by Joan Smith
“I talked Fenwick into coming with us,” Swann said. “The swans can be a trifle testy when they have their young about.”
“It didn’t take much persuasion,” Fenwick said to Jane, with a warm smile. “I had planned to horn in on the visit, and was saved the ignominy of begging.”
She sensed a new interest in his attentions. He looked at her in a certain way. It was hard to put a finger on, but his eyes seemed warmer, more interested in her as a woman. Best of all, he didn’t badger her with questions.
They all walked together with the brilliant spring sunshine warming their shoulders. They did not skirt the meadow, but cut through it to the far, narrow end of the crescent lake near Swann Hall, where the swans nested. Walking was difficult through the tall grass, but neither gentleman offered Jane an arm. She enjoyed the luxury of being out in such fine weather, with two gentlemen escorts, and not a single thought of having to hurry back to prepare lessons or mark essays. A feeling of freedom possessed her. It required the greatest effort to restrain herself from running through the flower-spangled meadow. She could not resist the impulse to lift her face to the sun and feel its warmth caressing her. How lovely life was!
Fenwick watched her bemusedly. He didn’t speak, but he felt touched by her enjoyment of such a simple outing. What sort of life did a schoolmistress lead? He had never had occasion to consider it, but he found himself considering it now, and he felt a pang of pity for Miss Lonsdale, and all the ladies like her.
“Take care or you’ll get freckles,” Swann cautioned, when he saw what she was doing.
“I don’t care if I do,” she answered, and laughed in pure pleasure of her freedom.
“Nor do I,” Swarm said. “I like freckles. The nest is just along here,” he added, leading her toward the lake. “Swans mate for life. They might use the nest again, or build a new one next year if they feel like it.”
She saw a rather disorganized heap of vegetation. “Oh, I thought it would be neater, like a robin’s nest, only larger.”
“No, it’s a bit of a mess. You can see some of the broken eggs. They shoved the shells out of the nest.” Pale shards of broken eggs lay on the ground.
“Where are the swans?” she asked.
“I fancy they’re feeding. They eat the greenery that grows along the lake’s edge, and plants that grow in the shallow water. That is why they’re always putting their heads in the water. They ain’t trying to drown themselves, as I used to think when I was a lad.”
They went to the edge of the lake, but saw no sign of the birds. As they watched, a graceful swan sailed forth from the rushes. The bird floated for a few yards, then ducked its head under the water, searching for food.
“Is that the mother?” Jane asked.
“Pen—the female is called a pen,” Swann said. “The male is a cob. It’s hard to tell them apart; there’s no difference in the plumage, but Wilkie is the larger. If they was together, you could tell which was which.”
As they watched, the swan floated toward them. It left the water and waddled up onto dry land to begin nibbling on grass.
“A comical walk, they have,” Swann said. “The black bit around the eyes and top of the beak make them look angry. We’ll go down the shore a bit. T’other one must be hiding in the rushes.”
Another swan sailed forth, carrying six little clumps of brownish-white down on her back. “Oh, how sweet!” Jane exclaimed. “Can the cygnets not swim?”
“They can. The cob pushes them into the water when they’re a day old, but they tire easily and hitch a ride from Minerva. That must be Minerva. Wilkie don’t give free rides.”
“Just like a man!” Jane said pertly.
“Why, I’m sure I would be happy to give you a ride any time, Miss Lonsdale,” Swann said. “Only not on my back, of course. Heh heh. I’m not a cob, after all. That is to say—”
Jane noticed Lord Fenwick’s lips move unsteadily. “And I am not a cygnet,” she said. “I know what you mean, Mr. Swann.”
“So, is it a date?”
“What do you mean?”
“Give you a hurl in my carriage?”
“Oh, that would be nice.”
“Bibury. I shall drive you to Bibury very soon. Go on the strut on the High Street. Have a look at the church. You can go shopping, if you like. I’ve no objection to poking through the shops.”
Fenwick glanced at Jane again, expecting to share a smile at this simple outing. He was surprised to see her genuine pleasure.
She was thinking what a kind man Swann was. “I should like it very much, Mr. Swann,” she said.
“Good. All settled, then. Now, let us have a closer look at Minerva and her brood. Ah, here she comes now. Daresay she is tired out from carrying her family on her back.”
Minerva sailed closer. At the same time, Swann took a step toward her, with Jane following. Jane put out her hand to pick up one of the downy cygnets as they came ashore.
At once, Wilkie came charging toward them, wings raised in a threatening pose and his head down. The swan, usually silent, gave an angry barking sound as it advanced. He made a dart at Jane’s skirts. The graceful bird looked much larger with his wings spread. As she turned to flee, the cob snatched the bottom of her skirt in his beak and began pulling at it.
She shouted, more in alarm than fear, though her heart was pounding. Fenwick picked up a fallen branch and made feinting passes at the bird, while Swann grabbed Jane’s hand and pulled her away. Wilkie released her skirt and subsided somewhat, but kept his wings raised in a menacing attitude, ready to attack again.
Jane was trembling. She noticed Fenwick took a step forward, as if to comfort her. Then he looked at Swann and came to a stop, although Swann made no effort to comfort her.
She said, “I have heard swans are bad tempered, but I’ve never seen one in a pelter before.”
“You shouldn’t have reached for the cygnet,” Swann told her. “I ought to have warned you.”
“I should have known. Any animal will attack when it feels its young are threatened. Even a robin, or a blackbird. How brave they are.”
They watched from a distance as both mature swans began pulling at the grass surrounding the lake. Fenwick noticed that the grass was nearly all gone.
“You had two dozen swans last year, did you say?” he asked Scawen.
“Aye, and now I’m down to four, along with the chicks. First they moved to the far end of the lake, then they disappeared entirely.”
“Two dozen is a large flock for this small area,” Fenwick said, glancing around. “I wonder if they didn’t clear out the food supply. You should put out some grain for them. Birds won’t stay where they can’t feed.”
“I shall speak to the gardener at once. He looks after the swans,” Scawen said, frowning at the frazzled remains of grass. “And while we’re at the Hall, I shall get Miss Lonsdale a glass of wine. She is pale as paper. Let us go along. Mama looks forward to meeting you, Miss Lonsdale.”
With a thought of Lady Sykes, Jane preferred to return to Wildercliffe.
“I look a fright, Mr. Swann. I wore my oldest gown and these old shoes. My shoes are wet and now my skirt is muddied from Wilkie. Another time.”
“Mama won’t mind. She always looks a fright.” He looked at his swans, and decided they were starving to death.
“I would really rather not,” Jane said again.
“Then we must get you home at once.” Again he looked at the hungry swans and frowned. Their topaz eyes seemed to be demanding nourishment.
“I can take Miss Lonsdale home, if you’re in a hurry to speak to Jenkins,” Fenwick offered.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Swann said.
“It would be a pleasure,” Fenwick assured him.
Swann hurried off to speak to Jenkins, and Fenwick offered Jane his arm for the return trip. She felt a little shy, with Fenwick’s hand holding her elbow.
“It was an interesting outing, even if I did dirty my gown,” she said. “I’ve never ha
d close contact with swans before. They looked so harmless and beautiful, floating on the Avon in Bath. I shall never look at them in quite the same way again. It was foolish of me to try to pick up the cygnet.”
Fenwick stopped walking and looked down at her. “You are a wonder, Miss Lonsdale. Most ladies would be fainting and carping and complaining. I see you’re going to be easy to entertain.”
She looked quite shocked at the notion of Lord Fenwick entertaining her. “I am accustomed to entertaining myself.”
This statement also struck him as a wonder. Young ladies did not usually dismiss his offers of friendship so cavalierly. “And how does Miss Lonsdale usually entertain Miss Lonsdale?” he inquired, with growing interest.
They resumed their stroll through the meadow. “Miss Lonsdale finds herself easy to entertain. Reading novels, looking at the shop windows, visiting with her friends.”
It was the words “looking at shop windows” that called up a pathetic image of Miss Lonsdale with her pretty nose pressed against the pane, ogling all the elegant trifles she couldn’t afford. He sensed, however, that she would disdain pity.
“And here I have been pitying schoolmistresses,” he said jokingly. “Why, your life is a virtual round of gaiety. It seems you have come to the right place to continue it. Do you ride, Miss Lonsdale?”
“I had an old cob when I was younger. An equine cob,” she added, with a smile.
“So I gathered. You’ve already mentioned your lack of familiarity with swans. I brought my hacker with me. Scawen has a couple of mounts in his stable. Perhaps the three of us can go riding one day.” He did not particularly want to include Swann in their ride. He wanted to become better acquainted with this quaint little lady, but he felt it would be underhanded to cut Scawen out.
“That would be lovely. Such a lot to do, and here I thought it would be lonesome at Wildercliffe.”
Again Fenwick felt that wince of pity. “And there is still church on Sunday to add to the merriment. You will be hard-pressed to fit Lady Sykes’s dinner party into your schedule.”
She turned a startled face to him. Her long eyelashes fluttered a moment. “Is she having a party? I doubt she will invite Aunt Fay and me.”
“You are mistaken. The party is in your honor.”
She gave him a doubting look. “That is certainly a change.”
“Phoebe is not one to follow a fruitless course forever.”
“No invitation had been delivered when we left the house, but if it comes, I cannot promise my aunt will accept. You must have noticed the two were at daggers drawn yesterday.”
“It promises to be an—interesting evening. I know you will try to convince your aunt to accept.”
“How do you know that?”
They came to a stream, really just a shallow ditch with water lying an inch deep. Fenwick’s long legs stepped across with no trouble, but Jane hesitated. He gave her his hand to assist her. She daintily lifted her skirts and jumped across. They didn’t continue walking immediately.
Fenwick looked at her upturned face, with the sunlight streaming on it. The sun glinted on her brown curls, gilding them in gold. He wondered if those pink patches on her cheeks were due to the fresh air, or pleasure in her outing. What a pretty little thing she was, in her own quiet way.
“You said yesterday you wished the ladies could be friendly,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but that was before I had seen them together. It promises to be a horrid evening, if my aunt does accept.”
“Family gatherings are usually horrid, one way or the other,” he said, and smiled ruefully at the memory of large family gatherings he had attended.
“Really?” She frowned to consider this. “I always regretted having so few relatives. My friends used to have their houses bulging at Christmas, with aunts and cousins and I don’t know what all. At home there was just Papa and myself. I don’t remember Mama at all. She died when I was born.”
Fenwick murmured some sympathetic sound. He was thinking that if Pargeter had put his by-blow up for adoption, he would not have left her with a widower. He would have put her in a home with a mother.
“Family parties combine the worst of all worlds,” he said. “Intimacy and familiarity without the civility we accord to outsiders. You will see what I mean at Phoebe’s dinner party.”
“That doesn’t encourage me to urge Auntie to attend.” Yet she wanted to go. Fenwick and Swann would be there. “Swann will make it a pleasant evening,” she said.
Fenwick felt a jolt of annoyance. “Fenwick will also do his poor best to make the evening pleasant,” he said. Then he took her hand and continued the walk.
First she had repelled his offer of friendship, and now she had compared him unfavorably to Swann. Why was Miss Lonsdale immune to him? The little puzzle gnawed at him after he had seen her home. Miss Lonsdale was certainly different from the other ladies he met. She was more provincial, with virtually no experience of gentlemen. He was not unduly conceited, but experience told him she ought to be bowled over by his wealth and title, if not his person. Yet she preferred Scawen Swann. It was a baffling situation.
Having decided there was no scandal in Miss Lonsdale’s past—she was a vicar’s daughter who had got her position at Miss Prism’s through ecclesiastical connections—he was now faced with another mystery. Why did a pretty young lady not throw her bonnet at the most eligible gentleman she had ever met? Had she no ambition to better herself? Her aunt’s success must have shown her such a thing was possible. Had she no romance in her soul? Impossible! She might have stepped right out of one of those novels ladies read: a poor, beautiful orphan, working for a living. Why didn’t she recognize her hero when he was right under her nose?
Chapter Eight
When Jane returned to Wildercliffe, Lady Pargeter informed her of Lord Malton’s call.
“He behaved just like his old self, as friendly as can stare,” Fay said. “It was not Lady Sykes’s interference that has kept him away, but age and indolence. It was good to see the old rogue again. He promised he would come back soon. I doubt he will come, but at least I know he is on my side. And how was your outing, Jane?”
“Wilkie attacked us,” she said, and told the story of the cob.
“Nasty things, swans. I cannot imagine why all the world admires them so. One of them made a flying start at me the last time I went down to the lake for a stroll. It frightened the life out of me. You and Scawen get along well, do you?” she asked, and looked sharply for a reaction.
Everyone liked Swann. It had occurred to Lady Pargeter even before sending for her niece that Jane might like him well enough to marry him. It would be nice to have Jane living close by. It was even nicer to have her at Wildercliffe, but she must not be selfish. Jane was young, and should look out for her future. Fay would not live forever.
“I like him very much. He’s so foolish, and so easy to talk to. I never feel uncomfortable with him, as I do with Lord Fenwick.”
“Oh, Fenwick! He’s a handsome rogue, but I wouldn’t waste any time throwing my hankie at him. All the fine ladies are after Fenwick. That would be looking a good deal too high.”
Jane colored up briskly. “I have no intention of throwing my bonnet at him. Such a thought never entered my head.” Yet she felt guilty. It was impossible to meet someone like Lord Fenwick and not at least wonder what it would be like to be a part of his world. To change the subject, she mentioned that Lady Sykes was planning to invite them to a dinner party.
This news was received with disbelief, tinged with suspicion. “It’s a hoax. If she is inviting me to dinner, it is only in the hope of poisoning me.”
“I think it’s an olive branch, Aunt Fay. You want to reestablish yourself in the neighborhood. Why refuse this first offer?”
“I’d like to know what the shrew is up to,” Lady Pargeter said. “First calling, now asking us to dinner. That is one gift horse whose mouth I shall examine thoroughly before accepting. She couldn’t have known o
f Malton’s call so soon.”
“You mentioned inviting the folks from Swann Hall to dinner. No doubt Lady Sykes had a similar idea.”
“I shall go, and I shall wear the Pargeter diamonds to rile her,” she said, and laughed spitefully.
Jane began to see that family parties could be every bit as disconcerting as Fenwick had said.
In the afternoon Lady Pargeter had another nap. Jane donned an ill-fitting riding habit five years old and went to the stable to see if there was a suitable mount. She was not a very experienced rider, but she enjoyed the sport. The groom recommended Brownie, a middle-aged bay mare of mild disposition, and accompanied her on a ride about the estate to familiarize her with the animal. She enjoyed her outing immensely, and thought that if Fenwick happened to invite her out riding, she could now acquit herself without shame.
When she returned, Fay was having an early tea with Lord Malton, who had been to see his man of business in Bibury, and brought her the latest journals. The two of them were obviously on friendly terms. In fact, Lord Malton’s behavior was not an inch short of flirtation. He seemed unhappy with Jane’s return, and left almost at once.
“Your new beau is wasting no time,” Jane said.
“He’s lonesome, as I was myself, before you came,” Fay replied.
“All this eating and no exercise!” Jane scolded when she saw the cold mutton and bread, the plum cake and other dainties spread out. “Tomorrow you and I are going for a long walk in the park.” Then, after scolding her aunt, she partook of a substantial tea herself. The teas at Miss Prism’s had been parsimonious in the extreme. And besides, her ride had whetted her appetite.
The remainder of the afternoon passed quietly. Jane found some old fashion magazines and looked through them for a pattern for a riding habit. With her new salary, she could afford to splurge. It was not the undemanding Swann she had in mind when she chose her pattern and mentally selected a royal blue serge for the material. It was Lord Fenwick. She shook away the thought. Fenwick wouldn’t even be here by the time the habit was made up. He would be continuing to his hunting box any day now, thence back to London, or Brighton, or to his estate.