by Nikki Poppen
“Perhaps there is a way to still have both but it will mean a little pain in the short term. You must uphold your claim, not because you mean to unseat him. You must uphold it and use it as the leverage to coax a marriage proposal from him.”
Cate sat upright on the bed. “Marriage! But he doesn’t love me.”
“Loving you is irrelevant although I’d wager he is not as indifferent to you as you think. What he does love is without a doubt is Spelthorne. Marriage is the perfect solution to your dilemma. You can keep the man, and he can keep his precious estate. Who knows, perhaps that is what the ladies have been planning all along,” Magda said mystically.
Magda’s suggestion that Giles was not as indifferent to her as she might have believed cast his interactions with her the next day in a new light, which was not necessarily to his advantage. His behavior was as correct as always as he gave her a leg up onto her mare. As a neutral gentleman or even as a friend, the action was quite proper. As a potential suitor who may want to let a woman know he was interested in her, the action was quite lacking. It was surely possible that Magda was just wrong in her assumptions. But Magda seldom erred where men and women were concerned.
The extreme correctness in his manner and conversation as they rode seemed more pronounced than usual and Cate was struck with the urge to ruffle his demeanor, to see him flummoxed the way she found herself oft times bestirred in his presence. If Magda had not suggested such feeling might exist beneath the surface, Cate would not have guessed it was there. This afternoon she felt compelled not only to ruffle his calm exterior but to test the presence of his feelings. If Magda was right, Cate wanted to know before the vicar arrived, which would surely be any day.
“It’s a lovely day for this late into autumn,” Cate said, bringing her horse alongside his big roan hunter. Isabella had taught her weeks ago that for some inexplicable reason the English were obsessed with conversation over the weather. It seemed a good time to try out that particular conversational gambit.
Indeed, she had not exaggerated her claim. The sun shone bright in a clear sky. The fall foliage overhead as they passed beneath the trees of Spelthorne Wood was brilliant in hues of scarlet and gold. The sharpness of the afternoon air served as a reminder that while the day was a treasure, summer was truly behind them and winter loomed ahead. Once beneath the trees, the misleading patches of warmth in which they had ridden from the house vanished, giving way to a coolness that made Cate thankful for the warmth of her riding cloak.
“It may be one of the last great days we see for months,” Giles agreed. “Alain and Tristan left this morning to do some grouse hunting. They should have had a good day for shooting.”
“Is that the River Ash?” Cate gestured to a glimmering ribbon in the distance.
“Yes, it forms the north boundary of Spelthorne”
“It doesn’t look far. Shall we ride toward it? I would like to see it.”
Giles nodded his assent and took the lead as the bridle path narrowed, deftly wending his way through the forest and out into the sunlight again. A meadow lay between the woods and the river, allowing them a good gallop after the placid walk beneath the trees.
At the river, Cate waited to let Giles help her dismount, giving him a chance to take a quiet liberty or two by leaving his hands at her waist longer than necessary but he did not. Instead, he properly offered her his arm so that she could steady herself on the uneven ground leading down to the river. Impishly, Cate refused. For all the manners she’d acquired in the last month, she loved the out of doors and had grown up having to fend for herself. With one hand, she grabbed up the skirt of her habit, lifting high enough above the tops of her boots so that she would not trip, and made her way down to the edge of the shore.
The silvery ribbon she’d seen at a distance was browner close up, an earthy river that ran over agates. She could see large fish swimming in the shadows of the shallows. Cate shielded her eyes and looked down the river into the distance. “When I see a river, I always wonder where it goes, what it sees”
Beside her, Giles skipped stones into the current. “This river sees farms and small towns. It passes through Ashford and Shepperton before it joins with the Thames in Sunbury.”
“Ah,” Cate sighed whimsically. “A farmer’s river that goes to town, goes to London”
“A farmer’s river? I suppose it is. I’ve never thought of it that way before”
Cate turned to look at Giles in profile as he tossed the stones, one booted leg raised and resting on a large boulder. He flicked his wrist and sent another one sailing into the stream. It bounced four times. “Hah! Four! That’s the best I’ve done today.” He crowed triumphantly, a brilliant smile wreathing his face.
The act caused Cate’s breath to catch. The action was so full of life, so animated that she realized she was seeing Giles with the bridle of his manners-seeing him although it was no more than a glimpse really of a man who enjoyed sport, the outdoors, competition and quite simply being. Throughout the entire month at Spelthorne, she’d constantly seen the earl in him. She had not once been able to see the earthy cottager’s son. She saw a piece of him now and found him entrancing, if not more so than the earl. An idea took shape in her head.
She studied the fish. “Unless I miss my guess, those are trout”
“Yes,” Giles said in surprise. “You know fish?”
She tossed her head and laughed up at him with a smile. “Most definitely. In the summer and spring, the caravan relied on fish for its meat source. We all fished or we didn’t eat. Those trout there look like two of them would provide a tasty meal.”
Giles chuckled. “I know from first hand experience that they do. As soon as I turned eight and could run amok in the summers, I spent many hours and many lunches down here. There’s a better fishing hole further upstream.”
Cate walked to a nearby tree hanging over the river and tested a willowy bough. Finding it to her liking, she broke it neatly off and waved the new switch through the air. “I breakfasted late this morning and was not hungry enough to eat again when luncheon was served,” she said, her invitation and intention clear underscored in her message.
“You are not suggesting we fish?” Giles asked, the mask of the earl sliding over the visage of the exultant cottager’s son.
She nodded. “I am suggesting precisely that. Are you game?”
“We haven’t got fishing line or bait.” He argued.
“Then we’ll improvise.” Cate smiled wickedly and lifted her riding habit to reveal the starched whiteness of a petticoat. With a deft move she ripped a length of it before rucking up her skirts and briefly showing off a small leather sheathe strapped to her leg. She whipped out a sharp dagger and laughed at the shock Giles tried to hide.
She proceeded to strap the dagger to the willow switch with the length of fabric. “There. I am ready. How are you coming with your equipment?”
“You can’t be serious. It is unseemly.”
“How unseemly can it be? It’s just us. No one will know,” Cate cajoled. “It will be fun”
“Fun? That’s something I haven’t had in a very long time,” Giles said, indecision warring with propriety. “Alright. I’m in.” Giles shrugged out of his coat and pulled off his meticulously tied cravat. Then, to Cate’s delight, he sat on the boulder, tugged off his boots and bared his feet, shoving his trousers up to his knees.
The sight of a bare-legged Giles sans coat, standing before her in nothing but skin-tight buff riding breeches and thin linen shirt was intoxicating. Watching him wade into the river with his makeshift fishing spear courtesy of his cravat and hunting knife was positively striking.
Cate knotted her skirts and stripped off her shoes and waded in after him. “Brrr! This water is cold!” She cried at first contact. “I’d forgotten it wasn’t summer.”
Giles looked up from his quarry. “You won’t catch cold will you? Perhaps you should wait on shore.”
Cate grinned. “And let you have all t
he fun when it was my idea in the first place? Besides, I’m Rom. If we got sick every time we waded in cold rivers, we’d never be well” The thought was out before she realized what she was saying. No one at Spelthorne talked about her gypsy life. No one asked about her past. It was understood to be taboo. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she said to cover the awkward moment.
“Why would you be sorry?”
“Because I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Did Bella tell you that?” Giles asked in all seriousness.
“No, I just assumed, since no one asked” Cate shrugged and turned her attention back to the fish. “I bet I can spear mine before you get yours,” she wagered, hoping to return levity to their adventure.
She succeeded and five long minutes later, Giles won, brandishing his trout with boyish enthusiasm.
Cate put her hands on her hips. “Do you want to know what your prize is?” She said saucily. “You get to start the fire”
While she finished catching her trout, Giles gathered up an armload of twigs and fallen branches and started an admirable fire. Gallantly, he offered to prepare the fish and roast them over a makeshift spit.
Cate leaned back on the old blanket he produced from his saddlebags and spread on the ground, studying him as he worked, the heat of the fire warming her cold toes. “Your saddlebags are conveniently well-stocked,” she commented.
“The head groom who taught me to ride when I was growing up also taught me to always ride prepared. I learned to never leave for a trail ride without a tinder box, hunting knife, and a blanket. Three items is not so much to carry and can provide all kinds of comforts if needed” Giles leaned forward and turned the spit. “I think the fish are done” He took down the spit and handed one of the fish to Cate.
“It smells delicious.” She took a bite and sighed. “Tastes good too. Food tastes better out of doors, I think.” Juices dribbled down her chin, and she futilely tried to lick them.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a fork or even a napkin to offer you,” Giles apologized. “If this were a real picnic, there would be a table with a cloth, goblets, wine, eating utensils.”
Cate laughed at the ridiculous picture his idea of picnic conjured up in her head. “How could that be a real picnic? This is a real picnic, us sitting by a fire we made, eating food we caught ourselves. Our clothes are damp and for once we are not thinking about manners and propriety and what everyone else expects” She licked the last of the fish from her hands and turned to face Giles, pulling her knees up under her skirts. “Do you know this is the first time we’ve talked?”
“That’s not true. We’ve talked numerous times. We talk when we make the rounds in the village. We talk over supper. We talk over cards,” Giles protested.
“I mean truly talk about ourselves. That other talk is business, small talk with others present. Today you told me a story about your boyhood. I would like to hear more about the boy Giles.” She smiled softly, resting her chin on her knees. “I would like to hear more about the man I saw fishing in the river today. I think that man is vastly more interesting than the earl he devotes all his time to being.” The last came out in a rush. She had not meant to push or pry.
Giles rewarded her with a smile and a stretch. He rolled onto his side facing her and propped his head on his hand. “My childhood is unremarkable really, until I met Alain and Chatham. Before that, I was a typical child of nobility, alone and raised by the servants, some of which were doting and some of which were severely strict. My father wasn’t here often, and my mother had her obligations which kept her busy making the rounds.”
“Like you do,” Cate interjected. “Your days are filled with the pursuit of obligations.”
“I suppose it is. It is what an earl does,” Giles said, slightly defensive.
“It’s not all an earl can do,” she countered.
“It’s what I have chosen to do”
“To the detriment of discovering personal enjoyment,” she said sharply and regretting it.
“Not all of us are born to adventure, Cate, like you.”
That gave her pause. “Is that how you see me?”
Giles toyed with the fire, poking at the dying embers with a stick. “You have a passion for living that is different than mine. I need order, structure, security. You need none of those things. You are … ,” here he paused, searching for the word, staring hard at her in a way that made Cate feel warm down to her cold riverwashed toes.
“You are like our river, going wherever the riverbed leads. You’re afraid of nothing, you embrace everything. Nothing overwhelms you. You don’t seek to conquer or bind. You just seek to be. I could never be like that. It’s far too frightening for me to take those risks. I knew the moment I saw you in the garden two years ago that you were so beyond me. I could barely comprehend all that you were. It’s more than your beauty, although your’s transcends anything I’ve ever beheld. It’s your soul, Cate”
He reached her hand and took it in his own, tracing the lines of her palm with slow strokes. He brought the open palm to his lips and kissed it deeply before pressing it to his cheek. “My divine Cate, I hope we have not done you a disservice with all of our lessons. I would never want to tame you. I find myself liking the woman who fishes in the river and rides in unorthodox races quite a lot”
Cate whispered, “I find I like the man who fishes in the river quite a lot too.” She breathed deeply. It was divine having him all to herself, without the presence of his well-meaning friends. He smelled of earth and water, fish and wood smoke. He smelled even better than he did in the evenings when he came to dinner fresh from his bath, smelling of spice and sandalwood.
She could have sat with him, her hand in his, all afternoon. But the world was calling Giles Moncrief and the moment was over too soon.
“It’s starting to get late. We need to get back. The others will worry,” he said, rising from the blanket and offering her a hand up. He immured himself in the chore of cleaning up camp, kicking dirt on the fire.
In silence they donned their discarded stockings and shoes. Cate did her best to smooth her wrinkled skirts, but in truth, she didn’t want to repair her appearance too much. She wanted Giles to be reminded of what they had enjoyed. When he allowed it, there was a real connection between them, a connection that was not about who was Spelthorne or who had the right to the title.
With gentlemanly precision he helped her mount, and they rode back through the meadow and the woods to the abbey in a disappointing silence. Giles left her at the stables with nothing more than a polite farewell, “Thank you for an entertaining afternoon, I will see you at dinner.”
Cate returned to her rooms, determined to spend the short hours before dinner in isolation and contemplation. She rang for a hot bath to warm herself after the coldness of the fishing expedition and the brisk ride home in damp skirts she was careful to hide from prying eyes.
She took an unusually long time dressing for dinner that night. She wanted Giles to see her in all the beauty he confessed her to have. What kind of woman would Giles want to see at the dinner table? She pulled out the ice-blue gown with its eau de nil bodice and gauzy flowing skirts. It was one of her favorites since Isabella had helped her to order her own wardrobe. She held the gown against her body and studied it in the mirror.
She discarded it. No. The gown was too sophisticated for the night. Giles would want to see the lady she was in that gown-a woman well cultured and groomed not given to earthy passions or jumping into rivers on a whim. She pulled out several others and discarded them as well for being too tame, too ladylike, too molded. She needed something bolder, more daring yet confident. She reached into the back of the wardrobe and found what she was looking for. The gown was not modern but it was the kind of gown she’d dreamed of owning for years. She had described it to the modiste who’d come to the abbey and done her other dresses. The modiste had clapped her hands in delight at the thought of creating something extraordinary a
nd had shown her a bolt of shimmering rose-red silk. Cate had fingered the bolt longingly. The red was perfect. It was not a scarlet, nor a harlot’s red. It was a regal, royal red.
Cate called a maid other than Magda, not wanting to brook any censure over her choice of gown. Now that her mind was made up, she would not be swayed from her course.
The maid helped her lace up the necessary corset and put on the layers of petticoats required for the long, tight bodice and full skirts. Then she slipped the rich gown over her head, fastening it up the back and helping Cate to tug the v-ed waist of the bodice into place and to fluff the layers of silken skirts to best effect. The gown left her neck and shoulders exposed and Cate fastened a string of borrowed pearls about her neck before sitting down to let the maid arrange her hair in a complicated upsweep that left the back of her neck exposed with the exception of a few loose curls. The final result was all that Cate had hoped for. She hoped Giles would get the message.
Giles arrived in the drawing room at promptly 6:30, the standard half hour before dinner was served, dressed for the evening and dismayed to learn that while he’d been out riding with Cate, Isabella and Cecile had decided to turn the evening into a party of sorts. It was no less than what he deserved for gallivanting about the countryside, fishing in his bare feet, in October no less.
Isabella and Cecile were already there ahead of him, dressed in gowns that were definitely too elegant for an enfamille supper in the country. He smiled harmlessly at the women and joined them. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your impromptu party plans?”
“Don’t be mad, Giles,” Isabella began. “It’s the end of the month, and I just thought we all deserved a little celebrating.”
The end of the month-quite possibly the last quiet night before the vicar arrived and the tension which they had all successfully held at bay for four weeks would break loose. Although Giles was confident all would end well-he had found a lovely old manor of moderate size for Cate to lease in Hertfordshirefeelings were bound to be hurt in the short term and it would be difficult for all of them.