She rode Pegasus forward, forcing Lais out of the way and then, before anyone could move or speak, she was gone and leaping a post and rails was riding wildly across the parkland. Urging Pegasus to a full gallop, she had almost vanished between the trees before anyone realised what was happening.
She thought she heard someone call her name, she had the idea it was Lord Manville’s voice, but she had only one desire, one thought and that was to save Pegasus, to prevent him coming under the spur of Lais, a woman she loathed with every nerve in her body.
Chapter Nine
Candida had galloped nearly a mile when from behind her she heard a voice calling. She turned her head again and saw that the gap between herself and Lord Manville had now narrowed, but he was still some distance away.
Nevertheless she could hear him and although she tried not to listen, his cry was insistent.
“Stop, Candida – it is dangerous – you will kill yourself – and Pegasus!”
It was the last two words that made Candida reluctantly and, because she dare not disobey, draw in the reins. It was quite difficult to stop Pegasus, however, finally she drew him to a standstill and turned defiantly, but at the same time apprehensively to face Lord Manville. He came nearer, slowing Thunder down from a gallop to a trot and finally drew level with her.
“There are gravel pits just ahead,” he warned her. “They are not easy to see and, if you fell into them, there would be no hope for either of you.”
He spoke in quiet tones, but, as he faced her, Candida replied hotly,
“I would rather we were both dead than that Pegasus should be ridden by that fiend! She is cruel, cruel, do you hear me? She spurs, not merely to control the horse but because it gives her positive pleasure!”
“Listen Candida – ” Lord Manville began, only to be silenced as Candida continued, her eyes blazing, her whole body trembling with the intensity of her feelings,
“I have seen Firefly when she has sent him back to the stables, not for the first time, but for the third and fourth, his left flank badly spur-galled! I have helped poultice him and hated the rider who should treat any horse in such a brutal manner.”
“I understand – ” Lord Manville began again, but his words were to be swept away once more as Candida went on,
“It may seem amusing to you – and gentlemen like you – to applaud the women who ride effectively and show off to advantage in the Park or in riding schools. But have you ever thought of the suffering that is caused by these horse-breakers who rely on their spur to punish an animal until he obeys them because he is afraid? Who even when he does what is faultless continues to get the spur without reason. It is cruel, cruel I tell you! I will have no part in it!”
Candida paused a moment and then she added and her voice was low and broken,
“I could not even bear to think of Pegasus being subjected to treatment like that.”
Her anger was now spent and she was very near to tears. Her head dropped forward and her hair, loosened from its chignon, fell in a great golden wave on her shoulders.
“I swear to you,” Lord Manville said quietly, “that Lais will never ride Pegasus.”
Candida raised her face.
“Nor any woman like her?” she asked.
“Nor any woman like her,” he repeated.
He saw her relief show itself in her face and, now that the tension was gone, it seemed as if she might collapse in the saddle.
“It’s very hot,” Lord Manville said. “Let’s give our horses a rest and sit in the shade.”
He pointed to where, about fifty yards to their right, was a small silver birch wood. The young green of the leaves was vivid in the sunshine, which strove to pierce through to the banks of primroses and violets flowering beneath.
Without a word Candida moved in the direction in which Lord Manville had pointed. When she reached the wood, she slipped from the saddle, caught her reins over the pommel, patted Pegasus and walked into the shade of the trees.
Lord Manville, having also dismounted, wondered whether he dare let Thunder free.
There was the chance that he might not catch him again. But he counted on the two horses staying together and, knotting his reins so that they would not get entangled in Thunder’s feet, he followed Candida.
The wood grew on a slope and there was a bank beneath the trees exactly the right height on which to sit. Mauve and white violets were peeping from beneath their rounded leaves and Candida sat down gently as though she hated to hurt them.
Then, because she was warm, she slipped off her coat and threw it on the ground at her feet.
She was wearing a white lawn blouse inset with lace and she raised her arms instinctively towards her hair. She had long since lost her hat and with her gesture the last remaining hairpins fell from her chignon and her hair tumbled loose over her shoulders, reaching to below her waist.
Nervously she would have swept it into some sort of order, but Lord Manville was beside her and caught her hands.
“Don’t,” he said insistently, “don’t touch your hair! If you only knew how much I have wanted to see it like this.”
She looked at him in surprise, while the touch of his fingers made her quiver in an unaccountable manner.
“I have to apologise,” she began, the fire gone from her tone. She showed instead an anxious humility that was infinitely pathetic.
“No, you did what was right,” he answered. “It is I who should apologise for being so thoughtless.”
“Then you understand what I feel about Pegasus?” Candida asked.
“Of course,” he answered. “I would not wish Thunder or any of my horses to be treated in such a way. I have always believed that a spur is essential in a side-saddle, but you have convinced me it can be unnecessary.”
A smile lit her face and then she was conscious that he was still holding her hands and that he was very near her. Her fingers moved beneath his.
“I must tidy myself,” she murmured.
“Why?” he asked. “Have you any idea how lovely you look?”
There was something in his voice that made her heart turn over in her breast and it was impossible for her to move.
“Candida!” Lord Manville asked hoarsely. “Candida – what has happened to us?”
She could not reply and after a moment he said,
“Will you not look at me? It cannot be that you are afraid of me.”
“N-not – really,” she whispered, and forced herself to turn her head and look into his eyes.
His face was very close and drawing nearer still he put his arm round her shoulders. He felt her tremble and then his lips were on hers.
He could not have believed that a woman’s lips could be so soft, so sweet, so yielding, until, with what was almost a little cry, she turned her head away.
“Why do you turn away from me?” he asked and his voice was deeply moved. “Can it be that you are still angry with me?”
“No,” she whispered, “it is not – that.”
“Then what?” he asked. “You cannot still be afraid of me.”
She shook her head and murmured,
“Not of – you, but – of myself – I think.”
“But why, my darling?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”
“You – make me feel – strange,” she stammered. “I cannot explain it – it is just that when I am – close to you – like this I feel as if I cannot – breathe, and yet – it is very – wonderful.”
“Oh, my sweet!”
He took her hand and covered it in kisses.
“That you should say such a thing to me touches me more than I can express. Do you not realise, my dearest, that this was meant to happen? I think I knew it would when you stood on the steps – in your pink gown – looking so small, so absurdly young.”
“I was – afraid,” Candida said.
“I knew you were,” he answered. “Your eyes are very expressive, Candida, and yet when I told you that I wanted you to amuse
Adrian you looked relieved. I cannot tell you how often that has worried me. Tell me why?”
“You are so – grand, so – important,” Candida replied, “I was afraid of – failing you.”
“Oh, my dearest dear,” he said, a smile on his lips, “was there anyone so entrancing, so captivating as you? Candida, we shall be so happy together, there is so much I want to show you, so much I want to teach you. When did you first know you loved me? Tell me, I must know!”
There was a masterfulness about him that was irresistible.
“I don’t think I realised it until – this very moment,” Candida replied, “it was just that I always – wanted to be with you. A room seemed – empty when you were not – there and the house – very quiet.”
Lord Manville gave a smile of utter happiness. Then, holding her closer to him, he lifted her little chin in his free hand and turned her face up to his. This time she did not turn away. The gentleness of his kiss grew stronger and more possessive and yet she was not afraid.
She felt something awake within her, a flame which seemed to burn through her body so that she was conscious only of his lips, the closeness of him and the happiness which was brighter than sunshine.
She felt as though the songs of the birds were caught up into a song of beauty and glory which carried them both towards the sky and now she trembled not with fear but with ecstasy because the wonder and the beauty of it was almost too great to be borne.
How long they sat there Candida had no idea, but at length they drew apart and she said,
“You must – return – they will wonder what has – happened to you.”
“And you will come with me?” he asked and she knew that never in her life had she seen a man look so happy.
“Of course I will – if you want me.”
“If I want you!” he said in a low voice and, taking her hands, he turned the palms upwards and kissed them, first one and then the other. “You hold my heart in those little hands. Come, darling, we must be brave and face the music. What does it matter?”
“They will stay for dinner?” Candida asked in a low voice.
“I am afraid so,” he answered. “I could not refuse the hospitality they ask – as it is all arranged. They will leave afterwards and then we shall be alone – alone as we have been before – only it will be different.”
“Very – different,” Candida sighed softly.
She searched amongst the violets and found enough hairpins to arrange her hair. Lord Manville helped her into her coat, kissing her cheek as he did so, then turning her round once again to seek her mouth.
“This is our wood,” he said. “I never knew before that I had an enchanted place on my estate. Is it real or are you a witch, Candida, who has merely made me believe that this is the most wonderful and magical wood in the whole world?”
Candida looked back at the bank where they had sat, at the shafts of sunshine piercing through between the trees, the dark blue of the shadows where the sun did not penetrate, the gold of the primroses and the purple and white of the violets.
“Our enchanted wood,” she said softly, “our very own.”
He lifted her face once again to his.
“You go to my head, Candida,” he said, “I feel intoxicated with your beauty, your sweetness and the touch of your lips. I am like a man who has drunk the nectar of the Gods and can never again be quite normal.”
“I feel like that – too,” Candida whispered and hand in hand they went from the wood to find the horses.
Pegasus came the moment that Candida called him and, although Thunder would not come obediently to the command, he at least stood still until Lord Manville reached him.
They rode back together slowly side by side. It was almost as if they could not bear to go back into the world and must delay every passing minute.
At length Manville Park stood in front of them and, as they saw the grooms waiting outside the front door, Candida said quickly,
“I shall go to my room.”
“Come down early for dinner,” Lord Manville begged. “I must have a word with you alone before the others join us.”
“I will try,” she promised.
But when she reached her bedroom, it was to find it was far later than she thought. By the time she had had her bath and her maid had arranged her hair, she realised that there would be little time for her and Lord Manville to be alone.
Although she was consumed with an impatience to be with him again, she wanted to look her best.
She took from the wardrobe the gown she liked the most of all those that Mrs. Clinton had bought for her. It was white and the great hooped skirt was trimmed with folds of soft chiffon caught with tiny bunches of snowdrops.
It seemed to Candida it could not be more appropriate. The flowers, symbolic of the spring, must remind Lord Manville, when he looked at the dress, of their enchanted wood. There were snowdrops too in a bunch between her breasts hidden in the soft chiffon fichu, which only partially veiled her shoulders.
“You do look lovely, miss,” her maid exclaimed when she had finished dressing her, “almost like a bride!”
Candida smiled as she looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Soon they would all know, she thought, but for the moment she must say nothing.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“You are the most beautiful young lady who’s ever stayed ’ere,” the maid went on, “and it’s not often there’s anyone as kind and as nice to us as you are.”
“Manville Park is a very lovely place,” Candida said. “Nothing and nobody should ever spoil that loveliness.”
She was thinking of Lais as she spoke. Tonight, she thought, was the last time she need ever see that cruel horrible woman and she felt that she would have been afraid to go downstairs and face her had she not known that Lord Manville was there and that they loved one another.
She could hardly realise now what had happened that afternoon. He had held her in his arms and he had kissed her. She often wondered what it was like to be kissed by a man and now she knew. She remembered how his lips had touched hers at first gently and then become stronger and more possessive.
It was as if he drew her heart between her lips and took it into his keeping. And that, she thought, was exactly what he had done because she had given him her heart irretrievably. It was his and she was a part of him – they belonged together, one person forever.
Now she knew what her mother must have felt and why nothing had mattered except that she should marry her father and they should be together. This was how they loved each other and Candida knew that if she had to make the same choice as her mother, she too would leave her home, leave behind everything that was familiar and go with Lord Manville, penniless and empty-handed, wherever he might lead her.
What was money or position compared with the ecstasy that made her tremble when he touched her and compared with that look in his eyes and that note in his voice which made her heart turn over?
“I love him! I love him!” she whispered to herself and thought as she looked in the mirror that she too was transfigured.
The look of anxiety and uncertainty that had been on her face ever since her father had died had gone. Instead she looked like someone who had suddenly come alive, with her lips parted, her eyes shining. She almost found it hard to recognise herself and she knew that this was what love could do for a woman.
“There, miss, you’re ready,” her maid said, fastening the last hook at the back of the tight bodice.
“Thank you,” Candida said.
“Oh, one minute, miss,” the maid exclaimed. “I think there be two bunches of snowdrops to go in your hair.”
“Indeed there are,” Candida replied, “I had forgotten.”
“I found them just now with the shoes that match the gown,” the maid said. “Let me fix them on either side of the chignon, they will look very beautiful there.”
“Yes, please do,” Candida agreed, “but hurry, it’s getting late.�
�
A few minutes later she sped from her room and she saw with dismay that it was nearly the hour for dinner and she was unlikely to find Lord Manville alone.
Yet she was lucky.
When she entered the drawing room where she guessed they would assemble before the meal, he was there waiting for her, looking incredibly handsome in his evening clothes, his white shirt front ornamented only with two enormous black pearl studs set with diamonds.
She stood for a moment in the doorway and then she ran towards him. It seemed to him as she approached that he had never seen a woman’s face so warm, so lovely and alive.
He caught her in his arms.
“Oh, my darling,” he said, “I thought you were never coming. Every moment seemed an eternity while I waited.”
“I hurried,” Candida explained, “but I wanted to look my best for you.”
“You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes on her lips, “so beautiful that I want to kiss you.”
“No, no,” she demurred. “Be careful, someone might come in.”
“Are you so shy of what they might think?” he enquired teasingly.
“No, it’s not that,” she said quickly, “it’s just that I would not have anyone know about us – for the moment.”
He smiled as one might smile at a child.
“It shall be our secret,” he promised.
“Only until they have all gone,” Candida said. “I could not bear those people to – chatter and laugh about – our love.”
“I understand,” he said.
“And another thing I was thinking,” Candida went on, “and please don’t think it very stupid of me, but could we – could we be married very very quietly – in some little Church without a crowd – without people staring – at us?”
Even as she spoke she felt him stiffen and instinctively she knew that she had said something wrong. She looked up into his eyes and what she saw there made her feel as if an icy hand clutched at her heart.
“Oh, here you are, Silvanus!” a gay voice cried from the door. “Where have you been hiding yourself? I declare you are the worst host in England.”
It was Lais who came sweeping across the floor, followed by several of her friends. She was too clever to make a scene, but there was no doubt at all that the look she gave Candida was one of hatred, even while her lips smiled and her voice belied the rancour she was feeling.
The Pretty Horse-Breakers Page 16