“I shall find a comfortable tree and rest. I have not napped in the shade since Tracy was a pup.”
The countess and her brother bid the duchess to do so by all means and then carried on a discussion of their own. “I thought Geord would faint on seeing Tony’s present,” Cecily smiled. “Did you see his face, James? He could not believe his own eyes.”
“No, no more than he will believe tomorrow that all these people have brought him presents as well.”
“I hope nothing will go badly, James. I could not bear to have anything spoil it for him. Where has he gone, do you know?”
“He has wandered off with that pretty blonde child. I sent Martin to accompany them. Why do you look so droll, my dear?”
“Why, because I am imagining where Geordan has taken the poor girl. To the marsh, I expect. It is his most favourite place. He will share it with her. He is in love, James.”
“Geordan? Are you sure? With that charming little chit? I cannot believe it.”
“Believe it, James. It is so. But I think, now she comes to see him at Westerley, their passion will halt abruptly. She is a town miss, James, with no conception of such wilderness as this, and will not find it at all to her liking. It is the ballroom and the drawing room in which Miss Lydia shines.”
“And you wish Geordan to see her at her worst? Unfair, my dear. You do not even know the girl. Why should not Geordie love her, at least for a little while?”
“Because I will not have her or any other young lady to rule over my son, James. Miss Lydia Clinton has beaux aplenty, and all of them much more experienced than Geord. I shall keep her from taking advantage of him by setting her at a disadvantage first.”
“MAX, what is it, precisely, that you are looking for?” Lady Mapleton asked impatiently. “We are standing here in this perfectly lovely spot and all you can think to do is walk about probing at bushes and muttering to yourself.”
Lord Mapleton stopped doing both, strolled back to his wife, and kissed her soundly. “Now,” he said, “cease nagging, Kate, and be of some help. I am looking for a cave.”
“A cave?”
“Indeed. It is hidden behind some kind of berry bush.”
“What kind of berry bush?”
“I do not know, Kate. I am not a person who cares much about berries, except that they are on my dining table from time to time.”
“Not, but Max, if you knew what kind it would be easy enough to find. There are wild grape vines here and mulberry bushes and blackberry and blueberry and that,” she informed him, pointing to a shrub directly behind her, “is a raspberry.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, Max, it is. Can you not remember what kind of berries they were? How do you know there is a cave in the first place?”
Lord Mapleton grinned and shook his head slowly. “I know there is a cave. I was privileged to stay in it once. But it was near twelve years ago, Kate, and nothing looks quite the same.”
Lady Mapleton eyed her husband rather suspiciously, and then turned to check behind the raspberry. “Is it this, perchance?” she asked in a superior tone.
Max hurried to the place and saw the small opening in the side of the hill. It was about four feet high and perhaps three feet wide, and a door with a brass latch sealed it closed. “Yes! Kate, what made you look just there?”
“Because, gudgeon, it the only raspberry bush and there are all kinds of the others.”
Max stared at her. “It’s a sign, you mean?”
“Well, of course it’s a sign. What are you doing?”
“Opening the door, Kate. Do you not want to see the inside?”
“What? Of a dirty old cave? And it will be dark besides.”
Max stooped down to gain entrance and returned shortly with a lighted lantern.
“There, light,” he grinned. He grasped her hand and helped her through the odd little doorway.
“Oh,” she gasped as she straightened and looked about her. Max proceeded to light three more lanterns and several candles until the inside of the granite chamber was very bright. “Not bad, eh, m’dear? Daniel must have had a wonderful time levelling this floor and then lugging all this up here.”
Lady Mapleton giggled at the thought, for there were side tables and armchairs and two old footstools and a bureau and a trunk and a glass-doored china cabinet, and on the far wall an odd little fireplace with a pipe sticking up through the ceiling.
“The fireplace works,” Max announced, “in both rooms.”
“Both rooms?”
“Yes, there is another chamber through here.” Max moved a tapestry that decorated part of the back wall to reveal an opening in the granite. “It’s the bedchamber,” he said, watching the laughter rise into his Kate’s eyes. “Come, I will show you.”
“Oh,” Lady Mapleton sighed, accepting his arm to enter the second room, “what a whimsical little house it is!”
The bedchamber held a cot covered with a bright red, blue and white hand-stitched quilt. At the foot of the bed was a brass-bound trunk. On the opposite wall stood a small armoire and near it a dressing table with an ornately etched mirror and a little seat of its own. On the third wall hung a painting of a landscape overhung with lace curtains and bordered by draperies to make it appear an open window. Beneath it stood a table on spindly legs holding a vase of glass-blown flowers on thin wire stemmed adorned with velvet leaves. The fireplace did, indeed, open into this chamber as well. “Oh, Max, it is charming! But does it not get very damp and cold in here?”
“No, not really. It is generally quite dry, for it is not formed in limestone but a less porous rock, and the rainwater does not drip through. It is cool, but never much cooler than now. Does it not make you feel rather jolly just to be here.”
“Yes,” nodded Lady Mapleton, crossing into his arms as he set the lantern down upon the dressing table and giving him a hug. “It is like a fairy’s house, a happy, fanciful little place. Did you really stay here once, Max?”
“Yes, m’dear,” he answered, giving her a squeeze. “For most of a fortnight. Do you remember when I was kept from home one November? It was near to David’s thirteenth birthday, I believe.”
“You were here then? In this cave? But why, Max?”
Max laughed and kissed her. “I took a musket ball in the shoulder, Kate. It was when Colonel Despard was captured, and his plot to kill King George foiled. Unfortunately his men had twigged to me and were out for my blood. Daniel brought me here and then carried my dispatches into London. It was Geordie’s job to see that I was fed and watered and warmed like one of his pets while his father was gone. Did a fine job of it, too. I do not think I should have survived that bramble without the two of them.”
“Daniel? Daniel was one of you?”
“Yes, Kate, though I doubt Cecily ever guessed it, as you did with me. I thank heaven for that, for what we would have done with both of you knowing the truth, I cannot conceive.”
“I have never betrayed you, Max,” Lady Mapleton reminded him with a pretty pout. “I have always been exceedingly discreet.”
“Indeed, Kate,” he grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “You are the most discreet of all women, thank goodness. For you are also the most impossible woman to keep secrets from.”
“Yes,” she giggled, “I know. If I am once determined to discover a secret, I always do.”
LORD and Lady Mapleton returned to the picnic to hear the Duchess of Richmond’s laughter. Catherine looked up at Max questioningly, and he pointed to where the dowager stood, one arm about the earl’s waist and the other about Miss Lydia’s. Both Geordan and Lydia were not only dishevelled but covered in mud. “It appears,” Max whispered in his wife’s delicate ear, “that Geordan has intimated Miss Lydia into the joys of the Westerley marshland. Shall we go see what help we can be?”
“I will go, Max,” Lady Mapleton said, “you look to Tony. I can see the frown on his face from here.”
“What on earth happened?” she heard Pamela Clint
on ask as she took her sister by the arm.
“N-Nothing,” stammered Lydia, quite overcome by all the attention she was drawing. “I am fine, Pamela.”
“Of course you are, girl!” exclaimed the dowager. “A bit of mud never harmed anyone. Come along, both of you, and help this poor old lady back to the house. No, do not say a word, Cecily! You know I am ready to return regardless. Here, Geordie, give me your arm, lad. And Lydia, you will not mind to give me yours as well. There now, we shall start down ahead of the others and you shall tell me again all that you did.”
“Do not be upset, Miss Clinton,” the countess said with a smile, taking that young lady’s arm. “I will see what can be done to restore your sister’s lovely dress. I am sure it can be cleaned. We are used to dealing with mud at Westerley.”
“Amelia,” Lady Mapleton asked, “did you hear what happened?”
“Yes, Mama, but let us wait for Mr. Talbot and Papa, please? They are coming just now. Do not frown so, Mr. Talbot,” Amelia added. “I am sure they came to no harm.”
“You are?”
“Positive,” she assured him, attempting to stifle a giggle. “They went to discover if there were ducklings in the marsh. There were, and Lydia wished aloud to hold one.”
The frown upon Talbot’s face dissolved into a smile. “Have you ever gone with Geord to see the ducks, Max?”
“Never had the pleasure,” replied Lord Mapleton, a smile playing across his lips. “Would I care to do so?”
“Lord, yes! Especially when there are ducklings. If you wade out into the ponds, they will come and swim around you as if you were merely an odd-looking tree. Every year some stop there for a month or two and then fly on. He did not invite Miss Lydia to wade out into a pond did he, Miss Mapleton?”
“No, he waded out himself and slipped, it seems, and Lydia thought he would drown and hurried to his rescue. Since he was not drowning at all, and she was already muddy, they stayed playing with the ducklings until they became chilled.”
“And do you know where Martin was during all of this? I am sure he was sent to chaperone the pair.”
‘Oh, he waited on solid ground until they had finished because he had not the least fear that either of them would drown. He is not muddied, Mr. Talbot.”
“The man has sense,” Max laughed.
“Yes,” agreed Lady Mapleton with an odd look upon her face, “and Lydia Clinton has some as well, and a sensitivity I did not expect of her. This may prove to be a most interesting weekend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
TYLER, not unfamiliar with the tendency of mud to jump upon and adhere to the Earl of Rutlidge, looked that gentleman in the eyes, shook his head, and set about putting things to rights. The countess requested that when he had finished with the earl he help Molly and Mrs. Ware to deal with Miss Lydia Clinton’s pretty little garden dress. “For you know all there is to know about mud, Tyler, and I have every confidence in you.”
“Indeed, madam,” Tyler replied with a certain amount of pride, “I daresay there is not a mud at Westerley that I cannot remove from any fabric. I have become a master of mud removal!”
The countess grinned and left him to his business. Both the earl and Miss Lydia appeared at dinner properly attired and freshly scrubbed, and endowed with ready appetites. “And my gown has survived quite admirably,” Lydia confided to her hostess, “though I would not have minded had it not. The ducklings were certainly worth the cost of one garden dress, I think.”
“You do?” asked the countess, rather surprised. “Well! Well, I am sorry for it nonetheless. That is the trouble with Westerley. There is mud and dirt everywhere for one to get into, and I am very much afraid that Geordan gets into it all.”
The earl, having taken his place at the head of the table with his Aunt Theckla to his right and Lady Mapleton to is left, ignored not of them in order to stare down to the foot of the table in a useless attempt to discover what sort of conversation was occurring between his mama and Miss Lydia Clinton. “Geordan,” the duchess said finally with laughing exasperation, giving him a kick under the table, “wake up, boy!”
“Huh?” the earl said. “Wh-What, Aunt J-Jeanie?”
“You are besotted, Geordan. It is most improper of you to ignore Lady Mapleton and myself and spend the entire dinner staring down the table at that pretty little chit.”
“Oh,” the earl said. “Is that why you k-kicked me?”
Lady Mapleton, overhearing, chuckled. “I thought kicking people under the table was improper, Aunt Theckla,” she said.
“It most certainly is,” replied the dowager, “and should you do so, I would frown upon you Catherine, just like this.” She suited her expression to her words, but quickly broke into laughter again. “I am afraid you will no longer be intimidated by me after this weekend, will you, my dear?”
“Wh-What is in-in-tim-i-dated?” Geordan asked, looking from one to another of them.
“Something you never are, sir,” his aunt answered, smiling.
“When someone intimidates you, it means they frighten you, Geordie,” Lady Mapleton explained softly.
“You are afraid of Aunt J-Jeanie?”
“Not any longer, my dear.”
“Well, I sh-should hope n-not,” with a shake of his auburn curls. “She is the f-funniest p-person and always m-makes me laugh. You sh-should read her l-letters! I h-have them all, and Uncle J-James reads them to m-me all the t-time.”
“What?” the dowager asked with the lift of her eyebrow. “All of them, Geordie?”
“Y-Yes. I l-like them. They are b-better than most of our b-books. The f-funniest ones are about T-Tracy.”
“Well, perhaps I ought to consider getting them published,” grinned the dowager. “Wouldn’t my son the duke like that!” Whereupon both she and Lady Mapleton burst into laughter.
When once dinner had ended and an impatient Geordan had gained enough sympathy from the rest of the gentlemen to put a quick end to their lingering over their wine, he was finally permitted to join Miss Lydia in the drawing room. That young lady seated herself at the pianoforte and made room for the earl to join her on the bench. When she picked out a piece of music and began to play, Geordan watched her fingers intently. “Do you not know how to play?” Lydia asked quietly.
“N-No.”
“Would you like to learn, Geordie?”
“I d-don’t know. I c-can n-not tell how you know wh-where to put your f-fingers.”
Lydia took one of the earl’s hands in her own and spread his fingers over the keys to make a chord. “Press all the keys at once,” she urged him with a smile. The sound that emerged made Geordan grin. “Now,” said Lydia, “I will show you one more.” With a patience that amazed her sister, astounded the countess and confounded most of the others in the room, Lydia Clinton continued to sit and the instrument for most of an hour showing the earl time and again the same two chords and how to switch from one of them to the other. When at last she decided that he could do so successfully, she began to play a melody with her right hand, telling him when to play the first chord and when to play the second. The tune that resulted was extremely simple, but melodious, and the two on the bench drew everyone’s undivided attention until it was finished. The earl’s uncle, who knew well enough the amount of effort it took to teach Geordan so simple a thing, and the determination it took for the earl to achieve it, burst into applause upon the final note, and was joined without hesitation by the rest of the group.
Geordan, well-pleased with the accomplishment, rose from the bench and, urging Lydia to rise as well, took her hand in his and bowed, laughing at himself. Lydia, fast to catch his intention, curtsied with sparkling eyes and a quiet laughter of her own.
“I begin to think,” murmured Mr. Talbot to Miss Mapleton, as they stood applauding with the rest, “that your Miss Lydia Clinton is neither as hen-witted nor as fickle as we believed.”
“Well, I am certainly flabbergasted,” said Miss Mapleton.
&nb
sp; AT seven o’clock the following morning, Martin, a bemused grin on his face, led the Shetland pony and Mouse from the stall and brought them both into the small paddock beside the stable where the earl and Lydia waited. Then he swung up onto the top rail of the fence and watched to see what would happen. The earl took Miss Clinton’s hand in his own and placed a lump of sugar in it. Then, his hand supporting Miss Clinton’s, he held the treat toward the pony. Miss Clinton began to pull back as the creature approached to nibble the titbit from her palm, but the earl held her steady. “She will n-not bite you, L-Lydie. She only w-wishes to t-take the sugar. S-See?”
The pony’s velvety nose nudged Lydia’s hand, and its mouth nickered against her palm, tickling her as the sugar disappeared. “How b-big do you think she will g-grow, Martin?” the earl asked.
“Pshaw, that one? A runt she is. Another hand perhaps.”
“That’s all?”
Martin nodded. “What are ye goin’ to name her, Master Geordan? She must have a name, you know. Cannot keep on calling her Pony like I have been doing.”
The earl, caressing the pony’s neck, looked seriously at Miss Clinton. “What would you n-name her, L-Lydie?”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh.”
Lydia looked at the pony, which stared wistfully back at her, its big brown orbs begging for another treat. “I think,” she mused, “Dab, because she is such a little dab of a thing.”
“D-Dab,” the earl repeated, considering. The pony shook its head and Lydia jumped back quickly from it, knocking into the earl and sending them both tumbling to the ground. “Or we c-could call her K-Killer,” Geordan laughed as Martin leapt from the fence to help them up. Mouse, impatient at being left out, came to nudge at the earl’s pockets, demanding a treat for himself, which made Miss Clinton move hurriedly away.
“N-No, Lydie,” the earl protested, making a quick grab for her hand and pulling her back beside him. “Mouse only w-wants a sugar as well. He is n-not going to h-hurt you.” He fished a sugar lump from his coat pocket and once again placed it in Lydia’s hand, this time supporting her as Mouse seemed to inhale the treat.
Amelia's Intrigue (Regency Idyll Book 1) Page 28