by Dayna Quince
“Father and Mother wouldn’t like it.”
“I suppose.” Hazel shrugged.
“I will make an effort to not be so familiar with either of them,” Anabelle stated. “It could be detrimental to my plans.”
Hazel didn’t respond, but Anabelle felt her glance. Anabelle ignored it and gave her attention to the stage as the lights dimmed and the curtain parted.
Two days later, Anabelle was in a carriage with Lucy, Dorothea, and Hazel followed, by a carriage with their parents. Given the restrictions of riding in the city, Lucy had the brilliant idea of taking their mounts out to Hampstead Heath for a day of riding and picnicking. Surprisingly, Lucy’s father took to the idea and it turned into a grand outing for the two families. Lucy’s brother was also along and invited a few friends. Naturally, the younger gentlemen chose to ride.
“Today is going to be splendid,” Lucy began. “Thea, I’ve brought my old mare for you since I know you don’t sit a horse well.”
“Thank you.” Thea smiled.
“Who are these other gentlemen?” Hazel asked.
“Well, Draven, of course. He is mad for horses and anything to do with horses. The Earl of Bainbridge, a fellow I’ve been introduced to, but never see at any function, and then some chap from university, who usually eschews the ton. I don’t remember his name.”
“He eschews the ton?” Anabelle said in curiosity. “Whatever for?”
“You know? I don’t exactly know. He isn’t scandalous or anything, at least not enough to earn my parents disfavor. He is just rarely in town. I can’t even recall his name?” Lucy put a finger to her chin.
Hazel looked out the carriage window, but the four gentlemen had already ridden far ahead of the carriage.
Anabelle poked her in the side and smiled broadly when Hazel turned to her. “Did you hear that, dear sister? You will be reacquainted with the Earl of Bainbridge.”
This earned the eager attention of Thea and Lucy.
“Reacquainted?” Lucy brightened. “Have you met him before?”
“I’ve had the pleasure of a dance with him. That is it,” Hazel stressed the words. “I find him to be a complete bore.”
Anabelle was still smiling at Hazel. “A complete bore, you say? Is that why you ran away when you saw him at the musicale? You were afraid he would bore you to death?”
The three giggled and Hazel glared them all into silence. “Hold your tongues or I will toss you from the carriage,” Hazel warned, but her cheeks were blushing.
The giggles stopped, but still, her friends smiled. Anabelle squeezed her hand. “I won’t let him bore you to death.”
They soon arrived at their destination, taking a side road away from the cluster of shops and Inns of the main road. Coming to a stop, they departed from the carriage. The gentlemen joined them, having ridden ahead, but not out of sight of the carriage. The boot was emptied of its cargo and blankets and baskets were set out. The gentlemen dismounted and introductions were made where necessary.
Rigsby’s mysterious friend was demystified as Dean Warren, Earl of Winchester. He had a full beard covering half his face.
“He looks positively savage,” Lucy whispered to Thea.
The group stretched their legs and then sat for a light lunch. Once finished, their mounts were readied, and the ladies and gents parted ways. Two lawn chairs had been brought atop the carriage for the mothers to remain behind in the shade of a tree.
Anabelle felt light and free. She saw Draven, and he saw her, even meeting her eyes briefly, and yet she felt… well, far from nothing, but none of the uncomfortable heated fuzzy feelings she had before. She felt reasonable once again, and free of the something that had plagued her. She let her mare have her head as they ate up the land and luxuriated in the feeling of the wind on her face. Her smart little riding hat lost its moorings and flew from her head.
There was a shout behind her and laughter.
“I caught it!” Lucy whooped triumphantly and Anabelle laughed exuberantly. She slowed just enough until the four women were galloping side by side, smiling and laughing with joy, free against the constraints of the formal London parks where a lady could only ride earlier in the morning and at a sedate gait. Here they could run, here they could toss their hair in the wind, and no one could wag a finger at their mischief—as long as neither pair of parents were in sight of them.
It was a glorious day. The sun was radiant and warm, unusually so, and only a few clouds dotted the serenely blue sky. It was a day to take advantage of because very rapidly, it could decline to good old English weather.
The women practiced jumping a low wall, cleaning the cobwebs off their unused riding skills. Once bored with that, they found a beautiful pond with a bank of trees to one side and dismounted. Tethering the horses, they took to the shade and relaxed.
Anabelle took her riding jacket off and hung it from a branch. She walked down to the water and watched little fish dart away from her shadow. There was a commotion behind her. She turned to see Lucy had removed her boots and was removing her stockings.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m hot. I want to put my feet in the water.”
“Someone will see you,” Thea warned.
“Who?” Lucy looked around in exaggeration. “Who is here to see me, besides you three?”
Anabelle watched as Lucy lifted her skirts well above her ankles and tentatively stepped into the water.
Lucy made a face. “Ew. It’s slimy.”
“It’s a pond, Lucy.” Hazel smirked.
“But it feels wonderful at the same time.” Lucy smiled encouragingly.
Anabelle bit her lip. She was so tempted. She stepped back from the wet bank and sat to remove her boots and stockings.
“Anabelle!” Hazel squeaked in shocked delight.
Anabelle shrugged. “Live a little, Hazel. What could possibly go wrong?”
Hazel and Thea shared a glance and then began to remove their boots as well.
Soon, there were four pale pairs of ankles wading into the peaceful pond.
“Mother would faint if she saw us.” Hazel grinned.
“I might faint if another fish comes close to me,” Thea said in alarm.
“Don’t do that. You will fall in the water and then the fish will swarm you like flesh-eating piranha.” Lucy teased.
Thea scowled at her then kicked water at her.
Lucy screeched. “You wench!” She laughed, and then kicked water back at Thea, which splashed Hazel.
Hazel gasped. She turned a thunderous glare on Lucy and then smiled evilly. Anabelle took a slow step away from her. The three-eyed each other like a quick draw duel and then suddenly, splashing erupted violently followed by screams and laughter. Anabelle couldn’t escape in time and all at once, her friends turned on her, so she joined the fracas.
Anabelle was laughing so hard her sides hurt. Her feet kept losing purchase in the muddy bottom of the pond so she retreated to the bank.
“Get back here, you coward. If I—Oh!” Lucy put a hand over her mouth.
“What is it? Did a fish touch your foot?”
“No.” Lucy hurried out of the water. “Everyone out. We have company coming.”
Hazel’s arms cartwheeled as she nearly lost her balance hurrying out of the water. Four riders were quickly approaching.
“It must be the gentlemen of our party,” Thea observed.
“Most definitely. But that won’t stop my brother from ringing a peel over my head and informing Mother and Father that I was brandishing my ankles on the heath.”
“Your brother is hardly the one to lecture of proper behavior,” Hazel muttered.
“I agree, but that won’t stop him. Believe me.”
Anabelle got both stockings on, but then the riders were upon them. She tossed her skirts down and stood. Hazel bunched her stockings in her hands and thrust them behind her back.
Lord Rigsby had pinned his sister with a furious stare while the oth
er gentlemen were doing a poor job at hiding smirks as they dismounted.
Lord Rigsby threw his reins at Draven and stalked towards his sister. “I can only assume that it was you who thought it an acceptable idea to bare your ankles on the heath. Is my assumption correct?”
Lucy bit her lip to keep from smiling before answering. “Possibly?”
Rigsby put his hands on his hips and just stared at her.
“It depends on how much you saw. We were fully naked at one point.” Lucy boldly met his stare.
Thea gasped and covered her mouth, two limp stockings dangling from her fingers. Hazel started to breathe erratically, which Anabelle knew to be a sign of impending laughter. Anabelle had stepped towards the tree and used it for balance as she stepped into her boots. There was no point in ruining her stockings further by standing on twigs and leaves. She looked up and Draven was smiling at her. She quickly looked away from him. The other men were equally as amused, even boring Lord Bainbridge. He was actually biting his thumb in what looked like an attempt to not laugh and staring intently in the direction of her sister. Anabelle’s gaze shot to Hazel, but her eyes were cast down in an effort to remain composed. She was doing a very poor job. Her shoulders were doing an unmistakable jerk every time she tried to smother a giggle.
“Well?” Lucy went on. “Did you see us in the all together?” Lucy looked past her brother to the other gentlemen. Lord Winchester boldly smiled at her. It was only then Lucy lost her bravado and blushed. “Get on with it, Jonathan. Shout, lecture, threaten to have Father lock me away, just get it over with.”
He only shook his head and turned away. He mounted his horse. “We will escort you back. The clouds are thickening.” The other gentlemen turned their backs to them and angled their horses away to give them privacy. Anabelle quickly fastened her boots while the others struggled to put on damp stockings. Once finished, they led their horses away from the tree to mount. The gentlemen obligingly assisted.
Anabelle was surprised when Draven came to her side. She knew he couldn’t resist some sort of sordid remark regarding their behavior. She decided she wouldn’t let him have the first word.
“Well, what did you see?” She tilted her head coyly.
“Four nude sprites frolicking in the water. It was very enchanting, but I can’t be sure exactly what I saw. Their magic is very powerful.” He smiled wickedly.
Anabelle felt a rush of excitement. “Nude? Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “Could have been a dream.” He linked his hands to give her a boost.
“It must have been.” She laughed quietly. “But, in all truth, what did you see.”
Draven put his hand on the lower pommel of her saddle. To Anabelle, it felt as intimate as if he had put his hand on her knee.
“I saw four women innocently enjoying nature’s offerings. It was a delight to watch.” He pointed to a hill. “We were up there. Luckily, Lord Wellsford and Lord Heath had returned to ready the carriages and did not bear witness to the exhibition.”
Anabelle bit her lip to stop a smile before it formed on her lips. She should not be smiling at him. “Thank you.”
He stepped away and doffed his hat to bow to her.
Anabelle rolled her eyes and turned her horse away. This time, she had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. Their moment of madness was over and she needed to remind herself of that.
The group returned to the picnic area, but the carriages had already departed.
“The storm is coming fast. I sent them on ahead and we will ride,” Lord Wellsford informed them.
“Ahead where?” Lucy asked in surprise.
“Lord Draven has invited us to his Hampstead cottage while we wait for the storm to run through.”
Anabelle peeked at him under her hat. She had no idea he had a cottage in Hampstead, but then again, why would she?
Chapter 11
The cottage was not what Anabelle expected, though she wasn’t sure what she expected. It was red brick with a thatch roof, which would have been very plain and drab if not for the beauty surrounding it. The cottage was nestled in a bluebell wood and surrounded by ancient trees. Nothing was confined or altered by man. Everything was as nature intended it to be, except for the cottage. They passed the front of the cottage and continued on the dirt road to the back where the stables were located. The canopy of trees masked the initial rainfall, but the patter of drops could be heard upon the leaves.
In the clearing before the stables, they dismounted and hurried inside. Anabelle was itching with curiosity to see the inside and how it fit with her impression of Draven. They entered through the kitchen where they were greeted by the cottage caretaker’s wife and housekeeper, Mrs. Kent.
They were ushered to a drawing room and a fire was quickly started. Mrs. Kent assured them that tea and biscuits would be promptly served. Anabelle kept her curiosity hidden as she took a seat beside Hazel. Everyone was a little damp, except the mothers, but the cozy room soon drove away the chill. The gentlemen were eager to get inside Draven’s stables. The stables looked larger than the cottage and were newly built after he purchased the cottage to house his most prized horses. While the cottage had a caretaker, housekeeper, and one maid, the stables had a bevy of grooms, stable hands, and the stable master to tend his horses.
Anabelle was thrilled when Lady Heath asked Draven more about the cottage and even more so when he offered to give a tour. Anabelle rose eagerly along with the other ladies and Lord Bainbridge. He followed at the back of the group, so Anabelle made sure she and Hazel did as well. The tea arrived just as they rose and Mrs. Kent offered to do the tour. They followed her from the drawing room like a row of baby ducks. The cottage wasn’t large. The ground floor held the drawing room and library as one room, a dining room, and the kitchen. The first floor housed four bedrooms.
The cottage was immaculately clean and in good repair. Its furnishings were simple and comfortable. Anabelle found it to be charming and inviting, but so very different from what she expected of him. Mrs. Kent was a fountain of information and it wasn’t hard for Anabelle to steer her in the direction in which she wished answers.
“His lordship’s pride and joy are the stables, but during the racing season is when he makes use of the cottage, usually with a few gentlemen of his acquaintance. It’s a cozy home, not meant for more than a place to retreat and lay one’s head, but it is a gem in the midst of the heath, if I do say so myself.”
Anabelle agreed. The cottage was by no means a showy or grand place meant to awe or intimidate its guests with grandeur. It was home, just as Mrs. Kent had described it. How it fit with Draven, Anabelle couldn’t discern, but it seemed as Mrs. Kent had said—for him it was about his prize stables and the cottage was simply a roof over his head. What a shame. She could imagine a little family here, filling the halls with laughter and love. Children running down the halls, reading by the fire, a place where simple pleasures reigned supreme.
Mrs. Kent opened the door to a guest room and the others shuffled inside. Anabelle held back, curious to see which room belonged to Draven, and if it held more clues to the man himself. Surely, the room in which he slept would be more like him, containing more of what he was as a man?
Anabelle stepped back from the open door quietly and out of sight of the others. She moved quickly to the last door and placed her hand on the knob. She looked back down the hall and listened. Mrs. Kent still held the attention of her audience with a description of the bed hangings she had sewn herself.
The knob turned in her hand and the door pulled open from the other side. She held her breath, afraid to make a single noise as she stumbled into the doorway. A firm hand caught her arm.
Anabelle looked up into grey eyes devoid of emotion.
He pulled her inside and closed the door.
“What are you doing, Anabelle?” he said quietly. They were standing chest to chest in his bedroom.
“I am enjoying a tour of your charming cottage,” she whispered. If
she were breathless, it was because of the near fall and not his nearness—or so she told herself.
“And how do you like it?” he asked, his eyes brightening with amusement.
“It’s quite lovely, though how it fits with you, I haven’t yet deduced.”
“Fits with me?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“Homes always tell a story of the people who live there, or at least what they are trying to convey. I see nothing of you here.”
“The cottage is a convenience for my stables and a retreat for the racing season. I have not decorated, tis true, but nor do I see the need to. It meets my present needs as is.”
“You’ve done nothing to make it your own?” she said with disappointment.
“Why would I.”
“Why ever would you not? To make it yours, to make it more familiar.”
Draven smiled as she moved away from him and further into his room. She was looking around in blatant curiosity. It’s true he did not refurnish the rest of the cottage to his own taste, but not because he didn’t care. He liked it the way it was. He had bought it from a widowed old woman who smelled of baking bread. Her husband had died the year before and she was going to live with her sister. He found the cottage immensely cozy, a bastion away from the pretentiousness of the ton. He only invited certain friends here to stay.
He paid far more than it was worth, intent to see the old woman comfortable for the rest of her days. He kept it exactly as it was except for his bedroom. He liked the way the walls breathed peace, the cheery way the fire snapped and the essence of comfort and love that practically oozed from the walls. He didn’t spend as much time here as he would like, but he breathed in every moment of its calm comfort when he did.
Anabelle masked her intrigue as she took in his private chamber. This was much more Draven. The walls still claimed country comfort with the bright white wash and shining mahogany furniture. His bed, which Anabelle gave only the briefest of glances, was swathed in midnight blue satin with a matching coverlet. It was sin surrounded by innocence. There were no fripperies or knickknacks, everything having its precise place. Clean, devoid of excess emotions or displays, regimented in its use, with the exception of the decadent bed that she kept her back to. This was Draven. He was a simple animal in his needs and wants. All that one was allowed to see was presently seen.