The Village Spinster

by Laura Matthews

  A rueful smile twitched his lips. He'd intended, out of respect for their former association, to have a simple chat with Clarissa, in the friendliest manner, and clarify just what was expected of her in her relations with Aria and Will. She should have been in a state of nerves, anticipating that at any time he would descend upon her and chastise her for her conduct over the Farmer Olsen incident. He'd come unannounced just so she wouldn't be thrown unnecessarily into palpitations. Instead, somehow she'd managed to turn things around so he'd had little to say. Now that he came to think about it, she'd had the effrontery to damn near toy with him!

  He grinned and flicked the reins to urge his horse, Longbridge, on. Kinsford couldn't help but wonder if he'd sent a note ahead whether she would have put on her shoes.

  As he rode through the village of Pennwick, Kinsford was aware of the twitching of curtains at cottage windows. He knew the villagers were curious about him. There were always rumors when he came home: he was about to be married, he had decided to take his half-brother and half-sister to town with him, he was selling off the south pasture because he needed the money. Heaven knew where the rumors arose, probably over a pint of beer. It was never necessary to deny them. By his actions, they could see that he was not marrying, or taking his siblings to town, or selling off property. Besides, he usually managed, when he was at home, to visit the old county families and they in turn depressed any untoward rumors.

  There was nothing Kinsford's stepmother liked better than asking him to execute a commission for her “when he was in the village.” On this occasion she had requested that he match some thread for her, a totally inappropriate task for one of his position, of course, but he seldom refused her, knowing that what she liked second-best was to complain in a mild but heartbreaking manner of her disappointment with his treatment of her and her children. He had never let such behavior disturb him, but something Miss Driscoll had said had alerted him that there might be something amiss here. Would Lady Kinsford really not have been concerned about the children's misbehavior?

  Kinsford dismounted in front of the shop and tied Longbridge to the iron ring provided. Actually, he had brought Aria with him, leaving her in the village when he went to visit Miss Driscoll. Entering the shop now, he found her deep in conversation with Mrs. Luden.

  “I should think it's close enough,” Lady Aria commented, wrapping two bits of thread around her finger side by side. “Still, we'd best take the other spool as well, just in case. One or the other must have been what she bought before."

  Kinsford was always surprised to find his half-sister so practical. And so pretty. Unlike himself, she was blond and small and soft-edged. To look at her one would not have suspected the mischief she could manage. And she was obviously mature for her age, no longer the child he remembered from other visits. Kinsford strongly suspected that, in another year, he was going to have to take her up to London for a Season. And taking her meant taking the dowager as well. A daunting thought.

  “Very wise,” he said now, dipping his hand into his pocket for more coins. “Your mama will certainly approve of one of them."

  This made his half-sister grin at him. “No, but it will keep her from sending a note round to pester Mrs. Luden."

  “Lady Kinsford never pesters me,” Mrs. Luden said stoutly. “She's a particular lady, to be sure, but most gracious."

  Lady Aria remembered where her brother had just been and teased, “No doubt you found Miss Driscoll most gracious, also."

  “Without her shoes,” he muttered, just barely audible.

  Lady Aria bit her lip and said nothing, but her eyes sparkled with delight. Mrs. Luden handed her a small parcel with both spools of thread and wished them a good day. Lord Kinsford took his sister's elbow, guiding her past piles of yard goods and food. Only when they had mounted their horses did Lady Aria ask, “What did you mean, without her shoes?"

  “Miss Driscoll wasn't expecting me. I dare say she had forgotten she'd removed them,” he admitted. “But, still, Aria. She's turned into a rather unconventional sort of woman, I suspect. I'm not at all sure she's an appropriate person to be instructing you."

  Immediately Lady Aria's face clouded over. “She's the most refreshing person in the whole village, Kinsford. Everyone else is so wretchedly deferential, you want to choke. And she isn't employed to teach us manners, for heaven's sake. Please don't say you're going to cut off my lessons with her."

  “I doubt your mother would approve."

  “Oh, pooh! Mama could not possibly object to Miss Driscoll. There is no one in the area who could teach me so many things—art and pianoforte and dancing. Miss Driscoll has a talent at each of them, which she is able to convey with enthusiasm.” Aria cocked her head engagingly. “And she's so kind to me, Kinsford, and really interested in what I do. She listens to me. No one else really listens to me."

  Kinsford had not realized that Aria was lonely now that she had left school. He sighed. “I dare say you're old enough not to be unduly influenced by an oddity or two,” he admitted, “but I don't at all like Miss Driscoll interfering in your lives outside her sphere. If that should happen again..."

  He let the sentence hang unfinished in the crisp spring air, a threat of a sort. Not that he intended to be around to carry it out. How could he, in London, hear of the doings of one odd woman in Pennwick? Still, he hoped to impress Aria with his seriousness.

  She mustn't be allowed to run wild. He would have a word with the dowager.

  Lady Aria looked up at him from under the brim of her royal-blue riding bonnet. “Did Miss Driscoll show you any of my watercolors?” she asked diffidently.

  “Yes, indeed,” he said, relieved to change the subject. “They're quite extraordinary, Aria. I had no idea you were so talented. Perhaps we should find you a real drawing master."

  Again her face clouded, and her jaw set stubbornly. “Miss Driscoll is a wonderful teacher. Any drawing master you got me would only let me paint pretty pictures of flowers or the view over the garden. I should hate that! If I can't have Miss Driscoll, I won't have anyone!"

  Kinsford's back stiffened. “You forget yourself, Aria. Any such decision remains with me."

  She did not reply. With a mutinous glare, she urged her horse to the gallop. Firebird was one of the finest mares the estate had produced in many years, and she quickly outdistanced his own Longbridge, since Kinsford refused to give chase to the girl. It was most certainly unnecessary, and beneath his dignity. Aria's outright rudeness was a disagreeable surprise. Something really would have to be done about her lack of manners.

  His half-sister was a neck-or-nothing rider. He watched as she put Firebird to the hedge at the side of the road. Firebird sailed over another hedge and a stream a few paces beyond with the greatest ease. Lady Aria sat her horse as well as any woman Kinsford had ever seen and he felt a flash of pride in her.

  Out of the corner of his eye Lord Kinsford saw a motion in the long grasses to his left, not far from the stream Firebird was approaching. It was doubtless a fox or a dog—nothing to be alarmed about. Except that Firebird's one fault was her skittishness.

  Horse and rider were aimed directly at the hidden animal. Lady Aria raised her hands to urge Firebird over a low fence. As Firebird rose from the ground, the dog rushed at her, barking ferociously. Horse and rider seemed poised for an instant over the fence. But Firebird had lost her stride in her nervous attempt to shy away from the animal. A hoof caught the top rung of the fence and she landed awkwardly, stumbling to the left.

  Lady Aria, caught off-guard, had the reins yanked out of her grip. Kinsford watched helplessly as she was hurtled from the saddle and flew through the air. Before she even landed, he had dug his heels into Longbridge ‘s sides. He saw Lady Aria hit the ground. She remained motionless. Icy fear gripped him.

  Firebird stood shuddering over the girl. The dog barked on the opposite side of the fence. Longbridge soared over the hedges, over the stream, and finally over the fence. Kinsford was out of the sa
ddle before he had even stopped his horse.

  “Aria! My God, Aria, are you all right?"

  But the girl was silent.

  Kinsford knelt down beside her and took her wrist in his hand. He could feel a faint pulse. Her face seemed unbearably white where she lay twisted onto her side, one shoulder at an awkward angle. With careful fingers he felt along her head first, where he could see a swelling at her temple. There was no broken skin but the swelling seemed alarmingly large. Undoubtedly, the blow to her head had rendered her unconscious. Kinsford quickly ran his hands over the dislocated shoulder and along her arms and legs, but only the left wrist was puffed up. Her boots prevented any assessment of her ankles, but they would probably have provided protection.

  He had helped men with dislocated shoulders on the battlefield, but his sister looked so very small and fragile, he was tempted to wait until a doctor could attempt the reduction. But that meant a considerable wait, and Aria might regain consciousness in the meantime. Far better to manage it now before the excruciating pain descended upon her.

  Bracing himself, and making sure that her shoulder was firmly lodged against the ground, Kinsford quickly manipulated the shoulder back into position. The sound of the pop, and the agonized groan that was forced from Aria left him somewhat shaken. Kinsford sat back on his haunches, trying to decide what to do next.

  It was more than a mile to the Hall. He could leave Aria and go for a doctor, or go for a cart to bring her home. But the idea of leaving her alone in the field was horrifying to him. She might awaken in terrible pain and not understand what was happening. She might even try to rise and make her way home. The village was closer than Kinsford Hall. He could more easily carry her there and send for a doctor, as well as a cart to take her home. But was it wise to carry her with a possibly broken wrist?

  There really didn't seem to be much choice. Kinsford stripped off his coat and his cravat, wound the former around the shoulder to hold it in place and bound the wrist with the latter. His sister moaned softly as he lifted her from the ground into his arms, tucking her shoulder tightly against his body. The horses could make their way home or follow him into the village; it was a matter of total indifference to him.

  He was a man of average height and solid, athletic physique. Carrying the girl was not a particular strain for him, but trying not to jostle her complicated matters somewhat. When he lost his hat in picking her up, he left it where it fell. His boots were soon muddy from the damp fields, even though he managed to find a footbridge across the stream. His breeches were splattered and his shirt crumpled by the time he reached the outskirts of Pennwick village.

  It had been Lord Kinsford's intention to take the girl to Mrs. Luden, who lived behind her shop, but the first cottage he passed was that of Miss Driscoll and something made him hesitate there, before her door. The argument he'd had with his sister had involved Miss Driscoll and it seemed to Kinsford that his sister would have chosen her over Mrs. Luden to offer succor at such a time. Doubtful as he was himself, he determined for his sister's sake to seek help there. With his elbow he managed to bang gracelessly on the door.

  Meg's eyes widened when she saw his lordship with Lady Aria in his arms. “Oh, my lord!” she exclaimed. “What's happened? Bring her in straightaway. Miss Driscoll! Miss Driscoll!"

  The urgency of the summons brought Clarissa almost instantly into the tiny hallway. She took in the scene at a glance and pointed to the sitting-room door. “Bring her in here. Meg, send Jimmy for Dr. Lawrence right away, please."

  “What happened?” Clarissa asked as she carefully loosened the neck of Lady Aria's riding costume. The girl was still unconscious, her face pale, and her breathing shallow.

  “She fell from her horse. A dog frightened Firebird as they were just beginning a jump.” He touched the swollen area on the side of Lady Aria's head. “There were no rocks in the area. Still, she must have hit the ground hard enough to do this."

  “And her shoulder?"

  “It was dislocated, but I've restored it. Unless the walk here has thrown it out again."

  “Let's have a look at it.” Clarissa unwound the coat and ran her fingers along the shoulder. She made a moue of distress. “There's a lot of bruising, but it seems to be in place now. She's fortunate you knew how to do it. It will save her a great deal of pain."

  He nodded. “Her wrist is swollen, too. I can't tell if it's broken."

  Clarissa removed the cravat and felt along the wrist. “I'd guess not, but it's hard to tell. I'll prepare a poultice in hot moist flannels for her head and we should keep her warm because of the shock. You'll find a blanket in the closet at the head of the stairs.” She seemed to recollect herself. “Or you may wait a moment and Meg will get it. If Jimmy isn't off somewhere, she won't be long."

  Lord Kinsford didn't hesitate. “I'll get the blanket."

  She nodded and tucked a stray curl of brown hair up under her cap as she pushed through the door to the back hall. Kinsford frowned down at his sister briefly, then moved to the front hall. Just as he began to climb the stairs, there was a knock at the door. Realizing that Meg was out of the house and Miss Driscoll in the kitchen, he returned to open the door.

  “The new butler, I presume,” said the young man who stood there, his eyes twinkling. “My own butler generally wears a coat and neckcloth, which I believe my wife insists upon. Miss Driscoll, however, is singular enough to have a butler who answers the door in his shirtsleeves,” the fellow mused. “Is she home, by any chance?"

  Lord Kinsford gave the man a stony look. “Miss Driscoll is occupied at the moment. Please call another time.” He began to close the door.

  “Here now! Tell her Mr. Traling is here. I'm sure she'll see me. We're quite good friends."

  “You are, are you? Then you may wait in the hall until she's free to speak with you.” Beneath his breath he muttered “impertinent young pup” as he took the stairs two at a time. There were several blankets in the closet and Kinsford decided to bring all of them. He threw a black look at the fellow still standing in the hall when he returned downstairs.

  “Is there some difficulty? Perhaps I could help,” the man suggested, though diffidently.

  His lordship dismissed him curtly. “I very much doubt it."

  He carried the blankets into the sitting room, not realizing that the young man had followed him until the fellow said, “My word! She's not dead, is she?"

  Kinsford gave him a fulminating look but just then Miss Driscoll appeared in the doorway with a steaming flannel. “Mr. Traling,” she said when her gaze fell on the newcomer. “I had no idea you were here. We're a bit disorganized at present. I'm afraid I shan't be able to talk with you."

  As Kinsford tucked the blankets around his sister's still form, he was annoyed to see that Traling showed no sign of taking the hint.

  “Two blankets will make her too hot,” Traling said. “It's a warm day."

  The earl glared at him, but Miss Driscoll merely shook her head. “Not to worry. The doctor will be here soon, and Lord Kinsford has already seen to the dislocated shoulder."

  “Is this the artist?” Mr. Traling asked Miss Driscoll. “I recognize her from your drawing."

  “Yes.” Clarissa placed the warm poultice over the swollen and bruised area of the girl's head. “And this is her older brother, the Earl of Kinsford. Lord Kinsford, Mr. Steven Traling."

  “Very pleased to meet you, my lord.” Mr. Traling held out his hand, which it seemed for a moment the earl would refuse. After a barely acceptable pause, Kinsford shook hands peremptorily, his eyes narrowed first at Traling and then at Miss Driscoll, who ignored his inspection.

  Lady Aria was coming around now, making little mewling sounds like a kitten. The two men turned to look at the girl, Traling with curiosity and Kinsford with concern. Clarissa soothed the girl's forehead. “You're here with me, dear,” she said softly. “At Miss Driscoll's house. Your brother has brought you after a riding accident."

  Lady Aria blinked
her eyes open but allowed them to drift shut again with a moan. Kinsford's hands clenched at his sides. “I really think Mr. Traling will be in the way when the doctor comes,” he said.

  “I think I've missed the worst of it, if you've already fixed her dislocated shoulder,” Mr. Traling mused. “Once, when I was a small lad, I dislocated my shoulder and it was incredibly painful when the doctor and my father rammed it back into place. I thought they were trying to snap me in two."

  “Miss Driscoll, I really must insist!” Kinsford exclaimed, just as there was a loud pounding at the door. “What the devil is going on here?"

  “I'll take care of that,” Mr. Traling offered, obviously unoffended by Kinsford's insistence. “At least I'm not in my shirtsleeves.''

  Chapter Three

  To Clarissa's disappointment, it was not Meg with the doctor, but the Honorable William Barrington, Lady Aria's other brother. “What are the horses doing loose?” she heard him demand in the hall. “Where's Lady Aria? She would never let Firebird run wild. Who are you? Where's Miss Driscoll?"

  Though Mr. Traling did attempt to answer these questions, he didn't have many answers and William became impatient with him. The newest visitor strode into the sitting room, demanding Miss Driscoll's attention. When he saw his sister lying pale on the sofa, he must have known a moment's terror.

  “You've killed her!” he yelled, apparently at Kinsford. “How could you do that? You've only been home two days!"

  While Clarissa realized that he spoke out of shock, his older brother looked stunned at such an accusation. “She fell from her horse,” he said stiffly.

  “But she's an excellent rider!” Master William exclaimed.

  Clarissa tried to point out the most pertinent fact. “She's not dead, Master William. She's been unconscious most of the time, which is fortunate, since her shoulder was dislocated. Meg is sending Jimmy for Dr. Lawrence."