Miss Ryder's Memoirs

by Laura Matthews

  His hands held me at the waist, pressing against me so firmly that I almost felt as though there were no material between his skin and mine. And then, his hands moved slightly upward. My breathing became shallow with alarm, or something quite like it. The closer his hands moved to my breasts, the more alarmed and hopeful I became. I wanted him to touch me there so fiercely that I nearly said so. But his hands stopped right beneath the swelling out of my Empire gown, tucked under the blush of my femininity. I realized that he was not going to make a further move that way.

  He drew me against his chest then, and there was some relief in that, because the pressure relieved the ache the smallest bit. His lips never left mine, though, and we remained in that position for a very long time, his arms around me, crushing me against his chest. I would not have minded if we had remained that way all day. My disappointment was great when he at length loosened his grip on me and set me a tiny way apart from him.

  “Will you tell me about these nighttime adventures of yours?” he asked persuasively. “You can trust me, Catherine.

  I shifted slightly and smoothed down the skirt of my riding costume, which had crept up almost to my knees. It took me a moment to catch my breath. “I'm not the one who dresses in that silly, melodramatic costume. Wouldn't you have recognized my voice? The highwayman must have spoken to you when you were robbed."

  “Yes, but the voice was disguised and came through the cloth of the mask. It could have been yours."

  “Well, it wasn't.” But I said this in a manner lacking conviction. Why should I trust him? I still was not sure how much I wanted him to know, or not know. Weren't his kisses meant to enchant me so that I would pour out my heart to him? Stubbornly, I felt that I wanted him to be as confused as I was.

  “It would be the adventure that attracts you,” he mused, half-convinced again that I was indeed the highwayman. He ran a hand roughly through his thick hair, frowning unhappily at me. “You really mustn't do it. One of these days a gentleman is going to draw his pistol and shoot you dead. You have to understand that it is very annoying for a gentleman to be robbed on the high road. He's not going to stop to ask himself if you might possibly be a woman, or be out for the sport of it. He's simply going to shoot you."

  I felt a shiver run down my spine. “You exaggerate, Sir John. Besides, I've told you it isn't I."

  “Then perhaps we could work together to solve the mystery,” the baronet suggested.

  Oh, I could see right through his ploy, but I pretended to go along with him. “Yes, indeed, we must rid the neighborhood of this villain. You and I could take turns. It must be very tiring for you, staying up half the night and all the day."

  “I'm not complaining,” he said, a curious light in his eyes. “But I would certainly enjoy spending the nights on guard with you."

  I ignored his teasing. “Then we will arrange for a watch this evening and perhaps find out the truth of the matter."

  “I doubt the villain rides out every single night."

  “Really? You think him a poor-spirited fellow who only gains the courage occasionally?"

  “Not that, but he couldn't risk going out too often. Otherwise the local authorities would soon trap him ... and execute him."

  As he'd expected, that word shocked me. Execution was, of course, what they did to captured and convicted highwaymen. The very thought of it made me sick to my stomach, and I hopped up from my seat on the uncomfortable rock. “Perhaps you will devise a plan and let me know of it. I can't think of a thing right now."

  I stepped down to the pond, catching a reflection of my flushed face in the water. Whether it had become flushed when we kissed, or more recently from the thought of death, I could not say. In either case, I put my hands to my cheeks to cool them, hoping to regain my composure.

  I saw Sir John reflected in the water, right behind me, regarding me with interest. “I could take care of you,” he said. “I could make everything all right."

  “Everything is all right. You needn't concern yourself with me. I'm perfectly capable to taking care of myself."

  “I don't doubt it.” He laid a hand intimately at the nape of my neck under my curling hair. “Bear the dangers in mind. And the potential for the disgrace of your family."

  I shook his hand off my body. It was far too disturbing. “You're warning the wrong person, my dear sir.''

  “Ah, yes. I had forgotten.” His eyes seemed larger than usual, and a frown creased his forehead. “Think about it, Catherine. I would hate to see any harm come to you."

  “You needn't concern yourself."

  I left him standing there, staring absently into the pool. As I headed back toward the passage, carrying my boots in my hand, I called to him, “Come along, Sir John. The horses will be impatient."

  * * * *

  My mother managed to avoid me for the rest of the day. Even when I cornered her just before dinner, she started to talk very absently, as if I were a maid rather than her daughter. I was not at all fooled by this behavior, of course, but I knew it meant she had no intention of confiding in me. And then, after dinner, Amanda pulled me out of the sitting room, where Sir John and Cousin Bret were bickering in a gentlemanly fashion over the price of a good horse. My sister was outraged with me over something, but I could not for the moment understand what it was.

  “Your behavior is simply inexcusable,” she ranted, wringing her soft white hands in a most ladylike semblance of distress. I decided that I would someday have to learn how to do that, just in case it managed to impress anyone. “One would have thought you'd been brought up by a band of gypsies, for all the thoughtfulness you show."

  “If I knew to what you were referring,” I replied, in my most reasonable tone, “I would attempt to answer you, my dear sister. Pray enlighten me."

  “Oh, yes. How could you possibly, out of all your misdeeds, remember the one in particular with which I have chosen to chastise you?"

  Sometimes even Amanda shows a turn for sarcasm. She may have picked it up from Mama rather than me, but it adds something to her stature, in my eyes.

  “You have been harassing Mama again and she's quite distressed with you. You know very well that she doesn't understand why you and I can't see her ghosts. What is the purpose in hounding her about them?"

  “I haven't hounded Mama about anything that is not of the utmost importance. I wouldn't think of badgering her about her ghosts. Let her have them, and welcome, I say."

  “Now you know that isn't true! You were in her room this morning, and I saw her trying to shake you off just before dinner. Really, Catherine! I'm surprised at you."

  “I don't see why. You know how thoughtless I am. Did you not wish to scold me for riding out alone with Sir John this afternoon?” I simply could not resist that, since I felt sure she wasn't aware of my having gone with him.

  Amanda gave me a cool look and shook her head sadly. “I know all about that. Sir John spoke to me as soon as he returned to the house. My advice would be to show a little less attention to him, sister. And indeed, he's not the sort of man to become attached to a sad romp.''

  “Whyever would you think that?"

  “Because he is a gentleman born and bred. He will wish to choose as a wife a woman who will be looked up to by his neighbors and friends. His estate in Wiltshire is the envy of the area for fifty miles around."

  “Well, if he told you that, there is something amiss with his modesty."

  She drew herself up with self-righteous poise. “I assure you he told me nothing of the sort. I was able to glean the idea from a few remarks that he made, especially those about the vicar depending on a solid Christian influence from the wives of the gentry."

  Oh, I could picture him feeding her that pabulum. What a charlatan the man was! “Well, never mind what he says. Sir John would do well to look for someone a little less virtuous, if I am not mistaken."

  “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

  It seemed to me as good a time as any to begin to
educate my sister on the subject of Sir John. “I think perhaps he is not the model of modesty and virtue that you and Mama would make him out to be. If I'm not mistaken, he's quite a lady's man in London. But you needn't take my word for it. I've written to my friend Lady Sutton, and I'm sure she'll be able to tell us a little more about our visitor."

  “She will know nothing more than the gossip of the ton,” Amanda informed me stiffly.

  Mama appeared in the doorway and frowned at the two of us. “What is this chatter in the hallway?” she demanded almost petulantly. “You have company in the sitting room, my dears. You might entertain the gentlemen with a game of cards."

  Amanda and I hastened after her, aware that we had ignored our guests in order to have a little sisterly feud. Sir John regarded us with interest. I could tell that he would question Amanda on our conference at the first possible moment. Cousin Bret, wearing that infatuated grin of his, had jumped to his feet to welcome my sister's return.

  We managed to take our seats at the games table without any further disagreement, though I gathered that Cousin Bret had hoped to have Amanda as his partner rather than me. His comments, made in a rather high-pitched tone, went something like: “What is this? I thought Amanda was to be my partner! Cousin Catherine is of all players the worst I have ever come across. She will not concentrate on the game. It's most unfair for me to have to partner her this evening, when she could very well be Sir John's partner.” And so forth. But I paid no heed to him.

  Sir John cocked his head at me, in a challenging manner, and declared himself ready to be the undoing of me. “That is, unless you have an inclination to pay attention this evening, Miss Ryder. It doesn't sound likely, though, if your cousin is to be believed."

  “One should never believe my cousin without sufficient reason,” I retorted. Cousin Bret didn't even kick me under the table for this aspersion on him, because he was already engaged in arranging his cards.

  Mama floated about the room. When first I saw that she meant to wander, I was slightly alarmed that she would also begin to ramble. One of her talks with ghosts simply would not do in front of Cousin Bret.

  Sir John was rather handy at cards as a rule, but we chose to play a game he hadn't set his mind to since he was a child. He immediately got into the spirit of the lottery tickets round game, though, and staked his counters with great enthusiasm. It was rather charming to see him so delighted with our fun.

  Cousin Bret grumbled about the childishness of the game and eventually we were forced to switch to whist. Not that that satisfied him. He insisted that I wasn't concentrating, but he was actually to blame for the biggest fiasco. He had somehow managed to misplace one of his cards; it stuck to the back of another one, and it threw his calculations completely off. When this mistake was discovered he treated us to a rare display of temper.

  Throwing the cards down on the green baize, he narrowly missed knocking over his port glass. “I might have known!” he trumpeted. “Sticky cards. I can't remember when I have played with such old, sticky cards. At the clubs in London they bring out a new pack practically hourly. But not here! Oh, no! Not at Hastings! It would be entirely too modern and normal for you, no doubt."

  All of this was directed at me, but Mama stood off to the side, observing her nephew as though he were some kind of odd creature from the wilds. It would never have occurred to her to bring out a new deck of cards. I daresay we had half a dozen of them, but the three of us, when we are playing alone, have a great love of soft, familiar cards, sticky though they may be in humid weather.

  “You really are a spoilsport,” I informed him. “If you want to play with brand-new cards, perhaps you should go to London."

  Amanda would have liked to scold me for this outburst, but she was seriously annoyed with Cousin Bret herself. She leapt to her feet and hastened over to Mama, putting an arm protectively around her. But Mama was not offended by Cousin Bret. He had merely set off a train of thought that she voiced without realizing that she spoke aloud.

  “He was like that as a child,” she mused. “I remember when he broke the pony cart and blamed it on Robert. When he knew very well that I had seen what happened."

  Cousin Bret, cheeks flushed with angry red spots, pushed back his chair and rose. “I fear your memory is not quite accurate, my dear Mrs. Ryder. However, it is no matter. If you all will excuse me, I have letters to write. Good night!"

  Mama smiled graciously at him, still unaware that he had heard her. Sir John maintained a stoical expression, while Amanda and I exchanged covert glances. I suppose it seemed best to all of us to let the subject drop. Mama seated herself at Cousin Bret's place and took over his part in the game. It was delightful to see how much she enjoyed herself, and the thought occurred to me that it was not possible that either Amanda or Mama could possibly be the highwayman.

  Which left Cousin Bret. And somehow I found it even more difficult to believe it of him after this evening's episode. Spoiled, a bad sport, petulant, argumentative. He was all those things. But surely he didn't have the wits and courage to brave the high road.

  By the end of the evening I was more confused than ever, and exhausted with the effort of preserving the appearance of good-natured normality. As I trudged wearily up to my room, I realized that the baronet and I had not agreed on any plan to waylay the masked figure, that night or any other. But I was far too discouraged and bone-weary to care.

  Instead of attempting to speak with Sir John, I went to my room, changed into my nightclothes, and climbed into bed. Sometime in the depth of the night I dreamed that he came into my room, carrying a candle, dressed for riding. He stood there by the door, gazing across the room at me. I was propped up against mountains of pillows, in a flimsy, gauzy gown that you could see right through, but I was far from embarrassed about the way his eyes lingered on my figure.

  It occurred to me then that we were about to behave in a most unseemly fashion, which I anticipated with pounding heart and racing pulse. In my dream this was something that had happened before, but at some level I could feel the expectation of learning a tremendous secret, breathlessly, anxiously, eagerly being taken into the mysteries of that man and woman bond that I had heard referred to as “conjugal bliss."

  Suddenly the dream fled, vanished like a wisp of thought, and I was devastated. My body ached with unsatisfied longings in that dark, warm room. My mind refused to accept the reality of my being alone, curled up under the fragrant sheet. Try as I might, I could not call the dream back.

  I was so disturbed by not learning the promised secrets that I scarcely considered what might have interrupted my sleep. And I did not wish to consider what had inspired the dream.

  Chapter 10

  The next day there was a letter from my friend Lady Sutton. I took it from Williams, called to Dutch to accompany me, and wandered out into the morning sunlight to read it. Dutch was in one of his rare playful moods and refused to let me concentrate on the three-page missive. First he tugged at my shoelaces and then he insisted on putting his stubby paws on my knees, the farthest he could reach.

  “Go away, you pesky dog,” I admonished him. But he would have none of it. With baleful eyes he began a mournful groan that sounded much like a cow in pain. “Now stop that!"

  “He merely wants your attention,” a familiar voice informed me.

  Sir John was dressed for riding, as he had been in my dream the previous evening, and I was hard-pressed not to blush. The rest of my body, too, had a decided response to his presence, which I vainly attempted to ignore. “Why don't you pay some attention to him?” I suggested.

  His eyes crinkled with mirth. “This throat-ripping hound? I wouldn't dare get within ten feet of the brute."

  Nonetheless, he picked up a stick and threw it for Dutch. Now Dutch is not really a retriever type of dog, but he was taken with the baronet and dutifully loped over to where the stick had fallen. Rather than pick it up, he stood guard over it until Sir John in frustration called him back.
/>   “Just what is this animal capable of doing?” he inquired.

  “Not much, but he's the most loyal beast in nature.” I gave a little shake to the letter I held, eyeing him carefully as I said, “Now, if you want to know what an animal is capable of, let me just read you a part of this letter I've received."

  My threat held about as much influence as the original one concerning Dutch. Sir John gave me a look of mock horror and settled himself on the stone bench beside me, making much of disposing himself comfortably and turning to hear me with an expression of polite concentration. I would like to have kicked him in the shin.

  “This is what my friend Bethany has written with regard to your character."

  Oh, he shuddered with feigned alarm and I only wished that Bethany had been even more to the point. I was sure she could have been.

  “'My dear Catherine, It was so delightful to hear from you. I feared you had quite forgotten me and our delicious adventures during your Season. I still laugh when I think what some poor gentleman is missing by not having won you then.'” I thought Sir John gave a snort of mirth at this point, but when I glanced over at him, he was sitting stiff as a statue, listening intently. “'Martin sends his dearest love. I half-suspect that he would have offered for you himself had I not been making eyes to distract him!’ She's only teasing, of course,” I explained to Sir John.

  “Of course."

  “Now, as to Sir John Meddows, I was astonished to hear that he had made himself at home at Hastings when your brother Robert is in town. Sir John and Robert are, as you must know, the very best of friends. But Robert feels an obligation to the Earl of Stonebridge, which tends to keep his behavior in line, while Sir John has absolutely no check on his. My dear, you would not believe the tales about him. If even a third of them are true, he is the most astonishing rake.