don't make no matter to me. Might miss them, though. Another fellow were lookin’ at them yesterday. Darndest thing how no one can make up his mind these days. What do you say, Miss Ryder?"

  “Oh, I'd take them. A fine pair. But I think you're asking a little more than they deserve for their ages, Mr. Hinchly. It could be that they won't live up to their early promise."

  Sir John blinked at me, but Mr. Hinchly looked chagrined. There had been word that one of his horses had shown to less advantage a year after he'd been purchased. Not Hinchly's fault, of course, but something to use as a bargaining point, if you knew about

  it.

  “Now that weren't none of my doing, miss,” he grumbled. “Probably that Connerly fellow didn't take the care that he should have. That horse had as much promise as any I've bred in the last ten years."

  “I realize that. Which is why I would introduce a note of caution to my friend Sir John. Not that he wouldn't take the best possible care of your horses. But they're young, and it's a bit of a gamble when one is counting on them living up to especially high expectations."

  Hinchly considered this for a moment while Sir John made noises about wanting to get me alone to discuss the matter. I agreed to walk off with him to stand under the sycamore trees along the carriage path. “Are you saying they'll not do?” he demanded.

  “Not at all. They're spectacular. I just think you might bargain a little with him if you knew about this recent episode."

  “Would you buy them?"

  “In a minute—if I had the need and means. Which I'm sure you do.” I smiled kindly on him; he was, in fact, asking my advice, wasn't he?

  “These are for me, not for your brother. I haven't decided what to do about his request yet."

  “Offer Hinchly twenty guineas less than he's asking and settle for fifteen less. That shouldn't be a problem."

  “But they're worth what he's asking."

  “In town, perhaps, but not in the country. You'd pay less where you usually buy, wouldn't you?"

  “Yes.” He ran long fingers through his thick brown hair and shook his head. “I don't want to put his back up, Miss Ryder."

  ''Trust me."

  Though he looked dubious, he followed my advice when we returned to an impatient Hinchly. The old man would have had less respect for him if he hadn't tried to bargain, but it was hard to tell that by his gruff, obstinate appearance. There's nothing Hinchly likes more than dickering over the price of a horse, and he'll continue the argument for weeks if one isn't too impatient to be off. That's h
ow I got Mama's Antelope, though no one seems to understand how delicate a negotiation it was, because Hinchly really wanted to keep the horse for his wife's use. I bribed his wife with some of Mrs. Cooper's raspberry tarts. Mrs. Hinchly is not overfond of riding, much like my sister.

  Sir John and I left the farm in good spirits. He felt that he'd done a good bargaining job, and he was more than pleased with the pair of gleaming bays, which would be sent over to Hastings the next day. I decided to take advantage of his exuberance.

  “Why don't you let me drive the curricle to our picnic spot?” I asked when we were out of sight of Hinchly Farms. I knew he wouldn't wish old Hinchly to see me driving the carriage, though Hinchly would have thought nothing of it, if truth were told. I'd driven there before.

  My companion regarded me with astonishment. “You don't understand what I've told you. The curricle is finely balanced, and my horses are testy with another hand on their reins. We would only come to grief, my dear Miss Ryder."

  “Oh, I doubt anything so awful would happen. You would be sitting right here, able to take the reins from me in a moment. The road is perfectly straight until we reach the turnoff. Do let me have a chance."

  “Your brother told me you would pester me, and he assured me that you were able to handle most anything, but he could not possibly have been thinking of my chestnuts.” Sir John regarded me with a creased forehead. “Why would you want to drive them?"

  “The challenge,” I admitted. “They're strong and the carriage is, as you say, precariously balanced. It would be the greatest challenge I've had in driving so far."

  He snorted. “And you think I should be the one to indulge your further education, do you? Not a bit of it, my girl. I haven't the slightest desire to find myself in a ditch—or worse."

  I pouted. Yes, I know it is unbecoming of one with my spirit, but I did it anyway.

  He hesitated and cast a strange glance at me, almost as though he had no power to refuse my request, though many men have done so. After a moment he shrugged his broad shoulders and nodded. “Very well. See that you don't overturn us."

  To be honest, I was more than a little frightened. Oh, I wanted to drive the carriage, but it would be difficult. I pulled off my gloves and pulled on the gauntlets he indicated that were stuffed in a side pocket of the vehicle. They were miles too big for my hands, but that wasn't what bothered me about them. Stuffing my hand into them was like losing my hands in his, which made me feel flushed. When I made no move to take the reins, he laughed and asked, “Lost your nerve, have you?"

  “Certainly not!” I shifted slightly closer to him as he slowed the beasts and made ready to transfer the leather thongs. I could feel my heart in my throat, pounding frantically. But once I had my hands on the reins, I felt not a second's hesitation. There is something truly thrilling about driving a fine pair; it is like nothing else in the world. I could feel their restlessness under my lighter touch but they immediately picked up speed again. Sir John kept a close eye on all of this.

  His thighs were now hard against mine and I could feel the tension in him, ready to move in for the slightest cause. On the way over we had passed several dogs who barked wildly and chased after us. Though his horses showed disdain, they also acted slightly skittish. Sir John had hardly seemed to notice. But he did now.

  A spotted brown-and-white mongrel charged up a path and appeared ready to lunge himself at the nearest horse. Growling fiercely, he ran back and forth in front of the hedgerow as we rapidly approached. I could tell he was a fearless thing and too stupid to know better than to get under the horses’ hooves. My mind was set on protecting the horses, devil take the dog.

  “You'd best give me the reins,” Sir John snapped.

  “It will be all right,” I said, just as one of the horses tossed its head and broke stride. “Here, just put your hands over mine. They'll settle from your touch."

  And indeed they did. For myself, the reaction was just the opposite. His firm grip on my hands made my heart start to hammer. The pup was soon left behind, but Sir John continued to hold my hands. His arms pressed against mine and I felt as though I was practically in his lap. Just the way Papa had taught us each to drive when we were very small, sitting in his lap with our hands on the reins and his over them. But this was different: being so close to Sir John was disturbing.

  “We're coming to the turnoff for our picnic spot,” I advised him, gently withdrawing myself from his pseudo-embrace, leaving him in possession of his horses. “On the left there, by the clump of oaks, the road turns toward a lovely stream."

  For once, driving a fine pair of horses was not uppermost in my mind. My breathing was coming quickly, almost as if I'd been running, and I couldn't understand what was happening. That spot of trouble had made me tense, but it was long past. Neither the baronet nor I said a word as he drove down the tree-shaded lane. When I motioned toward a sun-dappled spot along the bank of a cheerfully babbling brook, he mused, “It reminds me of your hidden pond."

  If he hadn't said it, I don't think I would have become so self-conscious. But feeling as I did at the moment and having him remind me of my naked swim and his delighted spying up on me ... Well, I began to feel goosebumps all over me. He climbed down from the carriage and offered me his hands.

  I had already disposed of his gauntlets. reluctantly, and now offered my hand to him. His grip was firm and no more insinuating than it should have been. Still, when I stood on the grassy ground, my knees did not believe they were well-supported. A flutter in my breast so distracted me that I could barely look at him. I moistened my lips and said, “If you'll hand down the picnic basket, I'll set things out."

  Mrs. Cooper had packed a wonderful assortment. Sir John murmured his appreciation as I unearthed the wine and settled it in the stream. While I spread the other items out on a cloth, I caught his eye on me more than once, a puzzled, almost alarmed look in the blue depths. Nervous, I kept up a running commentary.

  “These tarts are not as good as the raspberry, but I think you will like them. And the chicken is so tender it will melt in your mouth. Mrs. Cooper has the idea that a meal should be either hot or cold, and not tepid as ours will be, but she makes allowances for al fresco dining. See all the cheeses? Just the sort of thing she would think most appropriate. I suppose you noticed that Amanda doesn't care much for cheeses. I think it is because she was made to help with them when she was young and she took a great dislike to the dairy.” And so forth. Not an intelligent word in the bunch, but I couldn't seem to help myself.

  His presence unnerved and captivated me. I began to notice the very intense blue of his eyes, and the rough texture of the skin on his forearms, where he had pushed up his sleeves. His lips seemed unbearably close to my face, somehow, though they were no closer than was proper. They looked so terribly tempting. Now, I had kissed a few young men. It was not that a kiss was a totally unknown thing to me. And yet, I felt breathless with the desire to kiss him, to lock my lips against his.

  “Do have some of the pigeon pie,” I offered. “It's one of Mrs. Cooper's specialties.

  He made no move to take anything from me, or to do anything else, for that matter. His eyes were so entrancing that I found myself sitting there stunned. I think I shivered with the force of my desire to press myself against his chest, to kiss him, to touch his skin. I don't know how long we sat that way, staring at each other. And yet he said nothing.

  Finally, he took a piece of chicken. Took it and brought it to his lips, tasting the smallest bit, before offering it to me, right at my lips. It was as intimate as a kiss, and yet not satisfying. My hands fluttered uneasily in my lap.

  When he spoke, I barely recognized his voice. Ordinarily he had a rather sophisticated drawl. Now his voice was rough with intensity. “I had never seen a woman swimming naked before. You were a vision of graceful innocence. But I'm far from innocent and you have no idea of the fleshly desires such a sight can inspire."

  “Don't I?” I said it softly, but
I wanted him to hear. When he made no further move toward me, I added, “I'm not totally innocent, you know. I've kissed several gentlemen in my life."

  An amused skepticism appeared on his charming countenance. “There's kissing and there's kissing,” he said. “I doubt if you've really been kissed."

  “Well, of course I have!"

  He moved closer to me. “Then perhaps I should show you the potential dangers. There are dangers, dear Catherine. Kissing can lead to the most astonishing feelings."

  Suddenly his lips were on mine and I discovered immediately that he was right. I was feeling something quite different than I had experienced before. For one thing, those other men hadn't the slightest knowledge of how to kiss properly. Well, actually, they weren't men at all, but neighborhood boys I'd known my whole life.

  Sir John knew how to kiss. He didn't kiss you like your mother did before you went to bed at night, as some of the boys had. And he didn't try to crush his mouth against mine in an urgency only likely to bruise my lips. His lips were so astonishingly delicious that I could barely believe anything could taste so good. They were soft and firm, warm and startlingly icy. He played along my lips with a motion that rubbed and teased, tasting me and tempting me. Within moments my breathlessness increased, to say nothing of the turbulence that rose in me and threatened to overtake me entirely. My body went through wild fluctuations of heat and cold. After a moment I was forced to pull back.

  “You see?” His eyes held mine with glowing intensity. “There is a great deal of danger in kissing, Catherine. Do you feel the temptation?"

  My name on his lips gave me gooseflesh. There was a roughness to the way he said it that roused an excitement in me with which I was totally unfamiliar. It made me feel almost cross with him. “I'm not in danger of giving in to temptation,” I informed him crisply. “You don't need to think you can toy with me just to teach me a lesson. I'm sure I'm no different than any other young woman of my upbringing."