Tangled Reins and Other Stories

by Stephanie Laurens

  When Dorothea’s wits finally returned she was on the box-seat of Hazelmere’s curricle, the Marquis by her side, smartly heading his greys out of the inn yard, setting them on the road leading south. She glanced up at his profile, clearly visible in the bright moonlight. Her determination to force a clear declaration from him grew. Aside from anything else, if what had just occurred was any indication of how he planned to settle disagreements between them in future, unless there was some balance in their relationship, she would never win any arguments at all. Her mind made up, she reviewed her options.

  THE ROAD BETWEEN Tadworth and Dorking was narrow but otherwise in good condition. Which, reflected Hazelmere, was just as well. The hedges on either side cast shadows over the road, and despite the silvery moonlight he could not see far ahead. And his love would not remain silent for long. One glance as they left the inn had convinced him that she was merely gathering her forces. He glanced at her now and found her looking speculatively at him. Her brows rose in mute question.

  He smiled back and returned his attention to his horses. He had no intention of initiating a conversation. Let her make the first move.

  This was not long in coming. ‘Are you ever going to tell me just what has been going on?’

  Thinking ‘No’ by far the safest answer, he regretfully settled for, ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘How long before we reach Hazelmere?’

  ‘About an hour.’

  ‘Plenty of time to explain, then. Even with your greys in hand.’

  ‘But we have to reach Hazelmere Water before dawn.’

  ‘Why?’

  Glancing down at her lovely, confused countenance, he smiled reassuringly. ‘Because that’s the supposed reason for this midnight jaunt, and so at least one of you, having been so insistent on seeing it, had better do so. Just in case someone like Sally Jersey, who has also seen it, asks for a description.’

  Raising her eyes to his face, Dorothea asked in weary resignation, ‘Just what is this tale you’ve woven? You had much better tell me from the beginning if I’m supposed to convince the likes of Lady Jersey of the truth of it.’

  Content to keep the conversation on relatively safe ground, Hazelmere obliged. He started by telling her what happened after she had left Merion House. ‘You’ll have to remember to make your peace with Ferdie.’

  ‘Was he terribly bothered?’

  ‘Incensed.’ He sketched the outline of the story, omitting to tell her that they were supposedly betrothed. He spent some minutes impressing on her the magnitude of Fanshawe’s and his sacrifices in saving Cecily’s and her reputations. Hearing her chuckle over Ferdie’s mission to spread the tale far and wide, he hoped he had diverted her mind from what he had not explained.

  Recovering from her giggles, Dorothea mentally reviewed what she had heard, her eyes fixed on the offside horse. This midnight drive was possibly the best chance she would ever have of extracting information from Hazelmere. In normal circumstances, his physical presence was so distracting that it was a constant battle of mind against body to formulate sensible questions, let alone combat his evasive answers. But, since he was now perched on the box-seat beside her, his hands occupied with the reins and his attention divided between his horses and herself, the odds were more even. She would certainly have to encourage him to take her driving more often in future. Silent, they passed through Dorking and into the country lanes leading to Hazelmere. Bringing her gaze back to his face, she said in the most non-committal of tones, ‘What were the other notes Mr Buchanan had sent?’

  He recalled a comment of Ferdie’s that she had a habit of asking questions so it was impossible to sidle out of them. Resigned to the inevitable, he answered, ‘He made two previous attempts to abduct you. That was something I didn’t foresee when I decided to convince the ton of my interest in you.’

  The moonlight had completely faded and sunrise was not far off. They had crossed the Hazelmere boundary, and the look-out over the ornamental lake known as Hazelmere Water was not far ahead.

  After a considerable pause while she tried to analyse his actions in all this Dorothea said, ‘I take it the first was the Bressington masquerade?’

  ‘Yes. There’s nothing you don’t know about that, except I knew it wasn’t a joke. That was why I was suddenly so ridiculously attentive, even attending that boring party that Sunday. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to learn your engagements. Did you know one of my footmen is walking out with your maid?’

  Dorothea regarded him with a fascinated expression. He grinned and continued, ‘The second attempt was at the picnic you attended with Ferdie. He forgot to give you a note delivered while you were there. It was unaddressed, so he opened it when his man found it the next day. It was supposedly signed by me, but Ferdie knows my signature and so he brought it to me. Tony was with me at the time, so after that both of them knew.’

  ‘When did the rest of your friends find out?’

  Impossible to deny it. ‘On Wednesday, at a luncheon. I had to leave town, and Tony and Ferdie couldn’t hope to keep you in sight all the time.’

  ‘Did it never occur to you to tell me?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. But I couldn’t see what good it would do.’ Seeing her frown, he sighed. ‘Who could know if and when the next attempt might be made?’

  The silence on his left was complete. After a minute he risked a glance and found she was regarding him quizzically. ‘You’re quite abominably high-handed, you know.’

  He smiled sweetly and replied, ‘Yes, I know. But only with the best of intentions.’

  The curricle topped a gentle rise and just beyond the crest Hazelmere turned the horses on to the grass verge, cropped to form a look-out. ‘And that,’ he announced, ‘is Hazelmere Water.’

  With the sun breaking over the distant horizon, the scene spread beneath her feet was breathtakingly beautiful. He jumped down from the curricle and tied the reins firmly to a bush. He lifted her down and together they descended a flight of shallow steps cut into the escarpment. These led to a small plateau beneath the crest where a stone bench stood by an old oak. An uninterrupted view of the valley below unfurled at their feet. Hazelmere Water was a large ornamental lake edged by clumps of willows. There was an island in the middle with more willows, and a summer-house, painted white, showing through the lacy foliage. Swans cruised slowly on the gentle currents of the stream that fed the lake from one end and exited at the other.

  As the sun climbed higher the colours of the scene changed constantly from the first cool sepia tones through the warm pink tints of early sunrise and the golden glow of increasing light, until finally, as the sun cleared the hills behind the lake and shone forth unhindered, the bright greens of the grass and willows and the deep blue of the lake showed clear and intense.

  Seated on the bench, Dorothea watched in speechless delight. Hazelmere, beside her, had viewed the sight on many occasions. He still found pleasure in it, but today had eyes only for the woman beside him. Returning to London with the firm intention of settling their past and future in one fell swoop, he had found that, instead of waiting patient and secure for him to declare himself, his independent love had gone haring off in the middle of the night to do battle with Edward Buchanan. It really should not have surprised him. While he had little doubt she would have handled the matter after a fashion, her disposition to manage matters her own way had given him an irresistible opportunity to bring their frustrating courtship to its inevitable climax. But now, despite her apparent calm, she was defensive. To be trying to keep him at a distance after all that had passed between them seemed rather odd, even for his independent love. He watched her; delight in the scene before her glowed on her expressive face. Inwardly he sighed. He was going to have to find out what it was that was worrying her. The reins of this affair of theirs had continually tangled; he couldn’t remember when he’d had so much difficulty with a woman. And now he had a sneaking suspicion that, while he had thought he had
got the reins untangled and running free, they had somehow got snagged again.

  With the sun riding the sky, Dorothea turned towards him, her eyes glowing. ‘That was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen! I’m afraid Lord Fanshawe will have to bring Cecily here at dawn after all.’

  Hazelmere had lost interest in Fanshawe and Cecily. ‘Just as long as it’s you who tells him so. Having consigned him to two hours in that carriage with Cecily and your Betsy, I fear I’m not at present riding high in his esteem.’

  Dorothea, suddenly breathless, looked down and found that he had hold of her hand. She felt him move to draw her to him. Knowing that if he kissed her she would lose any chance of retaining sufficient control to force any admission, positive or negative, from him, she resisted. He immediately stopped. For a moment silence, still and deep, engulfed them. Dorothea, her eyes downcast, did not see the long lips curl into a wry smile. Hazelmere could think of only one way to precipitate matters, so he took it. ‘Dorothea?’ His voice was entirely devoid of its usual mocking tone. ‘My dear, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  Despite the fact that she had expected the question, for one long moment she thought the world had stopped turning. Then, her eyes still locked on his hand, gently clasping hers, she struggled to find words to extricate herself from the predicament the question had landed her in. How typical of him! If she simply said yes, she would never learn the truth.

  ‘My lord, I am sensible … very sensible of the honour you do me. However, I … I am not convinced there is … any real … reason or … or basis for marriage between us.’ In the circumstances, Dorothea felt quite pleased with the outcome. Nicely vague.

  Although not surprised, Hazelmere still felt as if he had been winded. How on earth had she come to that wonderful conclusion? Clearly he was going to have to explain a few things to his beloved. Assuming it was his motives she question, he went direct to that issue. ‘Why do you imagine I want to marry you?’

  Hearing the sincerity in his voice, she felt forced to reply truthfully. Now was no time for missish sentiment. ‘You have to marry. I gather you want a conformable wife, to give you heirs and manage your households.’ She paused, then added, ‘Someone who would not interfere with your present lifestyle.’

  For once, he missed the oblique allusion. ‘There’s nothing in my present lifestyle that marriage to you would disrupt.’ For some reason, far from reassuring her, the statement seemed to have the opposite effect.

  Dorothea gulped. For one instant she almost convinced herself that she didn’t want to know. Then she shook her head. ‘In that case, I really don’t think we … would suit.’

  Hazelmere was entirely at sea. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he heard the catch in her voice. Foreseeing an unprofitable and probably distressing time ahead if they continued in this roundabout fashion, he decided to gamble all on one throw. Cutting tangled reins was the fastest way, after all. Provided you could hold the horses afterwards. Possessing himself of both her hands, he drew her around to face him. ‘If you’re adamant that is true, then of course I’ll not press you. But, if you wish to convince me what you say is so, you’ll have to look at me, my love, and tell me you don’t love me.’

  Her heart had sunk like lead at his first sentence. The second threw her into total disarray. How could she do that? In the long silence that ensued she could feel his eyes on her, still warm. If she looked up she would lose.

  ‘Dorothea?’

  Mute, all she could do was shake her head.

  ‘Why? My dear, you’ll have to give me some explanation.’ His voice, unbearably gentle and stripped of its usual lightness, brought her close to tears. She tried to look up and failed. Wrenching her hands free, she stood and took a few agitated steps, stopping beside the trunk of the oak. Her scheming was turning this into a nightmare. Heavens! What on earth had she started?

  Hazelmere watched her. Clearly she was struggling with some imagined demon, but he could hardly deal with it unless she told him what it was. Calmly he stood and strolled to stand behind her. Taking her by the shoulders, he firmly turned her to face him. One hand at her waist held her lightly while the other gently tilted her face up. She stubbornly kept her lovely and far too revealing eyes lowered. ‘Dorothea, why won’t you marry me?’

  Impossible not to answer. In the end, in a voice so small that she could hardly recognise it as her own, she said, ‘Because you don’t love me.’

  For nearly a minute Hazelmere, dazed, remained perfectly still. Then enlightenment dawned, and with it came relief. Dorothea, equally immobile, suddenly felt his hands shake. Startled, she looked up and saw, to her disbelieving fury, that he was laughing! Really laughing! Outraged, she flung away. Or tried to, but he had seen her intention in those beautiful eyes and held on to her, pulling her roughly into his arms and holding her, hard, against him. Rage seared through her, leaving her strangely wan. Then his voice, muffled as he spoke against her hair and still shaking with suppressed laughter, reached her. ‘Oh, sweetheart! What a gem you are! Here I went to the most extraordinary lengths to convince the entire ton, or at least all those who mattered, that I was irrevocably in love with you and the only person who didn’t notice was you!’

  Already stiff and unyielding, she went rigid. She looked up. ‘You don’t love me!’

  The dark brows rose. The hazel eyes, still laughing, gently quizzed her. ‘Don’t I?’

  She tore her eyes from that mesmeric glance. If she was ever to learn the answers she had to pose the questions. ‘What about that bet?’ she asked, trying to sound scornful and not succeeding in the least.

  He propped his shoulders against the oak, still holding her against him. ‘Young men with too much money and not enough sense. There are always bets on such things. It’s nothing new. There are bets on Fanshawe and Cecily, and Julia Bressington and Harcourt, and a few other couples, too.’

  Her eyes had returned to his during this explanation. ‘Really?’

  He nodded, smiling. She dropped her eyes to his shoulder while she considered that. Hazelmere studied her face. When she remained silent he continued, ‘Furthermore, my love, I feel constrained to point out that, had I been seeking a suitable and complaisant wife, I would hardly choose a lady whom I have had to twice rescue from scandalous situations in public inns.’

  ‘But it wasn’t my fault in either case!’ protested Dorothea indignantly. She had glanced up into the teasing hazel eyes but quickly broke the connection. In a small voice she added, ‘I thought perhaps you felt being married to me would be more … comfortable than being married to Miss Buntton.’

  ‘Miss Buntton?’ said Hazelmere incredulously. He shuddered. ‘My dear, being married to a hedgehog would be more comfortable than being married to Miss Buntton.’ Dorothea smothered a giggle. ‘Whoever put that idea … oh, Susan, I suppose?’

  Dorothea nodded. Then another thought occurred. ‘You’re not marrying me because of the … possible scandal over tonight?’

  ‘After I’ve gone to such lengths to ensure there’ll be no scandal? Of course not.’ As she persisted in keeping her eyes down, he added a clincher. ‘Besides, if that were so, how is it that I’ve already got Herbert’s permission to address you?’

  That brought her head up. ‘You have asked his permission!’

  ‘My dear Dorothea, you really should strive to rid yourself of these ramshackle notions you cherish of me. I wouldn’t ask you to marry me if I didn’t have Herbert’s permission to pay my addresses to you.’

  The pious tone pricked her temper. ‘What about your mistresses?’ she asked.

  The hazel eyes caught hers. ‘What about them?’

  She was at a loss. ‘How should I know?’ she said in exasperation.

  ‘Precisely!’ The dry tone left her in no doubt of what he meant. Their eyes held, then he sighed. ‘If you must know, I dismissed my last mistress when I returned to London last September, after meeting you. I’ve had enough mistresses for a lifeti
me. I want a wife.’

  Her gaze had drifted to his cravat and her hands, trapped between them, were apparently occupied in smoothing its folds. Hazelmere sighed. ‘My dear, delightful, idiotic Dorothea, do look at me. I am trying, apparently unsuccessfully, to convince you that I love you. The least you can do is pay attention!’

  Dorothea had exhausted her questions. Obediently she looked up. When her eyes once more locked with his Hazelmere nodded approvingly. ‘Good! For your information, my love, I’ve been in love with you from, I think, the moment I first saw you picking blackberries in Moreton Park woods. What’s more, my reputation notwithstanding, I am not in the habit of seducing village maids or débutantes.’

  The green eyes widened. Slightly breathless, she said, ‘I thought that was part of the bet.’

  Goaded, Hazelmere replied, ‘The only reason I’ve been seducing you, albeit in stages, is because I can’t seem to keep my hands off you!’ At her surprise, he continued, ‘Oh, yes! If you think I have power over you, you have just as much power over me.’

  The thoroughly feminine smile that spread across her lovely features prompted him to tighten his arms around her. ‘Now that I’ve got your full attention, my love, what can I do to convince you I love you?’

  Assuming his question to be purely rhetorical, Dorothea lifted her face for his kiss. His lips gently brushed hers in a series of teasingly gentle kisses that satisfied her not at all. She wriggled her hands free and drew his head more firmly to her. She felt rather than heard his satisfied chuckle, then his lips settled over hers in a long engagement that, despite his intentions, drifted deeper with each passing minute. At some point he pushed her cloak back, allowing him access to her body, still clad in the thin silk evening gown of the night before. Too soon they reached the same point they had in Lady Merion’s drawing-room. Hazelmere, still in control despite his raging desire, mentally cursed. He should not have let it go this far. There was no way he would even consider taking her here. Her first time she should remember with joy, not distaste. But he had already left her in this state once before. He couldn’t do that again.