“Well, then.” She smiled, dabbing her lips with her handkerchief. “I think we are settled. We shall see you in two weeks in London. And hopefully before?”
“I do hope so,” Henriette added, “though I am sure Ada will have other engagements,” she added pointedly.
Ada swallowed. “Yes,” she said, looking at her tea. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
She was meeting Oscar Ridlington tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
MEETING IN THE WOODLANDS
MEETING IN THE WOODLANDS
“Look there, my lady! Observe the steep rise there – it makes wonderful terrain for a gallop!”
“I can imagine,” Ada agreed, leaning across from her saddle to view it better. It was late afternoon, and Ada was riding on the Ridlington estate. Oscar rode beside her, attentive, and the rest of their party followed, keeping a distance of about a hundred paces.
Dressed in her dove-blue riding dress, Ada felt overly-warm. She felt perspiration trickle down her forehead and self-consciously wiped it away. The morning had been spent in awkward conversation with the young duke's friends, and now they rode along the hills of the estate. Ada felt as if she had been walking all day under the hot sun, exhaustion sapping at her strength.
“We could return to the pavilion, if you are overheated?” The duke's handsome face showed concern.
Ada grimaced. The man missed nothing. “I am well, milord. I merely have a headache.”
“Lady Ada?” a rider called out, a young woman in a pink dress. Ada, feeling tired, struggled to recall her name.
“Lady Sandra,” she recalled. “What is it?”
“I think I will return,” Sandra said, fanning herself. “A few of us ladies are feeling faint. Will you accompany us, or stay on?”
“I...” Ada was tempted, and hesitated as she glanced sideways at the duke.
“No,” he said hastily. When Ada raised a brow, he continued, “I wished to show you my estate, my lady.” He smiled winningly.
“Very well,” Ada said, and turned to the lady, blank-faced. Lady Sandra raised an elegant shoulder.
“Very well,” she said lightly, frowning from Ada to the man who rode beside her. “I shall see you this evening,” she added, inclining her head to Ada before she rode lightly to the back of the column.
Ada watched her leave, feeling half-envious that the woman could ride off so blithely, when she herself was constrained by manners and custom to stay where she was . She turned to her right, where Oscar rode.
“I do feel a little ill,” she said lightly. “My head aches, somewhat, and I am tired...” She hoped he would allow her to return to the house. She was sure it was at least in part the tension of being continuously polite and attentive that made her head ache.
“A headache?” he said. “We should alert Simmons, my physician, if it persists...” Oscar began, turning in the saddle to view the rest of the company, riding far behind. “I cannot presume to take headaches too lightly, especially in so small and delicate a young lady.” He smiled winningly.
Ada bridled. As much as she appreciated his concern, she did not like the implication that she needed his protection. She knew it was silly, but when Oscar referred to her as “frail” or “delicate” it seemed he said them to belittle, not as a kindness.
“I am, I assure you, far from frail,” she said thinly, feeling her composure fray. He blinked, as if unused to argument. To her surprise, a look of anger crossed his face.
“Very well,” he said huffily. “I was only showing concern.” He turned away as if he would sulk, and Ada sighed.
“I did not mean to be unfair, my lord. Thank you for your concern. It was kind.”
They rode side by side in silence for a while, and Ada found herself wondering if he would ever talk to her again. He is like a child. An unsure child, always needing praise and attention! She had only known him for two days, but already the combination of overarching arrogance and insecurity had made itself apparent to her.
Watching him that day at the hunting pavilion, she had noticed how easily he lost his temper, and how he craved to be at the center of the gathering, drawing every eye. She found that if she looked elsewhere, he would quickly claim her attention again, whether by tugging on her sleeve to make some comment, or by starting a heated debate into which she would be drawn. It was draining, and she found she missed Margaret and Medora – they might be children, but they were more independent than this man!
“I want to go up that hill,” Oscar said suddenly, intruding on her thoughts. “Are you coming?”
Ada looked at the hill he indicated. It was steep, a daunting rise. If she went up there, she would tire herself and her horse, and she would be alone with Oscar for hours.
“I am not sure, my lord,” she said frankly.
“You are no fun, you know that?” he said suddenly, his voice loud enough to be heard by the riders behind them.
Ada flushed dark red.
“I wonder, then, that you bade me ride with you,” she said thinly. “You could ride alone, or with any other member of the company. I shall go back.”
Saying that, she turned her horse and headed for the rear of the column.
“No!” he said loudly, clutching at her sleeve as she passed him. “You are my guest, and I desire you to see my estate. I did not say you should leave.”
Ada looked down at his hand on her arm. He was gripping hard enough to leave marks in the flesh. She cast her gaze slowly and deliberately back up to his face.
“You will release me, sir,” she said quietly. “I do not require your permission to leave.”
He stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. His gaze narrowed and his lip trembled, as if he was containing some great anger. He stiffened. Then he unclasped his hand. Ada continued on her ride, heading for the back of the column.
“Lady Ada!”
She heard him call, but she did not look back. Shaking with anger, she rode resolutely down the way they had come, hoping she could find the ladies who had returned earlier.
“Uncouth, unmannered, oafish...” Ada whispered under her breath as she rode. She had never felt so angry in her life.
“Lady Ada!” one of the party hailed her as she trotted briskly past. “Where are you going?”
“Back,” Ada called out in response, and clenched her knees, guiding her horse into a gallop. The thought of riding with the duke's friends was almost as bad as the thought of him – most of them were shallow, insincere and permanently-bored with everything in life. She found their company as tiresome as she did his own.
“Let's go!” she whispered to her horse, and tightened her knees, urging her to faster speeds still. They flew past the last man in the column and headed out into the open land.
“Whee!” Ada cried out as her bonnet whipped away and her hair unclasped, tumbling about her shoulders. They were flying now, racing over the grass in a speed so fast and driving that she could barely keep her place on the horse's back. This was riding. This was living. This was joy!
She felt her teeth chattering and her bones rattling as her whole body shook with the gallop. She screamed, a whoop of delight and wonder.
She did not watch the countryside – even if she had wanted to, she could not have, as they coursed too fast to see it – but let the horse have her head as they raced across the land.
Her horse was tiring, and Ada sat up, slowly indicating that they could stop, now.
Panting, sides heaving and flecked with foam, her horse stood still. She lowered her head, utterly exhausted. Ada, also exhausted, leaned forward, almost collapsing. She felt her body slide and she fell from the saddle, toppling into the grass, too tired to move.
She lay there, soaked with perspiration and panting as she tried to catch her breath. The sky pulsed in and out of focus, Ada's vision blurred with her exhaustion.
“We had a good run, didn't we?” she sighed, smiling, as the horse walked over and nudged her. “We had a good ride.”
The ho
rse huffed. A tall hunting horse, dark chestnut, she was not Ada's own horse, but lent to her from Oscar's stables.
Ada shivered as the wind cooled her and drew her riding-cloak about her.
“We need to go home, don't we?”
Ada asked it of the horse, stroking her forehead on the blaze of white that ran down from her ears to where the bridle crossed her nose.
As she stood there, hearing the wind sigh and the sound, somewhere, of thunder from a summer storm, Ada realized she did not know the way home.
She had not thought about it, had simply ridden to escape the tedium and the drain of Oscar's conversation. If this were her own horse, she would know the way. But she was not.
Ada looked about, judging the terrain. She was on a grassy plain, sloping gently toward woodland. On her left, the ground rose, rising in a craggy hill, and behind her, the ground sloped up as well, toward Redhill Place, the home of Oscar.
“I don't want to go back,” Ada said under her breath. At that moment, dying of cold seemed a preferable choice. As she stood there, she heard the thunder growl again, and realized the storm was coming closer, borne on the stiff wind that had risen as she rode.
“We should move,” Ada said to her horse. The horse huffed gently, and they stood for a while longer, still too tired to move.
The first raindrop caught Ada on the nose-bridge, running wet and coldly down to her chin.
“It's time to move.”
She and the horse walked, slowly and exhaustedly, into the trees. They were both damp with rain when they reached the margins of the woods, and, as they entered the trees, the rain began to fall in earnest. The fact that they kept them dry was the only good thing about being below the trees. Gloomy and impenetrable, the trees were close and kept out the light.
They walked, the sound of their steps muffled on the fallen leaves. I think we're lost.
The ride had started after tea, which meant that they had four hours until the sun began to set. She must have been riding for at least two hours, and so they only had two hours, by her reckoning, to escape these woods. If darkness fell while they were lost, they would not be able to find their way at least until the next morning.
She looked for shadows of the trees, trying to gauge where south was. It was almost too dark to discern them, but in a clearing it was possible to see.
“South is that way,” Ada said, relieved. “So we are heading in the right direction.”
Her horse whickered and continued on.
They walked for what Ada judged to be a quarter of an hour, then stopped. Ada tried to ease her sense of disquiet. She thought they were heading in the right direction, but could not understand why she had seen no recognised landmarks yet. Northfell Place was here – she should be almost at the gates!They carried on, and Ada's spirits lightened when she saw a hunting track across the leaf-strewn floor.
“We're getting closer!” she sang out. It was a good thing, as it was getting dark.
Suddenly she heard voices. She halted her horse, and they listened. The coincidence seemed too great, but she was sure she recognized the easy lilting voice.
“So, we should put in fences. That way, Farmer Blannard cannot complain about our foxes...”
“Very good, milord,”
Ada rode out into the clearing.
“You!”
She gasped it before she realized she had spoken aloud. The man in the clearing, talking calmly with his manservant, was Lord Liam Donnelly.
She covered her mouth with her hand, stammering, “I did not mean to be rude,”
He stared at her, his expression intense.
“No offense was taken,” he said gently. “Welcome to my estate.”
“I’m sorry for just appearing here.” She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.
He smiled. He had the most beautiful smile. It lit his face. “Not at all, my lady. I am in the forest. I expect enchantment and magic here.”
Ada stared at him and swallowed, feeling color flushing her face.
“My lord,” she said, deciding he was joking with her, “flattery will get you nowhere.” She smiled archly and tried to ride past. She knew where she was now, after all. There is no need to linger here.
“It was no flattery.” His eyes were intense, the feeling raw and pure for anyone to read. His gaze was awed, not demeaning, and Ada looked back into his eyes, returning it.
She swallowed hard. “I would not expect flattery from someone so honorable,” she said quietly.
The man stared at her. He made a choking sound, and if Ada had not known it was not possible, she would have thought tears shone in his eyes.
“Honorable.” His voice was blank and the word fell like a cast stone between them.
“Yes,” Ada said, surprised. “That is what I said.”
He gave a huff of a laugh – not a pleasant sound.
“What?” Ada asked, confused but forthright.
“Nothing.” His voice was thick with emotion.
“My Lord Donnelly!” Ada said gently. “What is the matter? I did not mean any offense.”
“Nothing!” He spat the word, savagely, and Ada stiffened. “Sorry,” he added, though it did nothing to heal the wounding she felt.
“Do not be sorry,” Ada said tightly. “You do not owe me an apology. You owe me nothing.”
Still feeling hurt, she turned her horse and rode away.
“Wait!”
His voice rang out in the trees behind her.
Ada did not turn back. She was exhausted, every sinew trembling, pushed almost to the limit of her strength. But she did not stop.
Holding her head high, Ada rode slowly but steadily home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DISCUSSION IN THE DARKNESS
DISCUSSION IN THE DARKNESS
The top room of the manor overlooked the trees. It was a plain room, the walls whitewashed and simple, the fireplace unadorned, a blaze cracking and popping in the grate. The floor was bare parquet, and the only furniture was a dark oak chair and table and the countless bookshelves lining the walls.
Liam Donnelly, Earl of Westmeath, leaned back in the single chair and sighed. He reached for a brandy and stoked up the blaze, thankful for this private haven. Here he could be alone with his thoughts. This small room was the one reason he had insisted on leasing Northfell. Here, he could hide. Only Toby would approach him here, and even he would do so with caution. That was why he had fled to it the moment he returned from the woods.
Ada!
Liam could not stop thinking of her. The flames in the grate reminded him of her hair, the gentle sough of wind in the trees was her voice. The stars, shining out from the clouded sky, were her tear-soft eyes. He grinned ironically, amazed at how quickly he had lost his heart to that beautiful woman.
It was not only her beauty, though that, he had to admit, was considerable. It was the simple fact that she spoke to him naturally and easily. No sense of awe at his title, no sense of fear for his scar. It was that which had struck him from the moment of their meeting, that enchanted day in the woodland. She had looked at him unflinching, and spoken to him easily.
How could I have insulted her?
Liam could not believe he had been so stupid. Of all the ridiculous, contemptible things he had done, that was one he hated. Ada was the one person who had reached out to him since his return from India, the one person who had even tried to breach the walls he had built around his heart.
“I drove her away,” he said sadly. The reappearance of her in his life had seemed a miracle. And now, instead of embracing this unexpected boon, he had insulted her, had driven her from him.
“I must be mad,” he sighed. “Now she is gone from me.”
He could not decide if this was a good or a bad thing. Probably a good one. If he had started caring too much for her, it would simply have hurt worse when she turned away. And she will turn away. He was sure of it.
“She hasn't seen me in the daylight yet.” She had not seen
his scar.
Liam was not sure of that, but thought it must be correct. If she had seen it, she would have registered some response – horror, or amusement, or distress. He had seen a whole range of such reactions. Total neutrality was one he did not think was possible. His uncle had forced him to attend a party after his return, and no young lady he had met there had simply ignored his wound.
At the very least, she would ask me to explain it. And then?
“And I would tell her I had been wounded during pursuit of innocent civilians, in the act of ploughing down harmless folk.”
She would hate him then, as much as he hated himself.
He could not bear to see those soft eyes harden with hate, that gentle smile twist in amusement or disappear in horror. Her contempt or her pity would both sear through him deeper than any blade.
She called me honorable.
That was possibly more agonizing than any wound.
“I am not honorable,” Liam said, stoking the fire savagely. “I am contemptible. A beast. A hideous, maimed creature.”
With every word, he poked the fire, as if he drove the heated metal into his own flesh.
“Liam?”
“Toby!”
Liam whipped round, startled. He was almost angry with his friend for intruding on his misery.
“May I come in?”
“Yes,” Liam sighed. All the anger drained, and he felt simply exhausted.
“Thanks,” Toby said briefly. He crossed the threshold and lowered himself to the floor at the fireplace, warming his back.
“I thought you were in London?” Liam had said farewell to his friend that morning, fully expecting not to see him again until the season's end.
“I was supposed to go this morning.” Toby shrugged. “But I thought it would be more fun if we went together.”
“Toby, I...” Liam felt his breath catch in his throat, heart pounding. He surprised himself by the intensity of his own fear. “You know I cannot,” he hissed. Toby had known him for years! Of all people, he knew he could not venture into society.
An Earl To Remember (The Yorkshire Downs Series - Love, Hearts and Challenges) (A Regency Romance Story) Page 5