The Pretty Horse-Breakers

by Barbara Cartland

  “I consider my convenience more than the expense,” Lord Manville replied casually. “I don’t wish to travel with the type of animal hires at a posting inn.”

  “No indeed,” Candida agreed, “but what happens to your horses if you do not journey that way for perhaps a month or two?”

  “They have their grooms with them,” Lord Manville replied. “They look after them well, I assure you.”

  There was a hint of laughter in his voice and she said quickly,

  “I am sorry if I sounded impertinent just now, I did not mean to.”

  “Don’t apologise,” he said, “it’s interesting to find a young woman such as yourself who is really concerned with the treatment of horses. Most of them are themselves very severe on their animals.”

  “Unnecessarily severe!” Candida exclaimed, thinking of Lais.

  She wondered if she should say how much she disliked the use of the spur, but decided this again would be controversial, so she kept quiet.

  As the clock in the tower of Beaconsfield Church sounded the hour of twelve, they drove into the village with its flowering chestnut trees, black and white houses and bow-fronted shops.

  Lord Manville drew up outside the inn. Ostlers hurried forward to take the horses and Candida was helped from the curricle by his Lordship’s groom.

  Inside the landlady appeared and took Candida up some old oak stairs to a bedchamber, where there was warm water to wash her hands and a mirror in which she could see that the wind had disturbed the neatness of her hair. She took off her bonnet to tidy herself and the landlady exclaimed,

  “What beautiful hair you have, ma’am, if you’ll excuse me for mentionin’ it.”

  “Thank you,” Candida smiled, smoothing the wayward curls back into place. “Do you think it would matter if I lunched without putting my bonnet on again?”

  “No indeed, ma’am,” the landlady replied. “No one will see you but his Lordship. Luncheon is arranged in the private parlour, as is usual when his Lordship drives this way.”

  “Does he often come here?” Candida asked.

  “I believe this road leads to his Lordship’s estate,” the landlady answered. “We’re always glad to have the honour of his company. He be a fine gentleman, not like some that travel the road and expect more than we poor innkeepers can provide them with.”

  “It must be very difficult to keep an inn,” Candida said sympathetically.

  “It is indeed, ma’am. You never knows who will come bargin’ in askin’ for this or that, findin’ fault or makin’ trouble. ’Tis a hard life but we’re happy enough, my husband and I. We inherited the inn from his father and, although I says it, it’s been much improved in our time.”

  “I am sure it has,” Candida answered. “And now that I am ready, would you be kind enough to show me downstairs.”

  “You are a very pretty young lady and no mistake,” the landlady said admiringly. “His Lordship has brought many ladies here, but none of them could hold a candle to you.”

  “Thank you,” Candida said again a little shyly and followed the buxom woman, with her white cap and spotless apron, down the ancient stairway.

  The landlady preceded Candida along a little passage and opened the door.

  “Luncheon’ll be served at any moment, my Lord,” she said as Candida went into the room.

  It was a small parlour, low-ceilinged with heavy oak beams. There was a round table in the window on which luncheon was laid and two big wing-backed armchairs in front of the hearth. The smell of age, tobacco smoke and wine mingled with the sweet scent of lavender and honeysuckle. The latter came, Candida found, from the garden that lay outside the open window.

  “What a pretty place,” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

  Lord Manville, who had been leaning against the mantelpiece, moved towards the table in the window.

  “Will you not sit down?” he asked. “The landlord assures me that he has an excellent luncheon for us, so I hope you are hungry.”

  “I am,” Candida replied simply. “I was too nervous to eat any breakfast.”

  “What were you nervous about?” he asked, seating himself opposite her.

  “Meeting you,” she answered truthfully.

  “Am I so awe-inspiring?” he enquired.

  “Everyone is so impressed by you,” she replied. “You could not expect me to be anything else.”

  He laughed at her seriousness, thinking how much her shyness became her and how skilfully she managed to portray the nervous young girl going out into the world for the first time.

  He wondered how much of this clever acting was due to her own inspiration or to Mrs. Clinton’s tutelage. He was well aware that Mrs. Clinton was a shrewd woman whose introductions were eagerly sought. Her girls were well behaved and there was no question of blackmail or disagreeableness when a liaison ended.

  But his Lordship could not believe that she often produced a girl who could act the part as well as this one. Mrs. Clinton obviously had a better idea of stagecraft than anyone had given her credit for.

  The landlord came bustling in with pigeons roasted on the spit, a prime leg of mutton, a hot veal and ham pie and a cold collation, which made Candida think that there was enough to feed a Regiment of soldiers rather than two passing travellers.

  She chose a little of the veal and ham pie and noted that his Lordship was prepared to sample not one but quite a number of the dishes.

  “Your wife is a good cook,” he said to the landlord, “convey her my compliments and tell her she never disappoints me on my various visits.”

  “’Tis my mother, my Lord, who does the cooking. She used to be in service before she married my father and she still knows how to tempt the palate of a gentleman like yourself.”

  “She does indeed,” Lord Manville smiled. “And now, what wine have you brought me?”

  “Your favourite claret, my Lord.”

  “Will that please you?” Lord Manville asked Candida. “Or would you prefer a white wine? If you prefer champagne, I expect there is a bottle tucked away somewhere in the cellar.”

  “I will have water,” Candida replied.

  Lord Manville looked amused.

  “I hardly think that is necessary,” he said. “A little wine will do you good.”

  “I have sometimes had a glass in the evening,” Candida said, remembering the times when her father’s sales had allowed them to celebrate, “but I don’t think that I should drink at luncheontime.”

  “As you wish,” Lord Manville said indifferently.

  This was carrying the game to extremes, he thought, but he would let her have her way. She would soon get tired of it, he was sure of that!

  The landlord withdrew from the room. Lord Manville made a few trivial observations and Candida contrived to agree with him.

  Then when he had finished eating, he leant forward in his chair and said,

  “There is something I want to say to you, Miss Walcott. I hope you will not misunderstand or be annoyed by what I am about to propose.”

  He was surprised at the expression of concern on Candida’s face and the apprehension in her eyes as she fixed them on his face. He did not know that for one terrible moment she thought she had failed and he was going to send her back.

  “It is like this,” Lord Manville went on, obviously choosing his words with difficulty. “I have not asked you to come to Manville Park for my – ”

  He was going to say ‘amusement’, but changed it.

  “ – for my companionship. It is for someone else that I have asked you and I hope that you will help me where he is concerned.”

  Lord Manville was not really a conceited man, but he was complacently used to seeing an expression of admiration in the eyes of women who looked at him. He was also well aware that if he took a ‘Pretty-Horse-Breaker’ from London to Manville Park, she would expect that his interest in her was personal.

  It was therefore with surprise that he noticed that, as he finished his sentence,
Candida’s expression of anxiety changed to one of relief. For a moment he could not credit it, but there was no doubt that, while she was still listening to him intently, she seemed not as anxious as she had been a few seconds earlier.

  He even fancied a little colour had come back to her cheeks. It was extraordinary, something for which he would like an explanation, but he continued,

  “I need your help, Miss Walcott, or now we know each other better, may I call you Candida?”

  “Yes, of course,” Candida agreed.

  “The young man I am talking about,” Lord Manville continued, “is my Ward and he has been the source of a great deal of worry to me lately.”

  “Is he a child?” Candida asked, thinking perhaps that this was the reason why Lord Manville had asked her to come to Manville Park. She had never been a Governess, but she felt certain that she could be one.

  “No indeed,” Lord Manville said quickly, dispelling her idea almost before it was formed. “Adrian is twenty years of age and a charming boy when he is in his rightful senses.”

  He saw Candida’s expressive eyes widen and added quickly,

  “I do not mean that he is deranged, it is just that he imagines he has fallen in love.”

  Candida smiled.

  “Is that not very romantic?” she asked.

  “No, it is not!” Lord Manville said sharply. “He has not only fallen in love, but he wishes to marry the girl. How can anyone at twenty know if he has chosen the right person or if his love is not just an illusion?”

  “I expect really you disapprove of his choice,” Candida said shrewdly.

  “I have not seen the lady in question,” Lord Manville said crushingly. “I understand that she is entirely respectable. Her father is a Parson at Oxford, where my Ward is supposed to be pursuing his studies. Last week I received the information that he has been rusticated until the end of the term.”

  “I expect he was caught climbing in,” Candida said. “That is what a man is usually rusticated for, is it not?”

  “You seem to know a great deal about it,” Lord Manville answered disagreeably. “When I was at Oxford, I climbed in practically every night of my life, but I was never foolish enough to be caught.”

  “Perhaps you were also very lucky,” Candida observed.

  “Well, to continue about Adrian,” Lord Manville went on, “I am absolutely determined that he shall not marry this girl. And I thought it would help matters a great deal if you were to try to persuade him that there are other attractions in life besides the undoubtedly worthy charms of the lady from the Vicarage.”

  “What exactly do you want me to do?” Candida asked.

  “Well, I think your own common sense will tell you that,” Lord Manville replied. “Try to make Adrian see that at the moment he knows nothing of life and that there are all sorts of amusements waiting for him before he need settle down and take life seriously. Tell him about London – make him curious about the casinos, the Argyll Rooms, Mott’s, Kate Hamilton’s, or any of the places that are amusing in the evening. Ask him to take you out to dinner at Cremorne Gardens and you can dance the polka under the stars.”

  Candida made a small sound and his Lordship stopped and asked,

  “Did you say anything?”

  “No – no,” Candida replied.

  “Tell Adrian too,” Lord Manville continued, warming to his theme, “what fun the music halls and theatres can be, not forgetting the ballet. He will find that irresistible when he gets to know some of the pretty dancers.”

  He stopped, seemingly to consider what other instructions he should give Candida, then almost apologetically, he went on,

  “Adrian has never seen anything of the gay life. Make him understand that it is part of the experience of growing up to sample these delights before he takes on the responsibility of a wife and family.”

  Candida was aghast at what Lord Manville was asking of her. How could she possibly explain to him that she had never heard of any of the places he was speaking about? How could she convince him that she had no knowledge of London except Hooper’s Livery Stable and her one sortie into Hyde Park?

  She realised that there had been some extraordinary mistake, that Lord Manville thought she must know of all these places and be a part of them. Then she remembered Mrs. Clinton’s advice.

  If she told the truth there was no doubt, exasperated by her ignorance, Lord Manville would dispense with her services and instantly send her back to London. There was only one thing she could do – pretend to carry out what he asked and hope by some miracle that he would not find her out.

  “Now, will you do this for me?” she heard him say and answered quietly,

  “I will do my best.”

  “That is exactly what I hoped you would say,” Lord Manville replied in satisfaction. “Adrian is a strange young man. I really don’t understand him, but I am sure that with your help we can wean him away from this marriage – which would be quite disastrous, I am sure of that.”

  “Suppose he really loves her,” Candida asked.

  “Love! What does a boy of that age know about love?” Lord Manville retorted. “Besides, love can be a snare and an illusion at any age.”

  Candida wanted to argue that love was something which just happened, you could not prevent it. Just in time she checked herself and said nothing. It seemed to her that Lord Manville was well satisfied and was now ready to proceed on their journey.

  He threw some notes on the table and quickly Candida tied on her bonnet in front of an old mirror in a walnut wood frame that hung on the wall.

  Then she found herself starting off again for Manville Park and knew that his Lordship was in a good temper. She did not realise that he had, in fact, been quite worried as to whether she would, as he put it, ‘cut up rough’ at being palmed off on Adrian.

  ‘She is being jolly sporting about it,’ he told himself, ‘and I will see she does not suffer in consequence. Adrian will not be able to provide for her, but I will do all that is necessary. With any luck we shall hear no more about marriage. Candida is pretty enough to put the thought of any other woman out of his stupid young head.’

  It had been worth coming away in the middle of the Season, Lord Manville decided, to sort out Adrian’s affairs, even though last night, when Lais had pleaded with him not to go, he had felt incensed with the boy. May was the best time in London – there were routs, balls and masques every night. There was the theatre and ballet and there was always the amusement of watching the ‘Pretty Horse-Breakers’.

  Lais had told him last night that Skittles was breaking in a new horse this morning. All his friends would be there, while he had to post to the country just because Adrian was making such a fool of his young self. To be rusticated nearly a month early from Oxford on top of everything else was enough to make any Guardian lose his temper!

  But everything was working out splendidly! Adrian would gain experience with Candida and, when he came down from Oxford, he would take up the life of a fashionable young man about town.

  ‘No one could say,’ Lord Manville told himself with satisfaction, ‘that I am not a proper sort of Guardian. God knows I did not want to be saddled with the boy, but he is my responsibility and I shall certainly do my best for him.’

  He glanced down at Candida in satisfaction.

  ‘It was Grandmama’s idea,’ he thought, ‘and she will be amused to hear how well it is working out.’

  It now almost seemed unnecessary to have told Lais that he wanted three days alone at Manville Park before she joined him. He had asked Lais to come down on Sunday and by then, if Candida had done her part well, he ought to be able to return to London.

  He wondered if he should say anything to her about being recompensed in hard cash for turning her attentions to Adrian rather than himself.

  After some consideration he decided against it. It was not as though she seemed the greedy type and he was still somewhat piqued by the look of relief on her face when he started t
o explain to her that it was Adrian on whom she could bestow her favours.

  ‘Could she,’ he asked himself almost in consternation, ‘have taken a dislike to me?’

  It did not seem possible that they had met only that morning. But still, one never knew with females, they were unpredictable. Nevertheless, it was a sobering thought. Well, today was Wednesday, Lais would arrive on Sunday and he would be glad to see her.

  One compensation was that, however boring it might be to be shut up with only Adrian and Candida for company, there was a great deal to be done at Manville. He had rather neglected it while he had been so engrossed with Lady Brompton.

  He was quite aware that his agent would be looking forward to seeing him and two of the tenant farmers had requested months ago that he would make it convenient to see them. Time would pass quickly and what was more attractive than spring at Manville?

  Candida was to think the same as, after passing along a high wall, the horses swung in through a big stone gateway surmounted by heraldic lions with a long avenue of oak trees sloping downhill.

  Then suddenly she saw Manville Park.

  It was not what she had expected. She could not have imagined anything so big and impressive – the great colonnaded front, the wings square and solid, the urns and statues on the roof silhouetted against the blue of the sky. It was as overwhelming as its owner and yet at the same time it was lovely.

  She must have given an audible little gasp because Lord Manville looked down at her and asked,

  “Do you like my house?”

  “It is so big,” Candida answered. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

  It was built of grey stone and yet it had a kind of luminous quality about it. The house was set almost in a hollow with a lake at its foot and parklands stretched away on each side towards the horizon wild, green and verdant.

  “Does it all belong to you?” Candida asked.

  “Almost as far as the eye can see,” Lord Manville replied. “On the right my neighbour is the Earl of Storr, on the left – you cannot see his boundary I am glad to say – lives Sir Tresham Foxleigh.”

  He did not notice the start Candida gave or the expression of distaste on her face, but a moment later she had forgotten what had been said as they drew near the house and she saw the gardens.