“She has confused the mallet for a Scottish golf club," snickered Sylvia before tapping her ball through a wire gate.
“Or a cricket bat," laughed Deborah.
Emily felt Gabriel's gaze on her before she turned to meet his velvety brown stare. He, too, was smiling, but he wasn't laughing at her. His look was encouraging, and she faced Tom, who was stomping toward her, with more confidence. “I did not do it on purpose, Tom. It will not happen again."
“You said that before, Em. You ain't scoring any points for us, either," he said out of the side of his mouth to keep the others from hearing. "Why can't you play like the other girls? Try tapping the ball instead of clobbering it with that mallet."
“But the ball does not go very far."
“It’s a sight better than you hitting my ball out of play each time."
“Your turn, Tom," Freddy called out.
It took Tom two shots to regain his position. Emily didn't dare do more than tap her ball with him glowering at her the whole time. When Cecil's ball knocked Tom's off the court again, Tom was close to losing his temper.
“I am sorry, Tom," Emily whispered to keep that hateful Cecil from overhearing.
“Humph!" Tom grunted before looking around. They were by themselves, the others, having all passed them, were at the other end of the field. "By the bye, Em, Aunt Esmeralda wants me to have a word with you about making a pest of yourself with Lindemann. What do you suppose the old girl's hinting at?"
“Oh pooh. Sylvia complained because Jane and I ran across the Viscount fishing. Aunt Esmeralda's problem is she cannot believe he invited me here."
“That is rather queer, Em. I mean, we ain't seen Lindemann in years. Fact is, he wouldn't know either of us from Adam and Eve. He’s been off fighting Napoleon, and when he’s in country, he runs with a lofty crowd, top of the trees and all that. How is it he met you?"
Emily cast a suspicious glance his way, but Tom appeared ignorant of her first inauspicious meeting with Gabriel. “We, ah, ran into each other, nothing more."
“And like that, he extended an invite to his house party?"
“Yes, just like that. He is very neighborly, Tom. Just consider how you barged into his house, then weaseled an invitation from him."
“Hmmm." He seemed to mull her explanation for a moment. "You know, Em, I don't think Aunt Esmeralda's forgiven you for making a cake of yourself at Lady Addington's soirée. You might try acting more like the other girls."
“What exactly do you mean, Tom?" Emily asked, crossing her arms while holding the mallet over her shoulder.
"Just like this. Ladies don’t take a stance with their mallets in the air.” He frowned at her and said, “It's for your own good, Em. The Viscount can open doors for you. That’s if you don't go and do a bacon brained thing like dancing by yourself in public again."
“What nonsense. A year from now, no one will remember it was me." But even as she said this, she lowered her mallet and looked about to see if anyone was watching her. Her eyes flew immediately to where Gabriel stood politely listening to Sylvia, her blond head bent toward his, as he leaned over his ball preparing to make a shot. And she remembered their conversation earlier that morning. He’d kept addressing her as Miss Pendleton and admonished her for language a lady of Quality would not use.
“You're wrong there, Em. You’re a nine day wonder they haven't forgotten yet, and some of them tattlemongers have memories like elephants."
###
The next morning, Gabriel arrived at the breakfast table to find Cecil had scheduled a quail hunt for the men. Since young Pendleton wasn't expected until supper that night and Freddy and Ellison were indifferent hunters, that left Chesterfield, the only real enthusiast who thought the shoot an excellent idea. Gabriel offered no objections, however. After a quick consultation with Gresham, they were supplied with shotguns. Gabriel along with Cecil led the group through the woods until they'd reached an area covered with few trees, low bushes and high grass.
Cecil unleashed the two bird dogs they'd brought with them and called the spaniels to heel. “There’s enough of us to pulverize a bird,” he said. “Why don't you and I each head up a group, Cuz?" Chesterfield quickly looked about, assessing the others. “I'll pair up with Lindemann."
“No, I will," said Freddy with a mulish glint in his eyes.
Chesterfield slung his shotgun over his shoulder. “Very well, I'll go with Caldwell here."
“Who'll I be with?" asked Ellison, pointing his gun at Cecil, then Gabriel.
“Aim that damn thing down," growled Cecil. “You'll kill someone if you aren't more careful."
Taking pity on the dandy, Gabriel placed a hand on the barrel of Ellison's shotgun and gently pushed it toward the ground. "Come with Freddy and me, Ellison. Just keep abreast of us, and make sure of your bird before you shoot." Eying Cecil, he asked, “What area will you be covering?"
Cecil pointed toward the left. "Chesterfield and I will stay to the west of your party. We'll use that yew hedge as a divider," he said before glaring at Ellison. "That way, we'll stay out of each other's shot. ‘Course, there’s little chance we’ll mistake Ellison for a bird. His costume’s brighter than a peacocks."
Ellison smoothed the front of his red jacket over the purple and yellow vest, and stretched a leg clad in orange clocks. “Most kind of you, Caldwell,” he drawled with feeling.
Gabriel, Fordyce and Ellison gave their dog, Rufus, the command to flush out the coveys, and the threesome began a slow and methodical tramp over the ground. When the spaniel rushed a low cover of bushes and a bird flew up, Freddy was the first to fire but missed the quail. Ellison fired next, but also missed. Gabriel, who had remained in the rear of the other two gentlemen, quickly stepped up and made the shot, sending Rufus bounding over the sparsely treed field toward the downed bird. Then Gabriel sent the dog out front again to flush out more birds. Thus it went over the course of an hour. The spaniel remained out front, and the distance among the hunters widened as they traversed the area.
Gabriel had just brought down his fifth bird, and Rufus dashed off to investigate a small hedge up ahead but turned away before reaching it. Watching how the spaniel uneasily circle the hedge, Gabriel broke the barrel of his gun open and began to reload.
Then, a shot was fired.
*** Chapter 6 ***
War had sharpened Gabriel's reflexes. So before the second shot got off, Gabriel was already diving for a clump of nearby bushes. Still, he wasn't fast enough, and the bullet creased the side of his head, just above the right ear. He felt slightly dazed yet was clear headed enough to remain crouched behind a bush as he scanned the area, searching for a sign of his attacker.
“Hey, Gab." It was Freddy calling from the woods behind him. "Did you nab a bird?"
When the Viscount didn't answer, Freddy hollered to him again before coming out of a small woods.
“Won't ever get a bead on a bird sitting behind that bush, Gab." When Gabriel still didn't reply, Freddy ambled closer to him. Stooping down with a grunt, he asked with concern, "You all right?"
Peering closely at his friend, Freddy's eyes zeroed in on the trickle of blood running down the side of Gabriel's neck and dropped his gun. It dislodged a shot which, fortunately for both men, went into the dirt.
“Sorry about that," Freddy apologized.
“Think nothing of it," Gabriel mumbled.
“Ah, Gab?" The baron stood, then teetered from one foot to the other. “Do you know you're bleeding like a stuck pig?" He reached a shaking hand to help Gabriel up but soon had to resort to leaning on Gabriel’s shoulder instead to steady himself.
“Easy, Freddy,” Gabriel said with a smile, despite the gravity of the situation. Freddy’s ruddy complexion turned first to a bilious green before blanching white and making his freckles stand out in stark relief. “You’d better join me and have a seat before you topple over.”
“It’s the claret,” complained the baron weakly just before keeling over flat
on his face.
###
Emily tried to be sociable. She sat with the other ladies, demurely listening to their chatter. But after a half hour of Deborah Caldwell's haughty stares and Sylvia Raines' snide remarks, she got up and walked over to a grouping of arm chairs covered in embroidered Chinese silk where Jane sat with Prudence Burke-White.
Esmeralda's goddaughter appeared no different than most debutantes. Talk centered on how this hat perked up that dress, the number of new gowns that had to be ordered before next spring and who might be expected to send her invitations. There was also the usual discussion of her heightened marriage prospects now that Lady Spivey was going to sponsor her next Season.
Jane, of course, dared not speak directly to Emily since Sylvia kept an eagle eye on the poor girl. It wasn’t long before Sylvia sent Jane on some trumped up errand to fetch a sewing basket.
A few minutes later, Aunt Esmeralda, afraid to leave her goddaughter alone with Emily for even five minutes, called for Prudence to settle a discussion she was having with Lady Raines over lace trimmings for a hanky she was hemming.
Left sitting alone, Emily rose and headed for the library to hide out until dinner. When no one made comment on her leaving the drawing room, she batted irritably at a tear, the only outward sign of her bruised feelings.
The library, while masculine in decor with burgundy drapes and carpet, offered Emily suitable isolation. Three walls were lined with oak shelves filled with leather bound books and journals. After much deliberation over an improving tomb of sermons by John Wesley, Emily at last capitulated to impulse, grabbing one of her favorites, The Mysteries of Udolpho.
But the story could not hold her attention. She kept reliving the previous night in the woods, remembering how Gabriel had effortlessly picked her up in his strong arms and held her close to his broad chest. His actions had sparked emotions within her breast completely foreign to her. Gone was her wish to be independent. She craved his nearness again. It had made her feel so safe and warm and . . . .
“Better hold up, Gab. You're bleeding all over the carpet."
Ellison's words brought Emily immediately back to the present. Throwing Mrs. Radcliffe's novel aside, she jumped up and flew to the door where her eyes fell upon the sight in the foyer.
Freddy's pudgy form came staggering down the hall. Leaning heavily on Cecil's arm, the baron was splattered with mud from his tousled red hair to the tips of his Hessians. Behind those two came Chesterfield, then Gabriel with a blood soaked cravat tied around his head. Ellison, the only one looking as dapper as when he'd started out, called for Pickering.
“What happened?" Emily demanded, going up to Gabriel and carefully lifting the bandage to inspect the wound. She winced at the raw inch-long gash above his ear.
Gabriel gave her a wry smile before pulling her hand down and keeping it in his own. His head was beginning to hurt like the very devil, but he was reluctant to let her go. “An accident. Someone's shot went wild and grazed me, nothing more."
“Don't know whose, though," added Freddy, turning to Gabriel. “The shot came from your area, Gab. Ellison was behind me. Chesterfield and Cecil weren't anywhere near us, come to that." He began to teeter on his feet again, his color turning bilious.
“Stand up," Cecil growled. He tightened his hold to steady the baron but was obviously having difficulty keeping Freddy from weaving back and forth. “Damn, you're worst than a simpering woman, Fordyce."
Finally shaking the baron, Cecil removed a glove to fastidiously brush mud from his coat sleeve. His cold stare, on the other hand, traveled down Gabriel's arm to where his hand held Emily's in the folds of her skirt.
Reluctantly, Gabriel gave up his prize but only after he brought her palm up to his lips for a kiss. “There is no cause for worry, Emily. Freddy and I only appear much worse for the wear and tear of the hunt."
“Can't help it," replied Freddy, spasmodically groping for Cecil's lapels and creasing the fabric.
“Come to think on it," Ellison interjected. “’Tis a bit of a rum business, you getting nicked, Gabriel. Ain't like you to shoot yourself, eh?"
Emily's eyes glittered with indignation as she turned on Ellison. “Gabriel would never shoot himself, you nodcock."
The dandy took a step back with a wounded expression on his face. “No need for name calling. Meant no offense."
Gabriel, while delighted to see his wood sprite ready to defend his honor, also saw the situation was going from bad to worse. It was time to take charge. “Freddy, turn around so you don't have to look at me. Cecil, take him up to his room."
“What is the matter with Freddy?" asked Emily, apparently just noticing the baron's unnatural pallor. She reached for one chubby paw and patted it reassuringly.
“The silly fool can't handle the sight of blood," sneered Cecil before answering Gabriel. "I can't carry this tub of lard by myself. Where's that damned butler of yours." He angrily jabbed Freddy with his elbow, but this only served to dislodge more dried mud that fell on Cecil's boots. “You bloody fool! Stand up!"
“Can't," wheezed the baron, whose face by now was an alarming shade of green. Slowly, Freddy backed up to a padded bench and sank down heavily on it.
Moments later, Pickering came hustling down the hall with a footman in tow. Once they relieved Cecil of his burden and hauled Freddy up the stairs between them, Cecil turned back to Gabriel and asked, "Shall I have Pickering send for a doctor?"
Gabriel shook his head. “Not for a mere scratch."
“Oh, Gab, are you sure?" Gabriel was touched by the concern reflected in Emily's violet eye and wondered why Cecil didn't make an acid comment on it. “Would it not be wiser to let Doc Larson tend to your head?"
“Miss Pendleton's right, Lindemann," added Ellison. “Let the sawbones have a go at it--as a precaution against brain fever, you know."
“My valet can clean me up. Then I'll decide," tempered Gabriel, refusing Chesterfield's proffered arm to help him up the stairs.
Ellison shook his head in disbelief. "Brain fever is why the Earl of Wexson stuck his spoon in the wall last year."
Chesterfield, ignoring all else, had started down the hall. "I'll tell the ladies we're postponing this afternoon's ride."
As the ladies' voices floated down from the second floor, Cecil turned to Emily with a sardonic smile. “No need for that, Chesterfield. It'll be my pleasure to escort the ladies as planned."
“I hardly think we should be gadding about the countryside while our host is laid low," Emily felt goaded to say.
Gabriel, keeping a warily eye on the bevy of brightly clad females making their way down the stairs, quickly bade the gentlemen adieux. “You will excuse me, gentlemen, but I think you'll agree that in all my dirt I would only upset the other guests." Raising one hand to tap his bandaged head, he added, “None of us wants another faintly fatality." With that, he gave Emily an encouraging smile and bolted toward the back of the house for the servants' stairway.
###
Gabriel did not put in an appearance at lunch, though Pickering brought word that his lordship was resting comfortably.
“Likewise, my Lord Fordyce is also regrettably indisposed," the butler added.
Lunch, a cold collation of meats and cheeses, was served on the terrace overlooking the gardens. Cecil, true to his word, offered to lead the excursion to Cleeve Hill which had been planned for that afternoon’s entertainment. The older ladies naturally voiced their concern over leaving their host behind.
“May I assure you, kind ladies," drawled Cecil condescendingly, “that my cousin will have more cause to feel injury if his indisposition in any way prevents you from enjoying the Park's hospitality."
“No doubt you are right," Lady Raines agreed. “But to forgo an arduous carriage ride would not discommode me."
“Nor me," Lady Spivey seconded. “But as there can be nothing unexceptional about the excursion if you young people all ride together, I see no reason why Prudence may not go...and Emily
, of course."
Ellison, however, saw fit to protest the callousness of leaving the Viscount and Fordyce behind. “Not the thing to run off and ignore them."
“The invalids are hardly in any danger of expiring," Cecil replied, eying the dandy with disfavor. “And little can be accomplished by our languishing about the house."
“Mr. Caldwell is quite right, Ellison," added Lady Raines. “I am persuaded our host would much prefer his guests enjoy themselves, despite his absence."
“Oh, the Viscount's a great goer," Ellison seconded. “But it don't seem right, us cavorting about the countryside while Lindemann's laid low."
This only served to raise Lady Raines's hackles. “A visit to a notable land formation can hardly be termed cavorting, Sir." With a sapient eye on her daughter, the redoubtable lady added, “Perhaps Sylvia's company will help aid you in keeping your mind on more pleasant things."
Thus, shortly after lunch, the group gathered in front of the Park's well-stocked stables, where Gresham, the head groom, oversaw the saddling of suitable horses for everyone.
Emily, who had accepted a hand up from Ellison, was sitting patiently on Marabell, waiting for the others to mount, when she saw Gabriel and Freddy stride into the stable yard. Before she could say anything, Sylvia, who had hold of Chesterfiled's arm since lunch, advanced toward the newcomers.
“Good heavens!" Sylvia exclaimed. "You are not seriously thinking of going with us, my lord?"
“Said the same," Freddy chimed in, ignoring the scowl Sylvia sent his way.
Gabriel called to Gresham to saddle Ajax and another horse for Freddy before he answered her. “And why not? This," he said tapping the side of his hat which hid most of the bandaged wound, “amounts to the merest scratch."
“But it is a head wound," countered Deborah. “Would you agree, Cecil, that it is sheer foolishness for our cousin to venture out so soon?"
“Said the same," Freddy solemnly reiterated.
Cecil, who'd been studying Gabriel, turned to the baron. “More like, it's Fordyce here we need to worry about. His delicate stomach will surely rebel over such rough treatment."
The Hopeless Hoyden Page 8