Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2)

by Caroline Ashton

  Unfortunately the muse had overtaken Miss Pencombe shortly before the Neave cavalcade drew to a halt at the imposing doors. Hopton found himself explaining to an irritated Lord Frederick that the lady was not available to greet them.

  ‘Where is she?’ His lordship thrust his horse’s reins to one of three hovering footmen.

  ‘Sketching the Greek temple, I believe, my lord.’

  The news did nothing for Lord Frederick’s humour. The journey had not gone well. Despite her every intention of enduring the jostling, bumping and swerving of the coach with stoicism, Miss Orksville had been tried beyond silence. Several times Araminta had called a halt to allow the invalid time to recover herself a little. An overnight stop at the White Hart at Braintree had failed to restore her resolve. Not even Araminta’s demand that their own sheets and comforts be carried with them had aided recuperation. She had taken turns with Hollins to sit up with her through the night.

  Lord Frederick returned to the shining magnificence of the Neave travelling coach. Araminta had let down the window and was looking at him with some concern.

  ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but Miss Pencombe is er . . . walking in the grounds.’ He had no wish to explain that his father’s cousin considered sketching a pile of old stone more important than greeting the arrivals who were responsible for her being there at all. ‘Hopton assures me, though, that everything is prepared.’ He hoped it was true.

  ‘Thank you, Lord Frederick.’ Araminta cast a troubled glance at her chaperone. ‘I think it would be as well if Miss Orksville was conveyed to her room as soon as possible.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Fredrick opened the carriage door. ‘If you will permit me.’

  Araminta busied herself tossing aside the various pillows that were packed round the invalid to cushion the ride. Hollins, sitting opposite, caught two of them. The rest fell to the floor. Wilhelmina’s feeble protests that she was well able to walk on her own two feet were dismissed.

  ‘Nonsense. You are far more shaken than you think.’ Araminta pulled the rug off her knees. ‘Now, let Lord Frederick assist you.’

  Wilhelmina allowed Araminta to raise her from the seat. She gave her hand to his lordship standing close to the door and set foot on the step. The truth of her fatigue appeared. Her knees gave way and she collapsed into Lord Frederick’s arms.

  ‘There now,’ Araminta said. ‘I said you were weakened.’ She looked at Fredrick in some alarm. ‘Do you think you could carry her to her room?’

  Frederick clasped his burden inelegantly. He peered at Araminta round the blue bonnet slipping sideways on the grey head. ‘Of course, ma’am.’ With a quick repositioning of the lady that caused her to muffle a squeak, he mounted Lidgate’s steps. The shawl round her shoulders slipped to the ground. Araminta jumped from the carriage and scooped it up before Hopton or any of the footmen thought to move.

  Sometime later, Lord Frederick was pacing the lengthy drawing room when Araminta entered at last. He spun on his heel and wound towards her through various chairs and tables. He stopped near a pie-crust stand of Delft ornaments. ‘Is Miss Orksville settled, ma’am?’

  ‘She is, thank you. A little more tired than she’ll admit but that is her nature. She’s drifted to sleep now so I’ve left Hollins with her.’

  ‘Hollins?’

  ‘My maid.’

  ‘Ah.’ Frederick paced towards the fire. He fidgeted his hands into his pockets. ‘I regret Miss Pencombe is still unable to greet you. It seems she is painting the Greek folly. I’ve sent a footman for her so she shouldn’t be long.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘Or not very. It’s quite a hike to the folly but she’s taken the governess gig so she should be back quickly.’ He cleared his throat. Twice.

  Isolated near a pair of matching armchairs, Araminta regarded him solemnly. ‘I trust we will not inconvenience your lordship during our stay.’ Watching his expression closely, she stiffened her spine. ‘Please don’t feel obliged to wait upon us. I’m sure there are far more interesting things to do in London.’

  A look of astonishment widened his eyes. ‘No, ma’am. Not at all. I am entirely at your service.’

  Her relief at the tone of his voice and the frankness in his eyes surprised her. Her spine relaxed. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought perhaps you were trying to find a way of departing.’

  ‘No. By no means, no.’ The hands escaped the pockets and swept an embracing circle. ‘I much prefer to be here.’

  ‘So do I. I mean . . .’ The titan curls shook. The cheeks coloured. ‘I mean in the country in general of course . . . not necessarily here. Although . . .’ Her voice faded into confusion. The heat rising in her cheeks brought another surprise. She was not one to blush like a schoolgirl. Irritation might cause it but never a man’s company. Turning quickly, she looked out of the windows at the spreading lawns dotted with small copses of broad trees. It took several moments before she felt sufficiently composed to speak without embarrassing herself. Or Lord Frederick. ‘Town is so constricting,’ she announced briskly.

  ‘Exactly.’ Frederick made to seat himself on the wing chair by the hearth. Part-way descended he stopped and straightened again. ‘I beg pardon, ma’am, please be seated.’ His hand indicated the many items where Araminta might do so.

  Unwilling, after all, to risk taking her eyes from the view and face him, she sat on the upright chair nearest the window. The tapestry on the seat and back had faded with age. The carved arms glowed from frequent polishing. She rubbed the palm of a hand over one curved end. Her resolve to guard her voice slipped. ‘How lovely. It looks as if it’s grown up here.’ She sighed. ‘Everything pa buys is new.’ Her gaze travelled around the long room with its three tall windows and mismatched furniture. ‘It’s no wonder you prefer to be here. It’s so . . . comfortably old.’

  ‘Elizabethan, I believe, ma’am. Though my grandfather bought the furniture. I understand the . . . er . . . tapestries are, er . . . unique.’

  A burst of laughter met his remark. ‘I won’t believe you’re more interested in tapestries than galloping across the fields.’

  Frederick’s grin transformed him into a mischievous schoolboy. ‘You’re right of course. I do prefer it. Very much.’

  His eagerness dragged hers back to the social niceties. ‘Please don’t deprive yourself of that pleasure on my account.’

  Frederick watched her eyes turn sorrowfully back to the view. ‘Don’t be dismayed, ma’am. I’m sure Miss Orksville would raise no objection to you joining me. She must be quite safe with . . . er, Hillings.’

  ‘Hillings? Oh, you mean Hollins.’ The look cast from window to Frederick was brighter, almost conspiratorial. ‘Well, Pegasus is here . . .’

  ‘And he must need the fidgets shaken out of him. You wouldn’t wish to leave that to a groom.’ He frowned. ‘All though of course I would be happy to . . . er . . . I mean . . .’ His voice died. His verbal manoeuvring left him feeling a complete buffle-head.

  Araminta’s eyes danced with merriment. ‘I’d be glad of your lordship’s company. I don’t know the estate. I might easily be lost.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Frederick said, back on the trail. ‘Couldn’t have a guest becoming lost. Mama would never forgive me.’ A certain apprehension painted his features. ‘Neither would His Grace.’

  ‘Then I promise not to ride out alone. I fear once I am in the saddle all else fades. Miss Orksville quite despairs of me.’

  The sun had slipped so low it shone almost horizontally through the tall windows. Araminta peered out. ‘Do you think there’s enough light for a short ride?’

  Frederick fairly leapt from his seat to join her. ‘Just a short one.’

  A beaming face turned towards him. ‘Excellent. If you order the horses, I’ll change my gown.’ She took three paces, then stopped. ‘Oh. Pegasus might be too tired.’

  ‘I doubt it, ma’am. He’d probably welcome a
short canter. He’s been trailing behind the carriage for two days. No, ma’am. He’ll be fine.’

  Araminta fairly bounced on her toes. ‘Excellent.’ She looked down, then up. ‘Might I ask a favour?’

  ‘Anything,’ Lord Frederick took one step forward.

  ‘Being called ma’am all the time makes me feel as old as Miss Orksville. I know it’s not proper but would you mind calling me Araminta when there’s no-one about?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Frederick’s smile threatened to burst his cheeks. ‘But only if you’ll call me Frederick . . . well, it’s Freddie really.’

  Two pairs of eyes met and shone. ‘Excellent,’ Araminta repeated. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Lord Frederick Alexander Danver, second son of His Grace the ninth Duke of Ellonby, watched her run from the room and grinned like a schoolboy again.

  Miss Leonora Pencombe sat in the drawing room and waited. A certain amount of irritability filled her mind. She had made a particular effort. She had changed into her cleanest gown and even scrubbed at the ochre paint where it had lodged under the little fingernail of her left hand. Now she had been sitting here alone for over thirty minutes. Much longer and the dinner gong would go.

  Hurried footsteps and lively chatter approached the room. The door opened. Lord Frederick pushed it aside. A vision in a gold velvet with a bonnet á la Ecosse on its auburn curls entered. The riding habit’s hem flounced out, showing an unusual amount of gentleman’s riding boot. Miss Pencombe eyed the gold velvet skirts. They seemed to part in the middle.

  ‘Aunt Pencombe,’ Frederick said with a small bow, ‘permit me to present Miss Neave.’

  Araminta saw the faded green eyes examine her. She braced herself for the sort of cutting comment in which Lady Tiverton specialized.

  Miss Pencombe nodded. ‘That colour suits you, child. I used to wear it when I was younger.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. I have always loved it.’ Araminta remembered to curtsey before striding to a seat opposite her new chaperone. ‘I prefer strong colours but Miss Orksville says they’re unsuitable.’ She flipped her skirts straight. ‘White is what I ought to wear.’ She frowned. ‘And primrose or blue. Just like everyone else.’

  ‘Most suitable. But it’s what you put with it that makes all the difference. Now gold ribbons round the bodice and in your hair would make you look positively Grecian. Quite stunning. And of course –’

  Frederick coughed. ‘Beg pardon, ma’am, but I think I heard the gong.’

  ‘Oh!’ Araminta jumped up. ‘Please excuse me, ma’am. I must hurry and see if Miss Orksville needs anything before I can change.’

  She curtseyed and hurried after Frederick, her eyes alight with pleasure. ‘I like your aunt,’ she whispered to him. ‘She didn’t object to my habit.’

  Frederick scanned the gold velvet. ‘Why should she? What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Oh, everything. The colour. The style. The velvet’ She lifted the side seams. ‘And the split skirt is scandalous.’

  Frederick took a closer look. ‘Looks fine to me. Very sensible. I don’t know why other females don’t copy it.’ He indicated the gold lacing that extended from her wrist to upper arm. ‘I like that stuff. Very military. Well fitted too.’ He became aware that he was paying too much close attention to Araminta’s person. He cleared his throat and looked away. ‘Almost looks as if it’s been made by a proper tailor.’ Another attempt at clearing a non-existent obstacle in his throat failed. ‘I mean a gentleman’s one,’ he said huskily. ‘Not but what the females ain’t good at stitching . . . it’s just, I mean to say –’

  A peal of laughter swamped his words. ‘Don’t tie yourself in knots. I had it made by John Weston. I ordered it especially as soon as I came back from India.’

  ‘Weston, eh? No wonder it fits so well.’ He started up the stairs. ‘Never been to him myself but any tailor who can make the Prince look decent in a coat must be good.’ The topic of his remark suddenly weighed heavily on Frederick. The fitting of ladies’ garments was not at all proper. He fell silent, apart from a further attempt to clear his throat.

  Consequently, they found themselves at the top of the second flight devoid of conversation.

  ‘Well,’ Frederick said after fidgeting with his cuff for several moments.

  ‘Yes,’ Araminta managed.

  Frederick cleared his throat yet again. ‘I’ll see you at dinner then.’

  Araminta felt her face redden and not from the ride. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

  Dinner took place in a large room on the first floor. A long table on bulbous legs stood in the centre, surrounded by ten high-backed chairs. Beyond it, dark panelling covered the walls. Ornate plasterwork wound across the ceiling from a chandelier as wide as a cart wheel. Portraits of the Ellonby Dukes with their horses stared down at Hopton and his acolytes hovering at a laden buffet by the far wall.

  ‘At last,’ Leonora Pencombe was already seated when Frederick showed Araminta into the room.

  ‘I beg pardon, ma’am.’ Araminta curtseyed. ‘Miss Orksville was not minded to drink her beef tea.’

  ‘I trust you persuaded her?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’ She paused at the foot of the table. Miss Pencombe had chosen, not the head but the centre of one side.

  ‘Don’t dawdle.’ She wafted a hand at the chairs opposite. ‘Sit yourselves where I can have a good look at you.’

  Her eyes were upon the ruby evening gown Araminta had smuggled into her trunk. She swallowed but no words of censure were uttered.

  Frederick held a chair for Araminta before seating himself.

  ‘Now,’ Miss Pencombe announced, ‘we can have a decent conversation. I object to shouting at people along lengths of oak. Tell me about your adventures. And your father. He’s in Trade, I hear.’

  Araminta’s heart sank. Surely now there would be pointed remarks about her Trade connection. Her eyes threatened to spark. She kept them lowered for Frederick’s sake.

  ‘I’ve never thought it proper to condemn a person for their station,’ Miss Pencombe continued. ‘Dear Angelica’s father was quite poor.’ She shook her head. ‘Such a sad loss.’

  Araminta and Frederick shared a look. ‘Indeed,’ Frederick said at last.

  Miss Pencombe stared at the place setting before her, apparently lost in thought. ‘And John Opie’s Papa was actually a carpenter.’ Her head wagged slowly from side to side. ‘The last years have lost us so many wonderful painters.’ She was lost in her thoughts.

  Gloomy silence descended. Only soft-footed men bearing platters to the table disturbed it. Spoons clanked, knives and forks clicked. Sounds developed outside the room. Hopton glared at everyone and paced slowly towards the door. It opened. A short man of portly stature with cheeks sheened from the effort of mounting the stairs stood on the threshold. A footman hovered behind.

  All heads turned towards him.

  ‘Pa!’ Araminta said. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Frederick leapt to his feet.

  ‘Mr Neave! This is unexpected, sir.’

  Archibald waddled forward. The two capes on his travelling coat flapped and its hem swayed. His hand also flapped towards Lord Frederick. ‘Now, now, my lord. No need to leap about on my account. And don’t fret yourself. I haven’t come to stay. I only wanted to be sure my girl and Miss Orksville were safely arrived.’

  ‘We have, Pa . . . I mean Papa.’ Araminta cast a quick glance across the table. ‘Ma’am, please allow me to present my father. Papa, this is Miss Pencombe, the Duke’s cousin.’

  Archibald bowed, creaking slightly. ‘Good evening, ma’am. I apologise for interrupting your meal. I’ll be off now I’ve seen my girl.’

  ‘You most certainly will not, Mr Neave.’ Miss Pencombe looked at a gawping Hopton. ‘Lay another cover if you p
lease and then prepare a room.’

  ‘No, no.’ Archibald waved both hands. ‘I’ll thank you for my dinner but I’m settled at the Woolpack. They’ve a pretty room there that suits me just fine.’

  Miss Pencombe inclined her head. ‘As you wish, sir. Pray be seated beside Miss Neave.’

  Archibald slid his coat off his shoulders. He held it out until a footman, nudged by Hopton’s bony elbow, leapt forward to relieve him of it.

  ‘How does Miss Wilhelmina?’

  ‘Tired but comfortable, Papa.’

  Walking behind her chair, he patted her on the top of her head. ‘Excellent.’ He sat down. The creaking recurred.

  Frederick was fairly certain it was not the chair despite its age and Mr Neave’s circumference. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you, sir. You’re set up at the Woolpack you said?’

  ‘I am indeed. Do you know it?’

  ‘I do indeed.’ Over the years, he and his brother had acquired quite a lengthy acquaintance with mine host. The Duke had enjoyed a similar acquaintance with mine host’s father. The pranks all three had enjoyed in their different times were known but never mentioned by either landlord.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Frederick answered. He tilted his head slightly. ‘Hopton, why are we waiting?’

  Recalled from his bemused regard of Lidgate Hall’s newest guest, Hopton urged his underlings into action.

  Dinner progressed in a comfortable manner. Miss Pencombe pushed Archibald to recount his experiences in India. He obliged most willingly but faltered when questioned about the colours of the scenery and palaces. He was delighted when she announced the ladies would not withdraw.