She entered enthusiastically into the earl's discussion of the differences in riding occasioned by the disparate terrains of Westmorland and Somerset, and eventually Emily joined in as well. But there was still that martial light in her eyes which alarmed Nell. Mightn't she approach her brother about her discoveries? Nell was horrified by the thought of Sir Hugh's pity.
Lord Westwick arranged to call for Nell in his carriage early in the afternoon. The timing was ideal, as it would provide her with an excuse for not being there when Mrs. Dorsey called. She would not, of course, tell her aunt with whom she was to be. No sense in distressing her unnecessarily. But the opportunity to find out more about the earl intrigued Nell, and the chance to ride gave her a sense of country freedom she had not experienced since their arrival in Bath.
Chapter Eleven
It was not Lord Westwick, however, who called for her. Nell had waited anxiously close to the front door in order to avoid having her aunt catch a glimpse of the earl. When there was a clatter of hooves in the street outside the Queen Square house, Nell hastened to tie the old-fashioned bonnet into place. Her even older riding habit, she had decided, was not really a disgrace, as its lines were classic and it fit her well. As the brass knocker sounded and their butler opened the door, she stepped forward, only to be confronted with Sir Hugh.
"Oh," she said, startled. "I'm sorry, Sir Hugh. I am expecting Lord Westwick to call for me any moment."
"I have convinced him to forego that pleasure," Sir Hugh said, bowing. "I hope you will not mind, Miss Armstrong, but I offered to convey you in my curricle, so that he might go ahead and see that all was in readiness for your visit."
"How kind," she murmured. "A curricle, you say? I've never ridden in a curricle. Shall I be safe?"
Sir Hugh looked rueful. "I cannot speak for any other driver on the road, but I assure you I shall do my utmost to deliver you safe to the farm."
"Of course." Nell preceded him down to where a tiny older man in livery was standing at the horse's head. The little elf pulled his forelock in polite recognition and Sir Hugh assisted Nell into the sporting vehicle. The baronet then climbed in beside her, picked up the reins and nodded to the elf, who hastened to the back of the curricle and clambered on just as Sir Hugh gave his horse the order to start. Nell, accustomed to closed carriages and slow starts, gave an involuntary exclamation of surprise and grabbed hold of the seat to keep herself upright.
"I beg your pardon," Sir Hugh apologized, but his attention was mainly on the street before them. There were pedestrians crossing near the square, and a handsome large carriage which took up most of the street. The situation seemed fraught with danger to Nell, but Sir Hugh managed to avoid running down any walker, or grazing the side of his carriage. She let her breath out with a sigh.
He glanced over at her, a grin stretching his generous mouth. "Frightened you, did I? You have my permission to keep your eyes closed until we're in open country if you wish, Miss Armstrong."
"No, no. Then I would miss all the fascinating sites. Look, there's Mr. Bentley on his way to the library. And isn't that Emily Holmsly's sister-in-law?"
For answer, Sir Hugh lifted his hat in salute to the young lady as they drove past, which necessitated his using only one hand on the reins. Nell was tempted to ask him to not do that again, but knew better than to protest. She merely gritted her teeth together for the duration of their wending their way through the crowded streets of Bath, and relaxed only when they at last reached open countryside. Past Southgate Street and across the Old Bridge, they reached Holloway, with its steep ascent up to Beechen Cliff. Sir Hugh guided his curricle onto the winding Prospect Place and brought the vehicle to a gentle halt.
"What do you think of that?" he asked, gesturing to the city of Bath spread out beneath them. Nell could see the Avon winding through town, and the magnificent Abbey towering over the buildings around it. Sir Hugh pointed out the surrounding landmarks--Lansdown Hill, Kelston Round Hill, Englishcombe Barrow. To Nell it was a glorious sight, and she said as much. Gratified, he smiled warmly on her and remarked, "I have always felt this was one of the most delightful prospects in the area. But we should be on our way. We're headed in the direction of Combe Down, just beyond Glasshouse Farm."
Once the dangerous traffic was behind them, Nell allowed herself to enjoy her excursion with the baronet. They chatted easily about life in the country, about the baronet's horses, about the music they'd heard the previous evening--the usual mix of comfortable conversation which slid from topic to topic when two people had many interests in common. Nell did not bring her aunt's name into the conversation, nor did Sir Hugh mention her.
As they bowled along country lanes, the scenery about them shifted to rolling hills dotted with trees in new leaf. A warm spring breeze carried the rich scent of plowed earth. Nell stole circumspect glances at her companion, admiring the openness of his countenance and the humor in his eyes. Her heart swelled with an unfamiliar emotion that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to rest her head on his broad shoulder, to have his strong arms close around her, to feel the wild touch of his lips on hers.
And not in one of her daydreams.
She wanted this charming, thoughtful man to cherish her, to love her. Nell had never desired that of a man in her life. Scold herself as she might for such folly, she had to acknowledge that she did want these things from Sir Hugh. That would be her secret, tucked firmly away in her heart, for her alone to treasure. It didn’t matter that there was no possibility of her achieving such a goal. Sitting beside him, talking with him, marveling at the sheer beauty of the day, was enough for her now.
Because she was distracted, she only belatedly noticed the solitary figure on horseback. Even from some distance there was something about the cut of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, which gave her the sense that she recognized him.
Sir Hugh had been pointing out the approaching farm and had not as yet appeared to notice the horseman. Just as Nell suddenly exclaimed, "Why, I believe that's Mr. Holmsly!" the rider abruptly wheeled his horse, caused him to leap a shallow ditch, and took off across the field beyond.
Startled, Sir Hugh followed the line of her pointing finger and frowned at the disappearing rider. "John Holmsly? Emily's husband? I can't think why he should be here."
"I can't think why he should take off like that."
"But I fear you must be mistaken, Miss Armstrong. It is my understanding that John is in Bristol at present."
"Perhaps he is on his way back."
"We're quite a distance from the road to Bristol. This lane leads only to Lord Westwick’s farm and two other country places. It doesn't even connect with any other road."
"Well, the man looked a great deal like Emily's husband," Nell stubbornly insisted.
"There's more than one handsome devil wandering about the English countryside," he quizzed her. "It was probably a local estate agent come to survey something in the acreage over that hill. There's probably no other access to it than across the fields."
Unconvinced, Nell nevertheless said no more on the subject. Instead she pointed to two fine-looking horses racing along beside the road. "Will these be Lord Westwick’s horses?"
"They will. On the knoll there you can just make out the farmhouse behind the trees. It's not a large place, but well appointed. The earl has spent a great deal of time here since his wife died. I'm sure it's what helped him get through that loss. They were an especially devoted couple."
"Does he breed horses for racing?"
"Mostly, though oddly he seems not much interested in the races themselves. He's particularly talented at choosing which horses are natural runners, and which would be best trained as carriage or riding horses. He has some of the finest hacking horses I've ever ridden."
Sir Hugh guided his horse off the lane and onto the drive up to the farmhouse, which was built of the same warm stone as the buildings in Bath. It was, as Sir Hugh had said, a modest structure, but it was some
how welcoming in a way a more formal dwelling would not have been. Longstreet Manor, for instance, had always seemed stiff and uncompromising to Nell. As one approached it, there were no shrubs or vines to distract from the hard lines, no graceful trees to soften the vertical expanse of stone, no flowers to brighten the grim grayness of the place.
Combe Park was far otherwise. Ancient elms flanked its sides, and there were flower beds in every direction. Though it was still too early for any but the first of the spring flowers to be in blossom, Nell could picture the house at the height of summer. What a glorious vision that would be! As Sir Hugh handed her down from the curricle, Lord Westwick came around the side of the building in his riding clothes.
"Excellent! I knew you'd arrive in good time with Sir Hugh handling the ribbons. Welcome to Combe Park, Miss Armstrong. Will you allow me to show you around?"
Their tour of the house and the barns and outbuildings took over an hour. Nell was delighted with what she saw, and intrigued by the earl's obvious pride and pleasure in the property. And though he referred frequently to having an excellent manager for his horse business, they never met the man and Nell suspected that Lord Westwick was himself responsible for the thriving nature of his endeavors. She had never seen so many fine animals in one place in her life.
"So, which is it to be?" the earl asked at length. "Miss Ginny is gentle and mild-mannered. Socrates is much more spirited, but would not unseat a lady, no matter what the provocation. Now, Lightning here is fast and unpredictable. I think perhaps Sir Hugh might enjoy that challenge."
As Sir Hugh bowed his head in acknowledgement, Nell walked back to a loose box they had passed a few minutes previously. The horse within thrust her head over the gate and gave Nell a push with her nose. The sign on the loose box designated her as "Rising Star," and she was an unusual shade of gray. Nell rubbed the horse's forehead. "Tell me about her," she suggested.
Lord Westwick gave Nell a sharp look. "We've had a little trouble with her," he admitted. "She's fast, but she doesn't like the stable lads riding her. She doesn't throw them; she just doesn't cooperate."
"Could I ride her?"
The earl looked torn. "If you'll excuse me, I have to admit I have my doubts. I have no idea how well you ride, my dear, and Rising Star is, as I say, a bit troublesome."
"I have been told that I ride as well as my mother did."
The earl's gaze narrowed. "As well as Margaret? Who told you that?"
"Finch. Did you know him?"
"I did, though he had only recently been hired when . . . Well, you may try Rising Star if you wish. Most likely she won't try to throw you."
Sir Hugh had listened to this interchange with apparent interest. For a moment Nell thought that he might object. She met his gaze with a questioning one of her own, and he merely shrugged and said, "Then we shall both be on challenging horses, Miss Armstrong."
Lord Westwick had three horses saddled, as he was joining them on his favorite mount, a bay gelding named Whisper. Rising Star objected to the bridle and she objected to the sidesaddle, but she eventually accepted both. Before allowing the earl to toss her up onto the horse Nell stood for several minutes stroking and talking to Rising Star, whose ears flicked wildly back and forth. When Nell was eventually seated firmly in the sidesaddle, Rising Star danced sideways for a minute before settling down. Nell found the two gentlemen watching her anxiously.
"Come, she'll do better if we work out her fidgets," Nell informed them serenely. "Surely she would rather have a good run than amble about the paddock."
"Undoubtedly," Lord Westwick agreed. "So, if you are ready..."
Because the farm was used for breeding, raising and training a variety of horses, there were many trails and tracks in the area. Nell was especially enchanted by the one they took, which skirted a lake for half a mile, and then plunged into a wood where the sunlight filtered dazzlingly through the trees. The three galloped along the lake, slowed their horses through the wood, and once again raced across an unplanted field as they circled back toward the stables.
Rising Star was an exhilarating ride. None of the horses at Longstreet Manor had her speed or sheer vitality. Nell could tell her control over the animal was tenuous; there was a streak of wildness in Rising Star. But at each point when she might have broken free, the mare allowed herself to be drawn back by Nell's firm hand on the reins. That, too, was an exciting experience.
When Nell climbed down in the stable yard, she was glowing from her adventure. Lord Westwick, who had assisted her to alight, said, "She's yours."
Nell stared at him. "I... I don't understand."
"I'm giving you Rising Star, Miss Armstrong. I've never seen her perform that way. She deserves to be yours."
"But she's a valuable animal!"
The earl looked quizzical. "I've lost valuable animals in card games, my dear. Much better to see that one is owned by someone who will recognize and elicit her true potential. If she stayed here at Combe Park, we would be constantly plagued by her misbehavior, and if someone else owned her, I could not be certain of her treatment."
"You are exceedingly kind, but I could not possibly accept her," Nell protested.
"Whyever not?" Lord Westwick hooked his arm with hers and motioned for Sir Hugh to follow them. "I've arranged for tea in the Gold Parlor, since we're all in our riding clothes. My wife always insisted on that, and I've continued the policy. When you get to be my age, it's not so easy to break longstanding habits. But you're young, my dear, and needn't cling to useless principles and wasteful proprieties."
"In addition to those useless principles and wasteful proprieties," Nell insisted, "there is the small matter of my being quite unable to afford a horse in Bath. At Longstreet Manor I might perhaps overcome my principles enough to add one more mouth to the small selection of horses we possess, but that is scarcely the case here."
"Of course it isn't," the earl agreed cheerfully. "You won't have to take care of her in Bath, Miss Armstrong. I shall simply have her moved to my stable there, where she will stay, ready for your use at any time, until you remove to Westmorland once again."
"Or she might join my horses," Sir Hugh suggested. "Another mouth won't be noticed there, and I think perhaps it would be easier for Miss Armstrong to explain riding a horse from my stable than one from yours, sir."
"Ah, yes. Miss Longstreet's aversion to me might cramp Miss Armstrong's ability to ride when she pleased, might it not? A very good suggestion, Sir Hugh."
"No, it is not," Nell protested. "I could no more accept such a favor from Sir Hugh than I could such an extravagant gift from Lord Westwick."
"Perhaps she's right, Westwick. Rising Star had best stay with Emily and John's horses. There could be no whiff of impropriety about that."
Lord Westwick hesitated slighted, looking a little concerned, but eventually he nodded. "Very well, with the Holmslys' horses then."
Nell, who was apparently not to be consulted about this matter, allowed herself to be ushered into the Gold Parlor. It was a bright but casual room with shining parquet floors and mullioned windows. The tea tray had already been set out, along with a large silver plate of tempting delicacies. Nell was asked by the earl to pour their tea, which she did with her usual efficiency. By the time she was able to sit back and take a sip of her own tea, the discussion had moved on to other matters. Though she was too polite to interrupt, she had by no means accepted the men's pronouncements on what was to become of Rising Star.
Sir Hugh was querying the earl on how he managed his seat in Westmorland when he never went there. "I get urgent missives from my estate agent whenever I'm away for more than three days," he protested. "You say you’ve scarcely been to Westmorland in forty years!"
"When it became clear that my wife and I weren't going to have any children, I turned the place over to my presumptive heir, with the understanding that if that situation changed to his disadvantage, I would procure a similar property for him. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it h
as served very well."
The earl set his teacup on a small table and helped himself to a treacle biscuit. "For many years he has been secure in the knowledge that it will legally be his property, and he has been an excellent steward."
Nell wanted very much to ask him why he had never returned to Westmorland. Surely being rejected by his fiancée could not have been so distressing that he would give up his own home. "Did Lady Westwick not care for the Westmorland countryside?" she finally asked.
"We both preferred Bath," he replied with a decided finality. Then he smiled at his guests. "But I could not resist Combe Park when it came up for sale thirty-odd years ago. Horses have always been a passion with me. My wife understood that, and was more than agreeable about this place."
"Everything about it is exceptional," Nell said. "A truly delightful setting, a charming house, and such a thriving stable. Which, I might add, is not going to lose Rising Star on my behalf."
"Ah, we shall see," the earl replied, shaking a playful finger at her. "At least for the time being, you will allow me to make her available to you in Bath, as a favor to an aging fellow who would get great pleasure from the service."
This offer Nell could not refuse, and so she graciously accepted, saying, "You are too good to me, Lord Westwick. It will be entirely my pleasure to ride her."
* * * *
Sir Hugh took it upon himself to arrange for Rising Star to be accommodated in his brother-in-law's stables. His sister was delighted, but wondered aloud, "You don't think Lord Westwick is smitten with her, do you? Dear Nell must be more than thirty years younger than he is!"
"No, it is merely a kindness, Emily. The poor man is still grieving for his wife, for heaven's sake."
"Yes, so I thought. But Nell might very easily turn a man's head, you know. She has that rare combination of countenance, good humor, and practicality, to say nothing of a touch of feyness."
"Feyness?"
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