Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2)

by Caroline Ashton

  ‘I think we should regard this as a family party, Mr Neave. There is no need for us to leave while you take your port and cigars.’

  ‘Thank you ma’am, but I rarely smoke them. I find I do not care for the taste.’

  Miss Pencombe nodded. ‘Very wise, sir. I believe them to be injurious to one’s health.’

  No-one could think of any suitable response. Especially not Frederick. He had been eagerly anticipating some private conversation with Araminta’s father. As it was, the speech he had been planning since she’d galloped across the Lidgate fields was reduced to a short comment while he escorted him to the front door.

  ‘Are you departing early tomorrow, sir?’

  ‘No, no. Not before midday.’

  ‘Excellent. Then perhaps I may be permitted to wait upon you at the Woolpack?’

  ‘Wait upon me?’ Archibald’s eyebrows rose towards his feathery hairline. ‘As you wish, my lord. As you wish.’

  Much relieved, Frederick bowed him into his carriage and watched until it had disappeared from sight.

  He took himself back inside, a happy smile on his face.

  The sun had barely risen sufficient to shine on Lidgate Hall’s long façade and brighten its many-paned windows before Araminta was up, dressed and pacing outside the heavy front door. Two grooms were walking Pegasus and a dark grey hunter up and down the spread of gravel. The horses’ breaths sent drifts of warm vapour into the crisp September morning. Beyond them the dew on the sweeping lawn glimmered like silk in the early light. Mist hung under a grove of dark chestnut trees in the distance.

  She had ample time to examine the panorama from side to side and back again before Frederick appeared.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, slightly out of breath and with his hair combed only by his fingers.

  ‘Never mind about me, it’s the horses.’ She hurried to Pegasus. Taking the reins from the groom and grasping the pommel she bent her left knee. The groom stared at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘Hurry up,’ she said.

  ‘But miss, that be a proper saddle. Not a lady’s.’

  ‘I know that. I don’t ride side-saddle.’

  ‘Right, miss. Well . . . if’n you say so.’ The groom bent. With both hands under Araminta’s horizontal shin, he hoisted her aloft, fearful she would tangle herself in her skirts and fall. He prepared himself to catch her. She did not. She swung one leg over the saddle. The gold velvet divided. In a second she was safely mounted astride.

  The other groom’s mouth dropped open. Frederick snatched the reins from him. ‘Stop gaping at the lady.’ Foot in the stirrup, he mounted and settled himself. ‘Don’t stand around here.’ He flicked his whip at the two men. ‘Get back to your work. Tell Gilbert we’ll return in an hour.’

  The grooms nodded. They watched the pair ride off.

  ‘Well,’ said one.

  ‘Yer,’ said the other.

  ‘Never saw the like.’ The first groom shook his head. ‘Not ever.’ He turned towards the end of the house, prepared to give the second coachman his lordship’s message and his own view of the scandalous garb the young miss was sporting.

  The morning air brought smudges of rose to Araminta’s cheeks. Her eyes sparkled. As the pair left Lidgate’s immediate grounds and trotted into the first of the gently rolling fields that surrounded it she nudged a heel into Pegasus’s flank. The creature, eager to take flight, stretched his neck, lengthened his stride and launched into a full gallop. Araminta’s skirts flew out. The tassel on her bonnet bounced and waved like a pennant in the wind. She approached the five-barred gate into the next field at speed.

  ‘Yikes.’ Frederick urged Stirling into her wake. His concern mounted. The gate was high and firmly shut. Nothing a lady could take. But then, he told himself, Miss Neave was no usual lady. And Pegasus was no usual lady’s mount. Her height matched his and he was sure her courage was his equal.

  The gate was mere yards away. Araminta bent forwards then back as Pegasus flew over it. Both landed safely. A surge of pleasure such as Frederick rarely felt washed over him.

  ‘Never known a girl jump like that.’ Kicking his heels into Stirling’s flanks, they covered the final paces to the gate and launched after her.

  A headlong gallop took them across several more fields, through gates and over hedges. They only reined in at a copse of dark green trees topping the highest of the surrounding downs.

  Araminta’s faced was flushed with effort, wind and outright pleasure.

  ‘You enjoyed that.’ Frederick reined in beside her.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She walked Pegasus in small circles until his flanks stopped heaving. ‘How could anyone not? It’s such a delight.’

  ‘I don’t know any ladies with your seat on a horse. Most would have fallen at the first gate. Not that they’d have faced it at all.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense. It was only a small one.’ Pegasus tossed his head and she reached down to pat his gleaming neck. ‘This is far better than prissy dances and stuffy tea parties.’ She allowed Pegasus to execute another circle.

  Frederick’s morning brightened. Any suspicion that her previous assertion was only for politeness vanished. ‘You definitely do prefer the country then?’ Stirling snorted and turned away. Frederick pulled him back. ‘Mr Neave has a house out of London perhaps?’

  ‘No he hasn’t. Our only house is the one in the City. I’m hoping to persuade him to buy one where I can ride to my heart’s content.’

  ‘But I thought . . . I mean . . . one had supposed . . .’ His eagerness trailed away.

  ‘That I’d be wed and in a husband’s home?’ Araminta shrugged. ‘I’m not minded to. Not if it means endless tea parties.’ Pegasus demanded her attention again. She patted his neck and smoothed his mane. ‘I shall be sorry to disappoint Pa but I’d rather marry a country squire than a lord.’

  The sun’s warmth shining on Frederick weakened. His title was only a courtesy one, bestowed because his father was a duke. ‘He’s set on a lord then?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Araminta turned a cheerful face towards him. ‘But I’m not.’

  The sun turned warm again.

  ‘When . . . if . . . I marry it will be someone I can like at the very least. Lord or no lord.’

  ‘But won’t Mr Neave be disappointed? If it isn’t a lord, I mean. A real one, not a courtesy one.’

  Pegasus pawed the ground. Araminta pulled his reins in and his head down. ‘Not really. I told him at the start that I didn’t care for lords.’ Pegasus pulled at the constraint and tossed his head, whinnying displeasure. ‘I wanted to go back to India. That’s not possible now so it must be a country life instead.’

  Frederick’s day grew warmer. He viewed the fields with pleasure. ‘Shall we canter back?’

  ‘Canter? I don’t think Pegasus likes to canter.’ A decided sparkle entered Araminta’s eyes. ‘I’ll race you.’

  She released Pegasus’s head and he launched into a gallop.

  ‘Yikes.’ Frederick set off in delighted pursuit.

  Back at the house, his exhilaration faded. The interview with Mr Neave loomed. He knew . . . hoped . . . thought . . . was almost certain he had a chance with Araminta. Her father was another matter. He picked at his breakfast. Lidgate tradition had it that breakfast was substantial. Chafing dishes of devilled kidneys, kippers and shirred eggs remained untouched by him if not by Araminta.

  Seated across the table from him, she tucked into a plate piled with kidneys and eggs with a slice of cold York ham on the side. ‘How strange.’ She watched him pushing a sliver of cold roast beef across his plate. ‘A morning gallop always makes me hungry.’

  Frederick regarded the beef with a doleful eye. ‘I have some business in the village I must attend to this morning.’

  Araminta swallowed a mouthful of egg. ‘You fear it will not go well?’r />
  ‘I hope it will but perhaps . . .’

  ‘Pa is very good at business. Is it something where he might help?’

  A crack of humourless laughter met her remark. ‘Perhaps he might.’

  ‘Well ask him. I’m sure he will do all he can to aid you.’ She smiled encouragement at him then reapplied herself to the kidneys.

  Frederick regarded her in silence. The flush from their gallop through the cool morning had not quite left her cream cheeks. A single strand of auburn curls had escaped its pins and brushed against one ear. A sweep of dark lashes veiled her misty-grey eyes. She cut into the ham with a grip of competent hands on the silver cutlery. His determination returned. In every way, she was worth risking a paternal rebuttal. Even estrangement from his own father if needs be. He flung down his linen napkin and rose.

  ‘Please excuse me. I must be away.’

  Araminta waved a knife at him. ‘Good luck. I hope it goes well for you.’

  Fredrick bowed. ‘So do I, ma’am. So do I.’

  The ride to the Woolpack wound through magnificent countryside. Trees were just touched with the first autumn gold. Cattle chewed contentedly in the fields. A few raised their heads and lowed as Frederick passed. The sound did not disturb his thoughts. Too many were crowded into his head. He muttered soundlessly, rehearsing phrases he hoped would make him acceptable to Archibald Neave. None convinced him.

  Inspiration still failed by the time he reined Stirling in at the black-timbered inn. A servant hurried out of the door. Frederick dismounted and handed the reins to him. Mine host, Matthew Leverton, appeared at a statelier pace.

  ‘Your lordship. Welcome, welcome. Come you in. We’ve a new draught of ale just broached. Daisy,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘pull a tankard for his lordship.’

  ‘No thank you, Matthew. I’m here to see Mr Neave.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the London gentleman. He’s breaking his fast in our best parlour. Here, Daisy, show my lord up to Mr Neave.’

  A buxom lady of middle years with a smiling face bustled out of the door. ‘Good morrow, Master Frederick.’ In her younger, unmarried years Mistress Leverton had been the Ellonby’s nursery nurse at Lidgate Hall. His lordship would always be Master Frederick to her.

  She led the way up a dark stair and hammered on the first door at the left. Without waiting for an answer she lifted the latch and opened it.

  ‘Here you are, Mr Neave, sir, a visitor from the Hall.’

  Archibald looked up from the table, a forkful of Mistress Leverton’s renowned ham halfway to his mouth. He set down his fork and beckoned. ‘Come in, come in, my lord. Have you eaten?’

  ‘Er . . . yes, thank you.’

  ‘Ah well, sit you down. You won’t mind me continuing. This ham is the best I’ve tasted.’ He beamed at Mistress Leverton. ‘If you have any to spare, ma’am, I’ll take it back with me.’

  Mistress Leverton blushed, declared and vowed herself mighty honoured by his attention. Still declaring how honoured she was and how gratified her Matthew would be, she bustled out of the room and clicked the door shut behind her.

  Frederick hovered on the brink of speech. Then it occurred to him that interrupting the man he hoped would be his father-in-law while he was making such a good fist of demolishing a plate of ham was probably not the best way to start. He dragged out the chair opposite Archibald and plumped down. Silence descended, broken only by the sound of chewing.

  Archibald Neave conveyed the last forkful of ham into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He took a large swig of home–brewed ale and announced he was well satisfied.

  ‘Now then, my lord. Grand as it is to see you, I must be off in half of the hour.’

  Frederick leapt to his feet as if stuck with a cattle prod. ‘Oh, I beg pardon. If I’d realised you were pressed for time I’d have come earlier.’

  Archibald smiled. ‘I doubt you’d have had time. I’ll wager that girl of mine had you out galloping before you’d broken your fast.’

  Frederick breathed out. Araminta had been mentioned. The problem he had struggled with since leaving Lidgate was solved. ‘Actually, sir, it was about Miss Neave I wished to talk to you.’

  Archibald drew his brows together. ‘Oh yes? What’s she been up to now? Not offended your aunt, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, no, no.’ Frederick cleared his throat. His body tensed from jaw to toes. ‘Nothing like that. It was . . .’ He drew a deep breath. Words tumbled out. ‘I’m not a full lord and it’s George who’ll be duke and that’s what you want for her but she don’t. She wants to live in the country and ride horses and not go to dances with dowagers and I like the country and horses and I really think I really really think . . .’ The outpouring stopped. He dragged another breath into his lungs. The rest of his words dried on his lips.

  Archibald studied him. His young face was flushed, his hair was disordered and there was a fair spattering of dust on his boots. ‘You think what, young man?’

  ‘I think I could make Miss Neave very happy.’ The tension in his shoulders suddenly departed and they slumped. He sat down rather suddenly.

  Archibald leant forward in his chair. He propped one elbow on the table, balanced his chin on the palm and patted his fingers against his cheek. The other hand rested on his hip. He stared at Frederick watching the colour mount in his cheeks. After long moments that made Frederick feel he had aged thirty years, Archibald said, ‘You want to marry my girl?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Please. I’m sure she’d be happy with me.’

  ‘But would you be happy with her?’

  Frederick stared. ‘Me? Happy with her? How can you ask? Miss Neave is the most splendid creature. She’s all I’ve ever wanted in a wife.’

  ‘So you’ve been looking for one.’

  ‘Well no.’ Puzzlement replaced Frederick’s surprise. ‘No.’ He stared at a gouge on the table. He rubbed a finger along it. ‘Until I grew to know her I didn’t know I wanted one.’

  A gale of laughter burst from Archibald. He slapped his hand on the table. ‘Excellent. Excellent. That’s exactly how I felt about ’Minta’s ma. One minute all care and fancy free and the next . . .’ The words faded on a surprisingly sweet smile. He leant back and folded his arms across his ample stomach. ‘Well, I daresay if she says she’ll have you, I’d better agree.’

  Frederick stared. He blinked. He stood up. He hurried round the table and grasped Archibald’s hand, shaking it vigorously in both of his. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you.’ The hand was shaken some more.

  Archibald chuckled. ‘Now sit you down again. There are a few things we need to discuss.’

  Frederick subsided onto his chair, his breath only now entering his lungs in anything like a normal manner.

  ‘Now, as you said, your pa’s a duke. What’s he going to say about you marrying a merchant’s girl?’

  Worry clouded Frederick’s face. ‘I don’t know, sir. I know Mama was much taken with how Miss Neave cared for Miss Orksville. She said she would speak to His Grace.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Archibald started stroking his chin again. ‘I’ve seen your Mama. She could persuade the stars to shine when the sun is out.’ He stroked some more then looked Frederick straight on the eye. ‘I’m a warm man. I want for nothing other than my girl’s happiness. She’s been used to the best of everything since she was out of short skirts. Do you intend to hang on me for your living?’

  ‘Good God, sir, no. I have a small estate from Mama. Not large, but enough to support a family there even if we can’t stretch to a place in London.’

  Archibald stared at him some more. Frederick’s face grew hotter and hotter and pinker and pinker. At last Archibald sniffed. ‘Very well. Tell the girl you’ve my leave to ask her to wed you.’

  Frederick leapt up again. He grabbed Archibald’s hand and subjected it to more vigorous pumping. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you. I promise I’ll
do everything I can to make her happy all her life.’ He dropped the hand and ran to the door. ‘I’ll . . . er, I’ll go now.’ He dragged at the latch. It took several seconds for him to get it open. He turned on the threshold. ‘Thank you sir. Thank you.’

  Archibald chuckled as the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs receded.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Wilhelmina Orksville stirred on the day bed, restlessness in her every move.

  ‘I am perfectly recovered. I’m certain there is no reason at all why I may not dress and go downstairs.’ She snatched at the shawl off her legs and swung them onto the floor. ‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘I am more than certain that you do not wish me to be about.’ A long sniff accompanied a look drenched with suspicion. ‘No doubt Miss Pencombe is a most proper and upright female but she apparently thinks the duties of a chaperon extend no further than a greeting at breakfast followed by a quick departure to paint some view of the estate that has captured her fancy and not seen again ‘til dinner.’

  ‘Oh no, ma’am. She is most attentive.’ Araminta rescued the shawl. She took several more moments than was necessary in folding into quarters, searching for the words to disguise her pleasure in the rides and avoid a ban. Nonchalance coloured her words. ‘It is merely that I like to ride and she does not.’

  ‘But Lord Frederick does. I understand he is accustomed to ride out with you on every occasion. And you in that dreadful velvet.’

  Araminta wondered how she had known about that transgression. No doubt Hollins had wilted under cross examination. The maid would be finding herself in need of a new position if she wasn’t careful. Araminta lifted her chin, her face pink. ‘His lordship is very considerate. He knows I prefer to gallop and the grooms do not. They can barely canter.’

  Wilhelmina regarded the flush on her charge’s cheek with a certain amount of satisfaction. She suppressed a knowing smile. ‘Well, if you say so, I suppose I shall have to believe you.’ She returned her feet to the daybed. ‘Nevertheless, I shall be downstairs this afternoon. Then we shall see about grooms and galloping.’