by Tess Byrnes
“Here, miss, I’ll need to hold him, so you’ll have to use the block to dismount, I’m afraid,” the groom called out, a wary eye on the horse.
“Yes, never mind me,” Priscilla returned distractedly. “Just don’t let him injure himself against the stones.”
The harassed groom began to back towards the mounting block when all of a sudden the Master of the Hunt blew his horn, a loud, sharp blast that caused the still nervous gelding to rear, and dash through the stable door, carrying Priscilla out amongst the other riders who gathered on their mounts at the Castle steps.
Priscilla, attempting to control the strong horse didn’t notice all the looks of respect cast her way as she dashed past in style on the magnificent chestnut gelding. All, that is, except one. The Viscount watched her with a look of stunned disbelief on his face.
“What the devil!” he exclaimed angrily. He attempted to push Champion through the throng of hunters. Although his overwhelming emotion was concern for Priscilla’s safety, his temper was not improved by having his progress impeded by several good-natured fellow hunters who wanted to swap hunting stories, and his barely masked expression was one of anger and annoyance. As he got within a few horse lengths of Priscilla, she looked up and saw him. Misinterpreting his look, and already having no desire to have speech with him, Priscilla turned a hasty shoulder just as the Hunt leader blew the call and the hunt was off, including Priscilla whose mount had a mind of his own, and, ignoring her attempts to reign him in, set a spanking pace at the head of the pack.
“By Jove, that gel can ride!” one ruddy complexioned gentleman called out to his companion.
Priscilla, who at that moment was not so much riding as hanging on for dear life, pulled unavailingly at the reigns. She glanced from side to side quickly, but was hedged in by other riders. Meeting the eyes of the man beside her, she was appalled to receive a wink and a doff of the hat. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Thunder reared on his back legs, pulling the reigns from her hands. The magnificent animal wheeled around, and the crashed through the woods bordering the field which the members of the hunt had been crossing at a great pace.
Priscilla struggled to maintain her seat as the horse crashed through the underbrush. Branches struck at her, but by keeping her head down she managed to avoid being swept from the saddle. As she tried to regain possession of the reigns, she became aware of horse hooves hammering behind her, and a deep voice shouting to keep down and for God’s sake hold on. A dark figure on a magnificent and familiar black horse slowly gained ground beside her, dropping back suddenly as the lane narrowed, then regaining his position, to reach out and grasp the ribbons. Soothing words in his deep voice seemed to reach the frantic gelding, and the pace slowed and eventually stopped.
The Viscount leaped from his horse, and quickly came to Priscilla’s side. She had to make a conscious effort to relax her hands enough to release the reigns and as the Viscount reached up to her, she lifted her leg over the pommel, and slid from the saddle and into his arms. Her intention was to land on her own feet, but somehow her arms wrapped around Jasper’s neck and her trembling legs lay against his strong, supporting body. Together they gasped for breath as the horse stamped and snorted next to them.
Priscilla could not say if they stood in that embrace for one minute or for ten, but eventually it was she who pulled away.
“I think I can stand, sir, if you will lend me your arm,” she said in a voice which sounded strange and cold even to her own ears. Her color was much heightened, but she looked up and met his eyes. She was unprepared for the look of emotion on his face. She took a step backwards, but her hands were still held in a strong grasp.
“Priscilla,” he began in a harsh voice. “If anything had happened to you.” He broke off, and made an obvious effort to recollect himself. He turned his head and his eyes lit upon Thunder, and his countenance darkened menacingly. “When I find out which of my imbecilic grooms ever placed a lady’s saddle on that horse he will be lucky to survive this day,” he uttered grimly.
“Oh, no!” Priscilla exclaimed, startled. “You must not blame your groom.” Seeing the question in his eyes Priscilla continued. How could she let him question the groom, and discover Lady Spencer’s part in this? As detestable as she herself found Lady Spencer to be, the Viscount was going to marry her, and Priscilla was determined that no word of hers would stand between Jasper and the woman he loved.
Clasping her hands tightly to stop the trembling, she continued in a nonchalant tone. “I thought I could ride him.” Seeing the disbelief in his eyes she continued recklessly, “In fact, if you will throw me up I believe I’ll see if I can catch up with the others in the next field.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Jasper thundered angrily.
Priscilla lifted one eyebrow at him in what she hoped was a fair imitation of the Viscount’s own method of depressing presumption. She trembled inwardly, but maintained a calm facade as the Viscount struggled visibly to get the better of his wrath.
“Madam,” he said with awful dignity. “Allow me to mount you upon Champion, and escort you back to the Castle.” She opened her lips to protest, but quailed slightly at the hot anger bubbling in his eyes.
“As you wish,” she replied coldly. She placed her hand into his outstretched gloved hand and allowed him to lead her in silence to his own mount. He tossed her easily up into the saddle, and she managed to arrange one leg over the pommel in a modest enough position on the unfamiliar saddle, much as she had done one memorable time before. Glimpsing the icy anger on his handsome face, and wishing so much that she could smooth it away, Priscilla felt a wave of unhappiness that caused a prickly feeling behind her eyes. Knowing that it was not her place to do so, and worse, that he would seek his comfort from Lady Spencer, filled Priscilla with a grim determination that not one tear would fall until she was alone in her bedchamber.
Jasper happened to glance up at that moment and saw the unhappiness in her face. His own features softened.
“Priscilla,” he said, turning the word into a plea for understanding. “After all that has passed between us, I thought that we had reached a better understanding than this.”
“I am glad to have this chance to clear that up, then, my lord,” Priscilla responded coldly.
“What do you mean by that?” Jasper asked sharply.
“I mean that I have seen Lady Spencer this morning and, well,” she faltered, “you said yourself that you never intended any of what happened.” She drew a breath and continued in a stronger tone. “You will oblige me by never referring to the events of these last few weeks ever again.
“Priscilla, I cannot agree to that,” he began persuasively.
“Enough, enough!” Priscilla exclaimed, her emotions stretched so taut that she felt she must burst if she didn’t get away and have a period of calm reflection. “Deny if you can my lord that you were in Lady Spencer’s bedchamber last night.” She saw the sudden look of comprehension on his face. “You cannot deny it,” she continued in a quieter voice, suddenly feeling very tired. “Neither can you deny that you kissed her.” She said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I suppose I knew all along that she spoke the truth.”
“You have heard Lady Spencer’s interpretation of those events. Would you like to hear mine?” he questioned, looking straight into her eyes.
“I don’t want to hear anything!” Priscilla cried out, her eyes filling. “I’ve already told you that I don’t want the sort of marriage you are offering me. Your precious honor is safe, Lord Hillaire. You offered me your protection. Now please oblige me by accepting my complete rejection of that offer.”
“You have been determined to think the worst of me since the day we met, Madam,” the Viscount said icily. “Not once have you given me credit for acting with honor or sincerity. And yet I have kept your secrets. I have not disclosed that you spent that first night in my company. I have not revealed that you have run away from the protection of your home, preferring to live
as a governess under an assumed name. I have offered you instead the protection of my name, only to have that offer scorned.” He paused and drew a rasping breath. “Priscilla, for god’s sake, listen to me,” he said pleadingly.
“No more,” Priscilla entreated, on the edge of tears. “Please return me to the Castle, at once. I beg you,” she ended on a gasp.
“Very well,” Jasper responded with an effort. “We shall say no more until we have both had time to become calmer.” He turned away and began to lead the two horses towards the Castle. Priscilla maintained a stony silence until the Castle came into view, and the Viscount led the black stallion up to the stone steps.
“You would do well to trust me a little more, my dear,” he said softly as he helped her to dismount. Priscilla didn’t trust herself to reply, and so said nothing as she trod up the steps to the castle door. She swept up the main staircase, determined to find Mrs. Hartfield and bring their visit to Hillaire to a speedy conclusion.
She found that matron dozing before the fire in her chamber, the novel she had been reading, lying open on her ample bosom, rising and falling gently. She opened her eyes as Priscilla entered the room.
“Ah, my dear,” she uttered faintly. “I am so glad you have returned early. I have the headache, and find that the damp in this draughty place is most insupportable.”
Priscilla paused in surprise at this, as her employer had previously expressed nothing but delight in the Castle. “Indeed, ma’am?” she inquired.
“Yes,” Mrs. Hartfield asserted petulantly. “And Lucy has in no way captivated Lord Hillaire. She seems instead to have a preference for his cousin Julian, a most attractive scamp, but as you must know, not very plump in the pocket. And as for Lord Hillaire, in fact, I believe him to be firmly caught by that dreadful Lady Spencer.”
“Did he tell you so?” Priscilla asked, an odd tight feeling in her chest.
“Well, no” Mrs. Hartfield admitted. “But Lady Spencer intimated as much when I passed her on the stair this morning. Looked just like the cat who got the cream, too. Well she can have it, draughty old ruin that it is. Besides, Lucy is far too young to be married yet. I really think we need to be at home just now, Miss Hawksworth. The Season is only a few weeks away, you know, and we have Lucy’s clothes to prepare. I can’t conceive why I thought we could afford to be away, and I think we must bring this visit to an end.”
Priscilla nodded and murmured agreement, glad to encourage this line of thought. She arranged to call for their trunks, and pulled the bell for a maid to come start their packing. She would have liked to go immediately to the stables and have the carriage readied, but feared another run in with either Lord Hillaire or Lady Spencer, so contented herself with efficiently ordering the packing, and asking the maid to send a message to the stables.
As the maids packed way the dresses and furbelows they had only just unpacked, Priscilla slipped away to find Dora. Armed with her maid’s instruction on where to find her friend’s room, Priscilla counted four rooms down the hall, and tapped at the paneled portal.
The door opened immediately, and Dora reached out to pull Priscilla into her chamber.
“You must tell me every detail of the hunt,” Dora began, tugging Priscilla over to a small sofa set before a blazing fire. She turned as she spoke and saw Priscilla’s expression, and her own fell. “But what has occurred?” She asked in concern.
“We are leaving at once, Dora, but I had to see you first,” Priscilla blurted out.
“Why, how is this?” Dora cried.
“Lord Hillaire is betrothed to Lady Spencer.” Priscilla said baldly.
Dora sank down onto the sofa. “But I thought he was importuning you to marry him. Didn’t you tell me that he thought that he had compromised you?”
“He did compromise me,” Priscilla admitted, her face flushing at the memory.
Dora looked up sharply. “When did this happen?” she demanded.
“Last night, right after I left you. Sir Harry Greenwood arrived at the Castle after dinner, and I hid in the Library so that he wouldn’t see me. Jasper, Lord Hillaire, that is, found me there, and we, uh, well, you know,” she finished quickly.
“I see,” Dora said slowly. “So explain to me why he is now betrothed to Lady Spencer and not to you?”
“It’s my own fault,” Priscilla said wretchedly. “I rebuffed him, and he turned to Lady Spencer. She informed me that he told her about, her, our actions, and the long and short of it is that they are betrothed.”
“Oh Priscilla, I am so sorry. Do you love him?”
Priscilla nodded almost imperceptibly. “He does not return my regard.” She shook her head and continued in a determined tone. “So I am returning to Hartfield Manor with my employer, and in another month we will head to London to present Lucy.” She smiled ruefully. “I am reaping what I have sown, Dora. I cannot complain.”
“Well, I can,” Dora assured her. “Lord Hillaire has behaved very badly.”
“No, he has not,” Priscilla contradicted. “He has been a gentleman, and I was on the point of succumbing. But he is now betrothed to Lady Spencer. I am not interested in being a charity case, anyway. Please do not speak of this again, Dora. I just wanted to explain to you why we are leaving at once. I hope I can find a way to see you in London.”
“I hope so too, Priss. We will be there for a few months, until I must go into the country for my confinement.”
The two embraced warmly, and Priscilla, checking that the hallway was empty, left the cozy bedchamber to do her best to hustle her employer quickly and safely away from Hillaire Castle.
Luck favored her this one time. Lord Hillaire, now a very reluctant host, had felt obliged to rejoin the hunt after bringing Priscilla back to the Castle. He had not yet returned when, a few hours later, Mrs. Hartfield made her excuses to her surprised hostess. With a hastily concocted story of Lady Hartfield’s ill-health, the carriage was called for, trunks loaded, and the ladies were in their traveling gear and ready to depart.
Lucy had tried every argument available to her to dissuade her mother from leaving. It was clear to her that Hawkie and the handsome Viscount had hit a bump in what she saw as their courtship, but her belief in their fate was as strong as ever. If only she could arrange something to throw them together she knew they would realize it themselves and admit their mutual love. Her pleadings went unheeded by her mother, however, who had Priscilla reinforcing her desire to leave. Priscilla very wisely focused Lucy’s attention on the need to attend to the dresses for her imminent come-out, a ploy which diverted the girl quite successfully.
“I’ll find a way once we’re all in London,” Lucy decided, while her mind pondered the differing merits of straw silk or silver spider gauze for her first ball gown.
The feeling of anticipation with which Priscilla had arrived at Hillaire had been replaced with one of empty depression such as she had never before experienced. “I must rally from this,” she told herself bleakly. “I’ll prepare Lucy for a Brilliant Season, and once she’s married, I’ll teach Amabel. By the time she’s established, Lucy will probably have a family, and I will take care of her children.” And with this delightful future before her, Priscilla turned her head so that the other occupants of the coach wouldn’t see her wipe a surreptitious tear from her eye.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
London was much noisier than Priscilla had remembered. In the years since her own Season in London, she had managed to forget the ceaseless rattling of carriages, the calls of the street vendors, and the hubbub created by the dense populous found in a big city. Fortunately Lucy’s upcoming social obligations necessitated many preparations, and Priscilla found the first few weeks in London to be busy and distracting. Dressmakers and milliners must be visited and many important decisions made. As Mrs. Hartfield was immediately drawn to the fashion plates that had the most frills and ruffles, Lucy and Priscilla had ample opportunity to practice diplomacy and tact in dissuading her from selecting those garments
which would least become Lucy. Between these activities, a twice-weekly lesson with a dancing instructor, and several sessions with a leading coiffeur which resulted in a simple, yet elegant, hairstyle that Lucy adored, the days passed quickly.
They had been in London for almost a month before Priscilla saw Jasper for the first time. She and Lucy had been shopping for a pair of silver sandals to match Lucy’s ball gown - the spider gauze had won out - and while waiting outside the dressmaker’s for the carriage to pick them up a familiar voice sounded behind them.
“Well, if it isn’t my disappearing house guests.” Lord Hillaire’s voice was deep and, to Priscilla’s sensitive ear, lacked his usual humor. She was quick to catch the edge of steel behind it.
“Lord Hillaire!” Lucy exclaimed, recalling with some guilt that she had not spent many thoughts on her beloved governess’s affaire of the heart since coming to London. “How lovely to see you again.”
Priscilla bestowed a wintry smile upon the handsome Viscount without quite meeting his eyes, instead glancing pointedly up the street, willing the carriage to appear.
“How kind of you, Miss Lucy,” Lord Hillaire bowed politely. “But it was not very kind in you to leave my party so abruptly,” he continued reproachfully. “My grandmother was very sorry not to see you at tea time.”
“Oh, how is she, my lord?” Lucy asked impulsively. “I was so sorry not to be able to take my leave from her in person. Do tell her how much I miss her, when you see her next.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure she’d recognize our little house guest in the sophisticated young woman I see before me.” He raised his quizzing glass, then dropped it and winked conspiratorially.
Lucy giggled, drawing Priscilla’s baleful glance quickly back to the two of them. The Viscount returned her look with a bland smile at sharp variance with the unsettling gleam in his blue eyes. Lucy, quick to catch this exchange, looked quickly around, her eyes alighting on a young girl she had been introduced to at a morning call a few days previously.