The Lords & Ladies Box Set

by Fenella J Miller

  The office, a large sparsely furnished room hidden away in the warren of small rooms and passages, at the back of the house, was where all the managerial work went on. In her father’s time he had forbidden either her mother, or herself, to disturb him there. She hoped Richard was not so stiff in his ways.

  Remembering how he had heard her approach to the library, she tiptoed along the echoing uncarpeted corridor, not wishing to give him time to refuse to see her in his male domain. She knocked too loudly on the door and was not reassured by the barked response of, ‘Come in, damn it!’

  She flinched at his language and cautiously opened the door. Richard, dark head bent over a pile of papers, was scowling, not happy at what he saw there. Softly she advanced to stand, like a penitent schoolchild in front of him. Nervously she cleared her throat.

  ‘Richard?’

  His head shot up and for the first time she saw him confused. Then his eyes blazed and he smiled as he got his feet. ‘Millie, you startled me. How are you? Let me see.’ He came round the table cupped her chin in his large weather beaten hand, tilting her head to see her better. ‘Yes, you are not so pale. You are thinner, are you eating properly?’

  She laughed, immediately relaxed, for he sounded so like her mother, worrying over her health, that it was hard to remain standoffish. ‘I am fully recovered, thank you Cousin Richard. And, yes, as I am sure Martha informed you, I am eating well.’

  He dropped his hand and stepped back, still smiling, ‘This is not a good place for us to talk, my dear, it is far too cold and untidy. Would you be more comfortable in the library, I am told it is your favourite room? Like me, you obviously love to read.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do. I am glad to hear you share my passion. Papa never cared to open a book unless it had stuffy facts and figures in it.’

  As they settled more comfortably in front of the roaring fire in the book lined room Amelia remembered Foster and the coffee tray. ‘Foster will be looking for us. I suppose I had better ring and tell him where we are.’

  ‘Serves him right! The man is an idiot.’ An unexpected chuckle escaped Amelia’s lips and she looked up delighted to find a second point of agreement between them. When Foster finally arrived, red-faced and cross, they were forced to avoid each other’s glance for fear of bursting into unseemly laughter.

  Chapter Six

  Amelia replaced her empty cup on the tray and sat back feeling guilty that she had been laughing so soon after her mother’s death.

  Richard sensed her distress. ‘Aunt Sophia would not wish you to be sad all the time, Millie. It is good to laugh a little, to lighten the spirits; it makes the grief easier to bear.’

  Surprised that a man so ready to use violence to solve his problems could be so sensitive she answered without thinking. ‘You are an enigma, Cousin Richard. You appear to be one thing then another, I am confused.’

  ‘Then I think it is time we had our talk, do you agree?’

  ‘Yes, I would like to. There are some things that are still puzzling me; may I ask you anything, without causing offence?’

  ‘Of course. I want there to be no secrets between us. I already believe we are moving towards an understanding but it will not progress to true friendship until you trust me.’

  The absolute sincerity in his deep voice rang a chord in her heart. How could she doubt this man? He had shown himself to be kind and helpful and she knew him to be brave and intelligent. She was now convinced that he was both honest and sincere as well.

  Richard sat back at ease, his eyes smiling, waiting for her first question. ‘Well, child, what do you want to ask me?’

  ‘I am not a child, Richard; I am nineteen years of age. Although I suppose to a gentleman as ancient as you, nineteen must seem positively childlike.’ She accompanied this comment with an innocent smile.

  ‘Good grief, Millie, how old do you think I am? I am a month past eight and twenty, not Methuselah.’ Then he saw her face and knew she had been jesting. ‘Baggage! Now are you going to ask me anything or are you not?’

  ‘Not!’ She rose and smiled down at his confusion. ‘I have no questions. Your willingness to answer them makes them unnecessary. I am going for a ride; do you wish to accompany me?’

  Shaking his head at her incomprehensible feminine logic Richard laughed. ‘I would love to accompany you. Shall we say that we meet in an hour, in the yard?’

  ‘An hour?’ She was perplexed. ‘Do you have something urgent to attend to first?’

  ‘Do I? No, you have to change into your habit.’

  ‘Are you mad? I shall meet you at the stables in ten minutes, no longer, that is a promise.’

  ‘Martha?’ Amelia called as she rushed into her room. ‘I have precisely six minutes to change into my riding habit.’

  Six minutes to the second she was leaving her room in a dark green velvet habit, a matching tricorn, feathered hat, perched jauntily on her head. She took the back stairs, it was far quicker, and

  moments later shot through the servants’ quarters startling several new members of staff by her precipitous arrival.

  Nine minutes after leaving the library Amelia strolled into the yard, a picture of loveliness, and revelled in the stunned expression on Richard’s face.

  John grinned at her. ‘Morning miss; Sultan is raring to go; he has missed his morning gallops these last few days.’

  Richard’s face hardened. He stepped up and placed his hand on Amelia’s arm. ‘You are not riding that animal if he has not been exercised for three days.’

  ‘Oh, bless you, my lord, he’s been lunged every day for an hour or two; he’s just not been ridden.’ John nodded, pleased the new master felt as strongly as he did about the young mistress’ safety. Richard released Amelia’s arm.

  ‘You must not worry, Richard, Sultan looks difficult but he is an angel with me.’ The huge chestnut horse chose that moment to plunge and stamp, lifting the two grooms at his head clear off their feet.

  Richard was horrified by this performance. ‘I shall ride Sultan. You can ride the new mare that I have purchased for you. Is she still sound after her journey, John?’

  The groom carefully hid his smile. ‘Yes, my lord. She is fit as a flea. I will have her saddled and put your mount back.’

  ‘No, you ride Prince; he needs the exercise. You can accompany us.’

  Amelia could scarcely contain her glee. Richard was welcome to ride Sultan, but it would be a very short experience. Her stallion would tolerate no one on his back, apart from her. She wondered if she should warn him then decided that after his highhanded behaviour he deserved his

  comeuppance.

  The side saddle was removed from Sultan and replaced with one suitable for a man. The horse viewed it with dislike. No doubt the animal realised what would happen next. A huge human would thump onto his back and start yanking his mouth and kicking his sides. He snorted and stood ominously still.

  Amelia exchanged a worried glance with John not sure their mischief was such a good idea. Richard took the horse’s passivity as a good sign and smiled, obviously looking forward to riding the handsome animal. He tossed her into the saddle, a pretty grey mare inappropriately named Dolly, and watched John mount nimbly on Prince, and then it was his turn.

  He gathered up the reins and allowed the groom to give him a leg up; he just had time to stick his feet in the stirrups before Sultan exploded. Amelia and John watched helplessly as the horse did his best to crush Richard against the archway and scrape him off by galloping under the trees.

  He could do nothing apart from grip harder than he had ever done in his life, and wrap the long mane around his hands and hang on for grim death. Sultan had the bit firmly between his teeth and not even a horseman as good as he could prise it out.

  Amelia thundered after him praying what had seemed like a joke would not end in tragedy. She knew this was her fault. She had seen Sultan take hold of his bit; she should have told Richard before he mounted; now it was too late.

  She
had never seen her horse in such a fury. When her father had tried to master him he had just backed repeatedly into the thick prickly hedge until her father had admitted defeat.

  Sultan disappeared over a massive hedge and into the valley below. Without hesitation Amelia followed never considering for a moment that her mount might not be up to it. She heard John landing safely behind her and galloped flat-out after the bolting chestnut.

  Richard must be able to hear the horses behind him and he made another, ineffectual, effort to dislodge the bit. Sultan was deliberately slowing a little and allowing the other horses to catch up.

  ‘Sultan, Sultan, stop boy, stop.’ Amelia shouted, knowing that she was near enough for the stallion to hear her. The horse did hear her and stopped dead, pitching Richard over his head in a flurry of boots and flying coat-tails.

  Dolly slithered to a halt and Amelia leapt down, not waiting for assistance, and ran towards the still form, face down in the mud. Was he dead? Was he hurt? She would never forgive herself if any harm had come to him.

  She stopped beside him and his hand shot out and caught hold of her ankle, pulling her feet out from under her and landing her, with a thud, face first in the dirt. As she pushed her hands into the soft ground raising her mud covered face, a boot, placed firmly between her shoulders, pushed her gently flat again, and held her there.

  ‘Next time you feel like playing a trick like that, young lady, think twice. It will not be my foot you feel on your back but my riding crop. Do I make myself clear?’ She nodded; her mouth was too full of soil to speak. ‘Excellent. I believe that we understand each other.’

  The boot was removed and she was yanked roughly to her feet. She stood, furious, filthy and spitting mud, in front of an equally enraged, equally muddy, but far more formidable, cousin.

  Amelia raised her head, her mouth finally empty, and drew breath in order to express her views

  about someone who behaved as he had just done. Then she saw his countenance and decided to remain silent.

  John had exchanged the saddles and threw Amelia silently on to Sultan’s back. The huge horse whickered a greeting and nuzzled her foot. His flanks were still heaving after his gallop across country and he was tired. But she knew the magnificent horse was not so tired he would not throw Richard again if he had the opportunity.

  They returned to the stable in enmity; both too angry to speak, and John too scared. Sultan behaved as he always did with Amelia on board, like a gentleman.

  Her cousin dropped to the cobbles and stood, arms folded, face grim, whilst John handed Amelia down. ‘I shall see you in my study in half an hour,’ he ordered, and then still scowling, he marched off towards the house. His boots rang heavily on the flag- stones. She watched him go, not sure if her dominant emotion was fear or anger.

  ‘I’d not worry, Miss Millie; I reckon he’d not hurt a hair on your head, not really.’

  ‘He pushed me into the mud and stood on me; would you not call that hurting me, John?’

  ‘No, miss, more showing you who’s the master here. And we served him a poor turn, allowing him to mount when Sultan had the bit between his teeth. And he could have broken his neck when

  you called Sultan to stop like that.’

  Amelia now understood why Richard had been so angry. ‘He thought I called out wishing to unseat him? Oh dear, I shall have to explain I was trying to help him, not harm him.’

  ‘Well, you’d best hurry and get cleaned up, miss, his lordship wants to see you in half an hour, don’t he?’

  After gathering up her skirts she raced back to the house, taking the back door again and, ignoring the astonished servants that watched her unladylike progress along the passage to the back stairs. She fled into her chamber praying her maid would be waiting for her.

  ‘Good grief, Miss Amelia, did you take a tumble? Are you hurt?’

  ‘I will explain later, Martha. I have less than half an hour to present myself in the study.’

  Martha, although she had known Amelia since infancy, had the sense not to question further. No doubt Higgs would know how her young mistress had become covered in mud. All gossip started in the kitchen.

  Fortunately her mother knowing her time on this world was limited, had stipulated that no black was to be worn for her after her funeral therefore Amelia was able to choose a plain green, high neck, long sleeved gown. She had her hair plaited and arranged in an unflattering coronet around her head. By the time she was walking across the chequered floor of the hall, Amelia was no longer nervous. She believed, in spite of his barbaric behaviour, Cousin Richard was a fair man and would listen to her explanation and accept her apology and the unfortunate incident could be forgotten.

  The study door was open so she walked straight in. Richard, his stance uncompromising watched her approach, no sign of hesitation or fear in her proud carriage.

  She halted a few steps from him and raised her head. What she saw sent her courage plummeting to her slippers. This interview was not going to be as she had anticipated.

  ‘Cousin Richard, I must apologize…’

  ‘Yes, you must,’ he interrupted, ‘but do not think a simple apology will suffice. I will not tolerate stupidity that endangers life.’

  Amelia stepped back, stunned by the ferocity of his attack. Did he think he was on the parade ground disciplining a soldier? How dare he speak to her like that? A gentleman always accepted a lady’s apology; she knew this to be true, because mama had told her so.

  ‘I shall not be spoken to like this, Lord Rivenhall. I have apologized, for a gentleman, that should be enough.’ At this point things might still have ended positively, but she continued. ‘And I can hardly be blamed if you are a poor horseman.’ As the intemperate and unwise words flew from her lips Amelia wished them back. It was unforgivable to criticise his riding, only a first-rate horseman could have stayed on Sultan for so long.

  She backed a further step, ready to flee if his temper broke. To her astonishment he laughed at her, but the sound was not reassuring.

  ‘Well, child, now we know exactly how we stand, do we not? You think I am a brute and a poor horseman and I think you a spoilt brat, sorely in need of a spanking.’

  She took another backward step, eyes wide, her face pale, and felt the welcome hardness of the door frame behind her. Without waiting to see what Richard’s intentions were she spun and flung herself through the door and ran, pell-mell, back upstairs where she slammed her bed-chamber door and locked it.

  Breathing hard, and relieved she was alone, she paused, waiting for her heart to return to normal and straining to hear the sound of footsteps in pursuit. There were none. She was safe.

  Unsteadily Amelia walked across the room, to sink onto the wide, well padded, window seat, a

  favourite hiding place of hers since she was a little girl. She sighed, ashamed of herself; she had fled from her accuser like a schoolchild. She was a woman grown, for had she not looked after her ailing mother and run the household, and the estate, without assistance? So why had she behaved with such immaturity?

  Her obnoxious Cousin Richard had called her a child and she had undoubtedly proved him correct. She heard booted steps approaching her door and stiffened, but they passed by. Heart thudding she resumed her pensive gaze across the rolling parkland.

  A movement on the drive attracted her attention. A smart travelling carriage was bowling towards the house; it could only be the equally obnoxious William Rivenhall. She had had enough of cousins and counterclaims. Without their arrival her dear mother might still be alive today. Both Richard and William were the true culprits. Between them they had bought her nothing but misery and loss. It was their fault that she was a grieving orphan.

  She scrambled up feeling calmer, no longer so lost and afraid. She would do her duty and run the house but from this moment on she would remain aloof from both her relatives. If there was a dispute, let the lawyers sort it out, she no longer had a preference, she disliked both of them equally.

>   She was well educated, spoke three languages, could dance, play and paint a pretty watercolour. Surely she could find herself a position as a companion or governess, and leave them to squabble in her absence? Lord Rivenhall and William Rivenhall were making the house she had grown up in no longer feel like her home.

  Chapter Seven

  Amelia dressed carefully for dinner, selecting a demure, but elegant, rose damask which emphasized her dark hair and pale oval face. As she had feared Rivenhall was once more in residence and waiting, with Richard, in the drawing-room, for her arrival.

  ‘Good evening, Cousin Amelia, I hope I find you well.’ He stepped forward expecting her to offer her hand. She did not.

  ‘Good evening, sir.’ Her voice was cold, her manner distant. She inclined her head a fraction and turned away to face Lord Rivenhall. ‘Good evening, Lord Rivenhall. I trust I have not kept you waiting long?’

  His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. ‘No, Miss Rivenhall, you have not.’

  Foster appeared at the door to announce dinner. Richard offered his arm, as was polite, but she ignored him, which was impolite, and stalked into the dining-room. The only person pleased by this display was the unwanted guest. Amelia replied to direct questions from either man courteously but briefly. As the gentleman had nothing to say to each other by the time the dessert was presented

  conversation had died.

  ‘If you will excuse me, I shall leave you to your port. I have a slight megrim and am

  going to retire early this evening. Goodnight.’

  Both men stood up, their chairs scraping noisily in the hostile silence, and bowed. Neither spoke, Rivenhall, because he had nothing to say, Richard because he was probably too angry to trust himself to say anything polite.

  Well satisfied by her performance at dinner she glided upstairs. She would not have been so sanguine had she been privy to Richard’s thoughts.