by Judith Laik
Oh, she could not fool herself. Hearing Miss Bassett and Mrs. Dalrymple laughing with Lord Neil and the other gentlemen made her stomach hurt.
Edwina, in a primrose carriage dress and gypsy bonnet trimmed with daisies, shot glares at the horseback riders that should have withered them into dried leaves blowing away on the wind. Did she, too, regret she was not mounted? Edwina at least had chosen the carriage rather than horseback.
Miss Clark, seated beside Libbetty in the rear-facing seat, had little to say for herself. Her tension gave Libbetty the impression she also found it difficult not to turn to look ahead to the other members of the party.
Miss Irene Bassett, clinging in terror to her seat, could not converse. Her sole contribution to the company thus far had been to squeal shrilly whenever the coachman achieved a spanking trot from the sedate bays or took a corner too fast, which Irene deemed every corner.
Even though Libbetty had no horse available, she had no gown styled for carriage rides, so she wore her new sapphire merino habit, trimmed in black velvet. She topped it with a round bonnet of straw adorned with matching blue ribbons. She knew she appeared to advantage.
Tom and Francis dropped back beside the carriage to converse with the ladies. “This is great fun. Too bad you can’t ride, Lib,” Tom said.
Libbetty, mentally gritting her teeth, answered pleasantly, “I enjoy this elegant carriage. It is more comfortable than the jouncy ride on a horse.”
Lord Cauldreigh came alongside. “How are you ladies faring?”
“’Tis a very pleasant day for such an excursion,” Edwina offered.
Unsure whether Edwina’s recent hostility arose from a change of mind about Lord Cauldreigh, Libbetty avoided conversation with him. She turned to her seat partner. “Do you live in London, Miss Clark?”
“Yes, Mrs. Dalrymple and I have lodgings in Chelsea.” Miss Clark did not mention a Mr. Dalrymple, but Libbetty feared inquiry about him might be impolite.
Miss Clark went on, “I do enjoy such occasions as this, in the fresh air. Our life in town gives too few opportunities for such. Of course, we enjoy London. We have our friends, and we always find something to do. Have you been there, Miss Bishop?”
While Miss Clark was speaking, Lord Neil joined the other riders who had gathered around them. He tipped his hat briefly to the ladies and conversed with Lord Cauldreigh. Libbetty shook her head in answer to Miss Clark’s question, although she could scarcely pay attention with Lord Neil close by. She wished he would speak to her, but he did not.
As they passed Rose Farm, Mrs. Whitelow, standing on the front step of the farmhouse some distance up a long lane, curtsied to Lord Cauldreigh and Lord Neil, then waved enthusiastically and performed what looked like the steps of a dance, with an enigmatic smile that seemed to mock the two Coltons.
Lord Neil’s lips tightened. Lord Cauldreigh spun his horse as if he intended to ride over and give her a set-down for her impudence, but Lord Neil reached out and laid a hand on his arm. His low-voiced words dissuaded the marquess from action.
Francis rode forward joining Sybille Bassett and Mrs. Dalrymple again, and Lord Neil and the marquess followed suit.
Oblivious to the undercurrents, Miss Clark gushed, “Oh, you certainly must do so. A visit to London is essential to any young person’s education. There’s so much—history, government, and culture—to absorb. You are young yet for a debut, are you not?”
Vexed at her condescension, Libbetty replied, “I am not sure when I shall go. I would like to do so.” She would not tell the haughty companion that her family could not afford a season in London for their daughters.
Miss Clark asked, “Do you go to London for the season, Miss Irene?”
Irene giggled at the idea, and Libbetty wondered if Miss Clark did not discern Irene’s limited intellect.
“Do you mean to go to London to look for a beau, also?” Tom’s question addressed Edwina.
She tossed her head, sunlight reflecting off her glossy dark curls. “We have made no plans yet, but I will go if I wish.”
Scowling, Tom spurred Concobhar ahead with the other riders. Libbetty hurt along with him. She gave Edwina a reproving frown. The other girl ignored her, her face pointedly turned away.
Libbetty chatted with Miss Clark and occasionally to Irene. Edwina did the same. Libbetty wondered how Miss Clark could be unconscious of the tension between the two erstwhile friends.
What was the matter with Edwina, anyway? A few nights ago, at the Coltons’ party, she had pointedly cut Libbetty, but she had been in the company of her mother, and Libbetty assumed that to be the cause. Mrs. Hogwood had not come today, however. Had Edwina changed her mind about the desirability of a match with Lord Cauldreigh?
At the Murrays’ manor, they passed the columned portico of its classical facade, driving around to the stables. Upon seeing them, Mr. Murray drove a shiny black landau from the carriage house, and the company continued to the Goforths’, an old-fashioned but imposing building constructed of blackened timbers and white plaster.
Miss Goforth and Miss Clarissa appeared, clad in sea green and pink respectively. Edwina stepped out of the Bassetts’ carriage. “I will ride to the Abbey in Mr. Murray’s carriage.” After a delay to accommodate Edwina, they proceeded.
During the remainder of the ride Lord Cauldreigh, Tom, and some of the London guests rode alongside the two carriages in turn, talking to first Libbetty, Irene and Miss Clark, and then to the Misses Goforth, Edwina, and Mr. Murray.
Although the ruined abbey was not far from Peasebotham, Libbetty had never seen it. The view that met her eyes was romance personified. Her chest expanded and her senses became sharper, colors and scents and sounds brighter and stronger.
Standing atop a hill with a vista over farmlands and orchards below, the ruin appeared to stretch along the landscape for miles. The visitors faced a wall pierced at intervals with tall gothic window arches, panes broken long ago.
The carriages passed around to the rear of the ruins, overlooking the valley, and the occupants spilled forth and stood peering around.
Several aged, giant oaks clustered nearby spontaneously echoed the arches, as if reaching up in prayer to the heavens. A graveyard extended from the far end, ancient, mossy stones silent testaments to the monks who had dwelled here. The markers stood or leaned at odd angles, ringed by a fringe of gnarled yews.
On this bright day the desolation and decay spoke to Libbetty. On a gloomier day, the place might have seemed foreboding. “This would be the perfect setting for a Gothic romance about the ghost of a mad monk,” she observed to Miss Clark. The other woman stared at her blankly.
Mrs. Dalrymple said, “Who lures virgins to their doom.”
Surprised, Libbetty glanced up at the older woman, still seated upon the dainty brown mare she rode. Behind Mrs. Dalrymple, Lord Neil, on his black gelding, chuckled. “Gothic romances, ladies? Well, this is the place for it.”
Mrs. Dalrymple laughed and dismounted, with the help of a Cauldreigh groom, who led away the horse. Lord Neil alit and also handed his mount to the groom. He and Mrs. Dalrymple stood together. Libbetty watched as he pointed out various features of the abbey, gesturing. The sunshine in Libbetty’s day dimmed. With an effort, she shook off her mood and took in the bustle around her.
Servants from The Castle had been dispatched ahead and were setting up a canvas pavilion, with chairs, tables draped with white linen, silverware, and china bearing a pastoral scene. They carried huge hampers from the wagon, unloading cold meats, pastries, and other victuals, bottles of wine and frosty jugs of lemonade.
The lavishness and formality conflicted with Libbetty’s idea of picnics, which in her family consisted of a blanket spread on the ground, bread, cheese, fruit, perhaps sausage, and water from a nearby stream to drink.
The other men dismounted, some of them helping the carriage passengers alight. Lord Cauldreigh stood near the pavilion, supervising the placement of the tableware.
T
o Libbetty’s surprise, Lord Neil came over and held out a hand as she stepped down from the barouche. A blush creeping upon her face, she gazed into his eyes. She thought a warm light appeared in them, which disappeared all too soon. She stumbled, and he steadied her before letting loose of her arm and moving back. His dark eyes, if they had held a more heated expression, were impersonal now. Her arm still tingled where he had touched her. Did he think of their kiss two nights previously?
“Shall we explore the Abbey until the luncheon is ready?” Lord Cauldreigh asked. The large, noisy party set off for the grounds. Partaking in the riotous clamor of the explorers seemed somewhat sacrilegious to Libbetty. Although the denizens of the old abbey were Catholic and she Church of England, she worried those long-ago monks would have disapproved of the laughter. For a moment, her fancy of a crazed monk seemed all too credible.
Once inside the walls, the party split into smaller groups. As Libbetty had come to expect, Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth vanished into a subterranean section of the grounds. Edwina, Francis, Tom, the Misses Goforth, Mr. Murray, and Lord Chester went to the chapel, in better repair than the remainder. Irene stood a moment in confusion, then followed them.
Lord Cauldreigh and Sir Rodney stayed with Libbetty, and Miss Clark joined them, although she darted frequent looks to the stairs down which Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth had gone.
Mr. Jonathan Colton, Lord Neil, and Sybille Bassett gathered together and went back outside the walls.
Libbetty’s gaze followed, but she had received no invitation to join them, and she would not pursue Lord Neil as Sybille did. Her group wandered along the inside walls. Sir Rodney pointed. “Here’s a stairway in this tower.”
Libbetty peered up the circular staircase, deliciously dark and ominous.
“Shall we ascend?” Lord Cauldreigh asked.
The only light, spilling from above, dimly illumined the steps but not revealing what was beyond the first turning. As they mounted, they passed places where the stairs were crumbling. They took care over these obstacles, the men lending their help to the ladies. After a couple of circles upward, a small landing, open to the sky, had survived but led nowhere. A pile of stones revealed the upper stories had collapsed. The landing had a view out through an arched window onto the grassy area below.
Libbetty looked down and saw Miss Bassett, leaning close to Lord Neil, laughter on her face. Mr. Colton was not in sight, and Libbetty’s stomach burned painfully at the sight of Sybille flirting with Lord Neil. “Come, let’s go back down. There’s nothing up here.” She turned away and began to descend.
Sir Rodney guided Miss Clark over the difficult parts. Lord Cauldreigh held out an arm to Libbetty. He moved warily down the steps. They soon lagged behind the other two.
Libbetty couldn’t tell whether Lord Cauldreigh’s leg gave him pain or he purposely moved slowly to create privacy between them. As they descended, the uncertain light reflected off the stairs in patches, obscuring the sporadic piles of rubble.
She glimpsed Sir Rodney’s red hair glinting in a narrow beam of sunlight some distance below, just before it disappeared beyond another turn. She tried to hurry without causing Cauldreigh greater pain. Suddenly she felt the crumbled stone beneath her feet roll, and Cauldreigh slipped away from her. He shouted out as he slid down several stairs. He halted his fall and scrambled to his feet. “Are you hurt, Miss Bishop?”
“No, I am fine. What about you?”
“It was nothing,” he shrugged. “Just a bit of clumsiness.”
Sir Rodney turned back and started to climb to their level, but Cauldreigh waved him away. “We are all right,” he called.
They reached the bottom without further mishap. The archway to the yard where Libbetty had seen Miss Bassett with Lord Neil was nearby, and she glanced out but could not see anyone. She took a step outside the door and saw Miss Bassett standing with Mr. Colton. Lord Neil had disappeared.
“What would you like to do now?” Sir Rodney asked.
“We could go look at the cemetery,” Libbetty suggested.
The group left the enclosure of the abbey’s crumbling walls. Miss Clark said, “I’m worried about Letitia. I must find her.”
Libbetty offered to accompany her. The stairs down which Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth had gone were in better condition than those to the tower, but a scarcity of light obliged Libbetty and Miss Clark to proceed carefully. They had not gone far when they saw Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth, kissing. At Libbetty’s involuntary gasp, the pair looked up.
“I told you to stop following me,” Mrs. Dalrymple shrilled, her face distorted and her eyes squinted small and mean.
“Why did you hire a companion if I am not to chaperone you?” Miss Clark squeaked. Her face had paled, visible in the dimness. Libbetty shrank behind her, shocked by Mrs. Dalrymple’s fury.
“I did not hire you. The Dalrymples inflicted you on me.” Her gaze, sweeping past Miss Clark, took in Libbetty’s presence and widened. She continued, in a moderated tone, “Let that be a warning to you, Miss Bishop. Guard your reputation or you risk having a sneaking spy like Philberta foisted upon you.”
The companion whirled and fled up the stairs, and Libbetty hurried after. She caught up as Miss Clark left the ruins. The other woman’s face was wet with tears. “I do not …” she sobbed. “I only try to look after Letitia’s best interests. I’d never report on her doings to the Dalrymples.”
Libbetty patted Miss Clark’s arm. “I’m sure,” she soothed, although she knew nothing about the situation. But she ached at Miss Clark’s distress.
Lord Neil hailed them, his cynical face a model of normality to Libbetty after the storm she had witnessed. “Our picnic is ready. Where are the others?”
Miss Clark gave Libbetty a conspiratorial glance. “Letitia and Captain Forsyth are in there,” the companion pointed a shaky gloved finger toward the building and took a deep breath before continuing, “and the others are wandering through the cemetery. We were just about to join them.” Miss Clark’s voice sounded quite steady, unlike Libbetty’s would have after such a scene.
To her relief, Lord Neil offered to collect Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth, and asked them to gather the rest of the party. Miss Clark seemed as eager to achieve distance between herself and Mrs. Dalrymple as Libbetty was.
After everyone had gathered, they sat to eat the sumptuous meal. By unspoken agreement, the company granted Lord Cauldreigh the head of the table. He insisted on placing Libbetty beside him, at his left. Otherwise, informality reigned in the seating arrangements and each person chose his or her own seat, seeming to fall into the same groups as when they had explored the abbey.
Sir Rodney sat on her other side, and Miss Clark at Lord Cauldreigh’s right. Lord Neil, still grouped with Sybille Bassett and Mr. Colton, was next to Miss Clark, opposite Libbetty and down one place. She had a perfect view of Sybille Bassett setting her cap at him. Jonathan Colton, on Miss Bassett’s other side, occasionally won her attention.
Sir Rodney and Lord Cauldreigh dedicated themselves to keeping Libbetty amused. She responded diligently and exerted herself to conceal how her regard kept straying to Lord Neil.
“Do you hunt, Miss Bishop?” Sir Rodney asked.
The idea of a woman hunting was foreign to Libbetty, and she said with surprise, “No, I do not.”
“It is not usual for a woman, I believe. However, my sister Olivia is an avid huntswoman.”
“Is that so?” Libbetty warmed to the idea of an activity that sounded exciting. “I would like to try it.”
“Her husband has an estate in Leicestershire—good hunting country. I often tease her that she married Haddon for his estate, not for the man. She doesn’t contradict me,” he smiled.
Sir Rodney then turned to address Miss Clarissa Goforth, on his other side. Libbetty glanced again at Lord Neil.
“Have you followed the progress of the war in the Peninsula, Miss Bishop?” Lord Cauldreigh asked.
> “No, I fear I have not.” She forced herself to pay attention to him.
“British forces under Wellesley recently retook Oporto.”
“Is that an important victory?” Libbetty tried to concentrate on the unfamiliar ideas he presented.
“Very—well, it’s a start, anyway. It’s hard kicking my heels at home when there’s so much still to do in the Peninsula.” Lord Cauldreigh’s expression revealed his gloom.
“I am sure you will return there soon. Of course, we here in Peasebotham will miss you when you leave.”
“Will you miss me, Miss Bishop?” the marquess pressed.
“Everyone in Peasebotham will miss you,” she repeated. She looked down the opposite side of the table, where Edwina sat, flanked by Lord Chester and Captain Forsyth. The army officer gave a good share of his attention to Mrs. Dalrymple, but he offered sufficient notice to Edwina, to keep her entertained.
Lord Chester, on Edwina’s other side, gave almost exclusive attention to her. Mr. Colton sat at Chester’s left. Libbetty could not hear any of their conversation, but from where she sat it appeared Edwina behaved with bare politeness to Lord Chester and Captain Forsyth. What was wrong with her?
Libbetty took another bite of her cold pigeon pie, and listened to Sir Rodney tell her about his new hunter, his hawk-like face alight with pleasure. The tall redhead paid Libbetty assiduous attentions whenever they were together, but she did not believe he had any serious interest in her. It was for the best. After all, their hair colors clashed. Sir Rodney’s was a carroty, orange-red, and hers nearly pink. She smiled to herself at the nonsensical thought, and stole another glance at Lord Neil.
Libbetty congratulated herself that she had improved her technique of watching him from lowered eyes in a circumspect manner he could not notice. Then his sudden glance across the table surprised her, and he flashed a wicked grin. Did it indicate that he had caught her staring at him again or that he wished to share his amusement at Sybille’s coquettish actions?