by Amanda Scott
“And what she could have done about it if he had,” Lady Trevaris interposed with more candor than tact, “I should like to know.”
Since the comment was clearly rhetorical, Catheryn ignored Tiffany’s indignant and unladylike glare. “Has your brother been ill, Lady Margaret?”
“He was wounded!” Maggie answered with dramatic fervor. “He nearly lost his leg entirely!”
“Pack of butchers,” Lady Trevaris stated. “Rather cut it off than tend it properly.” Noting Catheryn’s astonishment, she deigned to elucidate. “Boy was wounded at Cuidad Rodrigo.” Catheryn opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Trevaris waved her impatiently to silence. “Yes, yes, I know that was January. Poor boy’s been bounced from hospital to hospital for three months. Had to get to Brussels before he found a doctor who didn’t want to cut the leg off. Weak as a kitten when he finally came home. Where he belonged,” she added tartly.
Maggie smiled fondly at her aunt but her eyes twinkled when she spoke to the others. “Aunt Augusta is certain her ministrations are the sole reason for Tony’s rapid recuperation. She knows perfectly well that, because of his major’s knowing the doctor personally, Tony was got quite quickly to Brussels. All the same, it must have been horrid for him to think he might lose his leg.”
“That’s as may be.” Lady Trevaris clearly intended to have the last word. “But Anthony made up his mind not to lose the leg and, easy-mannered though he may be, he generally gets what he sets his mind to. Miss Westering, that horse of yours fidgets!”
The others laughed, but Catheryn admitted that Chieftain was not best pleased to stand still while other horses trotted past him. She and Tiffany made their adieux, promising to call at Stanthorpe House quite soon. When they had left the Varling carriage behind, Tiffany, who had been looking about as though in search of a particular face, suggested that Catheryn take Bert and find a spot where she could exercise Chieftain properly.
“For he is fidgeting dreadfully, Catheryn, and I intend just to walk Angel along the row, stopping now and again, you know, to speak to my particular friends. I’m afraid Chieftain won’t appreciate anything so tame as that.”
Aware as she was that she was being manipulated, Catheryn nevertheless agreed. She was uncertain how much longer she would be able to control her powerful mount and, with relief, turned him toward an invitingly empty stretch of greensward where she could let him have his head. As she neared the open space, she turned in her saddle and was unsurprised to observe that Tiffany had been joined by a fair-haired gentleman on horseback and that Tiffany’s groom had obligingly dropped some distance behind. Mentally shrugging her shoulders, she spoke to Chieftain.
“Now, my fine fellow, you shall have your run. Then, perhaps you will contrive to behave yourself. Stay with us, if you are able,” she called to Bert.
“Aye, miss,” was the gruff reply. Catheryn chuckled as she dug her heel into the horse’s flank. Chieftain needed no further urging but was off, ears pricked forward and tail like a banner, his long easy stride making him a joy to ride. Catheryn felt the thrill of a long-denied pleasure. Lady Caston disapproved of what she called neck-or-nothing riding for females. It never occurred to Catheryn that members of the Beau Monde might likewise disapprove. The half-mile of greensward was soon behind her, and she had no difficulty slowing Chieftain for the turn before she gave him his head again. Bert had already turned his slower mount and she waved gaily when she passed him. He managed a smile in return.
Drawing near to the end of the green, she was startled to recognize the large black stallion with the white blaze whose rider, also recognizable and scowling besides, seemed to be waiting for her. Tiffany was nowhere in sight.
“Good morning, Lord Dambroke!” she called as she pulled Chieftain up before him. She patted the horse, pleased that he now seemed willing to behave and not missing the small gleam of reluctant admiration in his lordship’s eye. Bert tactfully reined in some distance behind.
Dispensing with amenities, Dambroke snapped, “Are you such a madcap then, Miss Westering, that you must needs flout all the conventions?”
Catheryn blinked, taken aback more by his words than by his anger. “Not intentionally, my lord. Though I suppose,” she added as the thought occurred to her, “it was not quite the thing for me to gallop headlong through Hyde Park.” She sighed. “I did so enjoy it, too.”
“You’ll not get vouchers to Almack’s by enjoying yourself in that manner, however.”
“Almack’s!” She had thought it was a mere pipe dream that she might actually visit the famous and very exclusive assembly rooms in Pall Mall. She stared at him, pushing windblown hair from her face. “Your mother mentioned it, of course, but I didn’t think it possible. Does she truly intend me to fly so high?”
His expression relaxed. “She cannot wish for you to remain quietly at home on Wednesday evenings, you know.”
“Heavens, how exciting! I am indeed sorry if I have done anything to overset such plans.”
“Well, perhaps it is not so bad as that. My mother’s friend Emily Cowper, one of the august patronesses, is possibly amiable enough to overlook this escapade.” He frowned again. “You ride well, but Chieftain is not a suitable mount for you.”
Catheryn chuckled. “I wonder if it will put you off your stride, sir, if I admit that you are quite right.” She peeped up through innocently lowered lashes.
“Of course it will not! I know I am right. Chieftain could toss you off at any moment had he a mind to do so.”
Catheryn snapped her head up indignantly. “I daresay I should be less likely to put you into a rage if I were to agree with that ridiculous statement as well, my lord,” she said steadily, “but if you consider the matter, you must know that could he have done so, he would have put me off in the stableyard. And so Mr. Hobbs must have informed you. Chieftain might run away with me, but he will not throw me.”
Dambroke turned Blaze toward the gate, smiling at last. “A point to you, Miss Westering, though I hope we shall not haggle over details. The fact remains that you should not have ridden him.”
“Yes, sir, I expect that is the crux of the matter,” Catheryn answered sweetly, as she guided Chieftain in beside the stallion. “The fact is that you are in a miff, not because you worried about my safety, but because I rode your horse. I should not have done so, however, without your permission.”
The contrite expression accompanying the final statement was belied by the twinkle in her eye, but if she expected a rise to her lure, she soon found she had mistaken her opponent. “I suppose I am, at that,” he answered after reflecting for a moment. “However, I do know who is to blame for this. I have already sent my sister home with a flea in her ear and a promise that she will hear more when we return.”
Having intended to draw his anger in order to shield Tiffany, Catheryn realized that she had underestimated his acuity. She watched with approval as he checked the stallion’s aversion to an urchin who darted suddenly from the flagway. Chieftain had settled down admirably after his brief run, but Blaze seemed to become increasingly nervous as they encountered heavier traffic.
“You handle him well, my lord.” He grinned and Catheryn was surprised by her reaction to it. She had not noticed before, but the blasted man was capable of charm. Oddly flustered, she added with more bluntness than she had intended, “He does not belong in the city, however!”
He sent her a quizzical look. “Getting your own back, Cousin? No, no!” he laughed when she tossed her head, a stormy glint in her eye. “I cry pardon. You are right. I had hoped to civilize him, but he is definitely a country horse. I intend to send him down to the Park. I shall have a suitable mount brought up to town for your use at the same time. You are not to ride Chieftain again.”
“No, sir, I should not have taken him at all.” She was contrite again, but genuinely so this time.
“I daresay Tiffany assured you that I should not mind,” he answered grimly.
“Please, my lord, it was
my fault. My grandfather would have flogged me had I dared to ride a new horse without his permission, and this is much the same thing.”
“Nonsense!” he retorted. “My sister knows perfectly well that I allow no one to ride Blaze or Chieftain. She merely wanted an excuse to get you out of the way while she kept her assignation with that damned Lawrence fellow!”
So that was Lawrence. “Well, of course she did. Your mother practically forced me upon her in the first place.”
“My compliments to my mother,” he muttered.
“Oh, don’t be so muttonheaded!” Catheryn protested, exasperated. “It seems to me, my lord, that you have been doing your best to make your bird-witted sister see herself in the role of star-crossed lover, and that damned Lawrence fellow, as you so snidely refer to him, would have to be every bit as muttonheaded himself not to take advantage of it.” She stopped short, aghast at her effrontery, and stared at the back of Chieftain’s head, waiting for the explosion of wrath. It did not come.
“By God,” he said slowly, “I never thought about it in that light. She’s probably poured her heart out to that scoundrel. He certainly encourages every excess, even agreed to take her to a masquerade at Vauxhall.”
“Just so, my lord. And you put a stop to it, did you not?”
“Of course I did. Vauxhall’s no place for a respectable female. But I see what you mean,” he added. “Yes, I do see what you mean.” He lapsed into meditation, and Catheryn would have let the matter drop, but he spoke again. “Nevertheless, I shall speak to her about this morning’s affair. Her conduct was both unmannerly and deceitful.”
“Well, you need not,” Catheryn stated flatly. “It would be a bacon-brained thing to do. And that’s not funny,” she added when he burst into laughter.
“I daresay,” he answered when he could control himself. Meeting her accusing glare, he attempted to explain. “It’s only that I have not been called muttonheaded or bacon-brained by a female since I was in short coats. Do you always use such colorful language, Catheryn?”
She blushed. “I beg your pardon. I know I should not do so, but when I get carried away, I forget. It comes of living so long with Grandpapa, I expect. And I have not given you leave to call me Catheryn, sir.”
Ignoring the rider, he shook his head, eyes atwinkle. “Don’t beg my pardon. I like it. This conversation makes me feel I’ve known you for years instead of just two short days.”
She nodded. “Less than twenty-four hours, actually. But there is nothing like a quarrel for getting to know someone.”
Dambroke laughed. “I never considered quarreling a means to friendship, but I believe you may be right once more. However, we are not quarreling now. I am as wax in your hands. If I must not take Tiffany to task, please, what am I to do instead?”
Regarding him solemnly as though to assure herself that he spoke in earnest, it occurred to her that she liked him very much in this mood. “You may not care for it, my lord.” She paused, giving him a chance to demur, but he remained silent. “Very well. I think you must allow her to believe you hold me entirely responsible.” His brows knitted. “You need say nothing,” she added quickly. “Leave it to me. It is not impossible, I assure you. I could have stopped her, you know. I saw Hobbs’s face when she said you would not mind.” His frown deepened. “There, you see. You are becoming angry with me. I shall simply tell her that I have had a regular bear garden jaw and that you have nothing further to say to her.”
“And what do you expect this to accomplish?”
She thought for a moment “It seems to me,” she began, “that if one knows oneself to be at fault for an other’s misfortune, one usually tries to make it up to that person in other ways. Even if she only believes me to be shielding her from your anger”
“Which you are.”
“Even so, she ought to be grateful and behave accordingly.”
“Much you know.”
Catheryn glanced at him uncertainly. “I believe it will turn the trick, my lord. Your mother said Tiffany needs to think about someone else for a change.”
“True enough, but your plan comes from the twisted sort of thinking that passes for female logic. Tiffany is much more likely to take advantage of your good nature.”
Catheryn smiled sweetly. “Not if you contrive to be out of charity with me a bit longer. She will take her lead from you, sir.”
“Take her lead from me!” He stared at her and then grimaced. “I believe I take your meaning, Cousin. Did I say your logic was twisted? Upon reflection, I must correct the word to Machiavellian. My compliments.”
“Never mind your compliments, sir. We are approaching Grosvenor Square. Scowl, if you please. Your sister is very likely on the watch for your arrival. Her bedchamber overlooks the square, you know.”
V
DAMBROKE DISAPPEARED INTO HIS library, and Catheryn decided to have her breakfast before going in search of Lady Tiffany. By the time she had finished her second cup of tea, she had managed to learn from Morris, the footman, that her ladyship had refused breakfast, having come home, as he described it, “in a regular snit.” Her ladyship still had not recovered when Catheryn found her a bit later in her bedchamber. Tiffany had changed to a becoming round gown of pale green sprigged muslin with a matching sash and was standing by her window gazing into the square. She turned, her expression sullen.
“Oh, it’s you. I expected Richard.” Catheryn was silent, radiating dejection. “Good gracious! Surely he has not been scolding you as well!”
Catheryn flung herself into a comfortable silk-covered chair. “I should never have ridden his stupid horse.”
“Of all the odious, rag-mannered … he knows it was all my fault!”
Catheryn looked up wide-eyed. “But it was not your fault, Tiffany. I shouldn’t have ridden his horse without permission. Besides, Dambroke was worried about my safety, and worry causes some people to become fearfully angry, you know.”
“Piffle!” Tiffany snapped, coming from the window to sit in a most unladylike manner on the foot of her bed. “It was neither fear nor worry, but pure selfishness. He cannot bear anyone to ride or drive his horses. Or to use his guns, for that matter. He once gave our cousin, Jonathan, a trimming for taking a shotgun out without permission. And Jonathan, let me tell you, is a crack shot! Then, Maggie’s brother, Captain Varling, just for a prank—he is a great jokester—once drove Richard’s bays hitched to a farm wagon. Richard was livid!” She had been looking straight at Catheryn, but at this point she lowered her gaze to her hands, beginning to pick with the fingers of one at the nails of the other. “I know that is not qu-quite what I t-told you before, Catheryn, but I truly did not intend you to incur his displeasure. I should not purposely inflict that on anyone. I thought we would be home before he emerged from his bedchamber. He and Lord Thomas were out very late.”
“I expect Hobbs had second thoughts and sent him a message,” Catheryn replied.
“I-I never thought. Please, Catheryn, I only….”
“You only wanted me to be so occupied with Chieftain that I could not interfere with your assignation,” Catheryn offered helpfully, when she hesitated.
“Yes … I mean, no, of course not!” Looking into Catheryn’s eyes, she encountered frank disbelief and hunched her shoulders. “Oh, very well. But please believe I never meant for you to suffer. I just wanted to speak with James—Mr. Lawrence, that is—and I did know that you would not like to ride old Cloud, so I … well, I’m sorry.”
Catheryn smiled gently. “I do believe you, Tiffany. But you must see that, with regard to Chieftain, I was as much to blame, for I do know better than to ride a gentleman’s horse without his permission. Also, I am older than you. But I jumped at the opportunity and so have come by my just deserts. I only hope he won’t pack me back to Caston Manor in disgrace.”
“Well, he will not do anything so shabby,” declared her ladyship. “He will still have much to say to me about meeting James, I daresay, but if he did not say
at once that you must leave, he will not do so at all.”
“Perhaps not. But why,” Catheryn asked, deciding things were going very satisfactorily, “would he not merely assume that you had met Mr. Lawrence by chance?”
Willingly, Tiffany launched into a complete, though somewhat tangled history of her relationship with Mr. Lawrence. Punctuated though it was by animadversions upon her unfeeling and dictatorial brother and the lack of understanding by other such stuffy persons, the tale was easy enough for Catheryn to follow. According to Tiffany, Mr. Lawrence’s family was a perfectly respectable one, and they had met at some party or other. They had discovered a mutual taste for early rides and often met at the Park where they carried on long and fascinating conversations. She described Lawrence as the epitome of all desirable masculine attributes, except of course in the matter of fortune. He was so kind, so good, so sympathetic, so understanding. He cared about her feelings in a manner of which others, unspecified, were incapable. She wasn’t by any means certain as yet, but she thought she might very likely be falling in love with him. Dambroke, of course, would do all possible to rend them asunder. It was dastardly that she and James could see so little of each other just because he wasn’t odiously rich. Indeed, Dambroke had insulted him, had called him a damned fortune hunter, which anyone with sense must know was perfectly ridiculous.
“I expect Dambroke is right, you know.”
“I beg your pardon!”
Unruffled, though certain she had just joined the ranks of the unfeeling, Catheryn continued, “Don’t fly into the boughs, Tiffany. I merely voiced an opinion. Probably I know nothing at all, but Dambroke strikes me as a fair man, a man of sense. I have little else upon which to base an opinion. You said, however, that Mr. Lawrence has no fortune of his own. I would think him odd if he did not make a push to acquire one through marriage—just like Lord Thomas, you know. But, of course, you know him. If you say he is no fortune hunter, I must listen.” Tiffany regarded her doubtfully, and Catheryn chuckled. “Never mind. Even fortune hunters may fall in love. I daresay that is what has occurred here. After all, you are only seventeen. No fortune hunter worth his salt will want to wait four years or more for the fortune.”