A Lady in Love

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  Thursday dawned clear and sunny, more or less, a summer day let down in the middle of October. The sky above emulated the exact color of Lord Reyne's eyes, though stern mountains of white and grey cloud were building up on the horizon. In the lane that led to Hollytrees, Sarah danced as she walked, bowing to a he-rabbit waiting beside a mushroom and kissing her hand to a tree that burned with crimson leaves.

  Emerging on the hillside where the house sat, she could see all the lawn. The servants had already brought out tables and chairs, setting them up beside a rivulet that lead to the Phelpses’ artificial lake. This was a new addition, having been dug out of the native soil but three years before. Picturesque though it might be, regrettably the lake had rendered the nearby soil quite marshy. Lady Phelps decided the picnic would be more seemly some little distance from the lake. It shone enticingly through the framing trees.

  Though he stepped no less quietly than before, Sarah felt that Lord Reyne stood beside her and turned sharply to see if it were true. No witty greeting came to her. She could only look at him, happy to see him well. Whatever had troubled him at tea the day before seemed to have left him.

  After waiting for her to speak, Alaric said gently, “Good afternoon. Miss East. I had hoped I might see you today. Are you ready to go down, or do you wish to wait for Miss Phelps and her brothers? They're not far behind me; I left them gathering a multitude of rugs.”

  At the sound of his voice, she lost all the fear that had kept her tongue-tied. “I don't care to wait, and I know Smithers won't mind if we go down in advance.” As they went, she said, “This is the best hill in the county to roll down, and it makes wonderful sledding in the winter. You only have to be careful not to run into that fence. Or the water.”

  “Do you often roll down this hill now that you are grown?”

  “No, not anymore. Not since last summer.” Sarah's feelings glowed in her cheeks. Not only had he said he hoped that he would see her today, but he thought her grown up. Molly had been wrong about her best nainsook muslin gown not being suitable for a day on the grass. She could not regret disregarding the country-woman's stern predictions of rain. The weather could not be so cruel as to change!

  They reached the table. She greeted Smithers and the rest of the staff. They were putting the final touches to the tall pyramid sculpture of vegetables in the center of the main table, silver and china dishes radiating out from this artistic center like a mosaic.

  “It must have taken hours, Mr. Smithers.”

  Alaric agreed with Sarah. “The Duchess of Richmond's alfresco occasions are nothing to it, Mr. Smithers.”

  The portly butler bowed from the waist. “A fancy of my own, my lord.”

  “How hard you have worked,” Sarah said. “You know, it's a pity it won't survive. Once the boys come down, I mean.”

  Walking around the other side to get another perspective, Alaric said, “An artist must take every opportunity to practice, eh, Mr. Smithers? If it were not a poor recompense for Lady Phelps’ hospitality, I would try to steal you away for my own household. You're rather wasted down in the country.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I could not leave Sir Arthur's service.”

  “Of course not,” Sarah said. “They'd never get on without you. I know I couldn't. All the times you've rescued me! Do you remember when ... ?” Just in time, Sarah recalled that the tales of her hoydenish escapades might not please Lord Reyne. Glancing at him, she saw him attending with polite interest. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

  Smithers, equipped with the god-like perception of a truly gifted butler, merely bowed again and murmured, “Always happy to be of service to Miss Sarah.”

  Harmonia called her name from the top of the hill. Sarah waved and Harmonia ran down, going faster and faster as the slope increased. It seemed as though Smithers’ work was destined for a premature destruction, when Lord Reyne stepped out and caught the flying girl against his chest. He steadied her, tilted his hat, and walked away. Sarah sighed. If only it could have been she who fell into his arms, even for a moment.

  “Are you all right?” she asked Harmonia, as the girl panted for breath.

  “Goodness, yes! I wanted to talk to you before Mother came.” Taking her friend by the hand, she set off briskly, out of earshot of the servants and the guests. “You'll never guess what horrid thing has happened.”

  “What?”

  “Miss Dealford, a dreadful friend of Harriet's, is visiting us. With her mother. They're frightfully correct and the worst bores. You've got to help me get rid of them or they'll stay for days.”

  Sarah's attention still turned toward Lord Reyne, now in a group with Sir Francis and several other young men. But when her friend enlisted her aid, she asked, “Why do you want to be rid of them?”

  “Because she has her hooks into Harlow, that's why. They arrived last night, and what do you know? They know him from London. I've hardly had the chance to speak to him since. He's so pleasant to everyone; he doesn't have the heart to give her the kind of set-down she deserves. Look there, and you'll see what I mean.”

  The weedy figure came down the hill, feeling with his small feet for firm footholds, quite as if he were descending an Alp.

  He seemed to be escorting an opened parasol. As they came closer, Sarah saw a frail-seeming young woman gripping his arm, wrinkling the blue superfine. She seemed especially frightened of the cows, who walked up to the fence as stately as dowagers to see the visitors. Mr. Atwood brandished his stick at them and steered a path somewhat farther away from the enclosure.

  “You would think,” said Harmonia, “that with all the unmarried men who are staying with us, she'd find someone else to attach herself to rather than my Harlow.”

  “Your Harlow?”

  Harmonia blushed. “Oh, Sarah! If you only knew!”

  “I'm sure he's being polite. I'll wager ...” Sarah waited for Harmonia's eager questions, but her friend did not take her up. Perhaps the matter was serious.

  Miss Dealford smiled; Harmonia grumbled. “That creature ...”

  “What do you want me to do?'’ Sarah would throw her heart into this project, if it meant Harmonia would be happy.

  “I don't know, exactly. If we could but get her away from Harlow! Mother's seen us; we have to go back.”

  Miss Dealford already felt put out because Harriet had been too busy at her son's cradle to talk last night. Now she and her mother sniffed at Miss East and sneered at the ill-taste of the men who went at once to her side. Harlow remained beside them, but he shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and had to be spoken to twice before he replied. Only Alaric kept his manners and his sense, bringing each woman a cup of punch.

  “Who is that young person?” Mrs. Dealford inquired of him, peering at the tall blonde through her lorgnette.

  “Miss Sarah East, the daughter of a neighbor of Sir Arthur's.”

  “And who is her father?” she asked, repeating herself like an owl.

  “A scholar of some note.” He had listened for quite an hour, his first night at Hollytrees, to Sir Arthur's stories about the incomprehensible behavior of Mr. East, which seemed to consist chiefly of corresponding with papers other than The Morning Chronicle.

  “Oh,” said Miss Emma Dealford, exchanging a glance with her mother. As though it had been spoken, the phrase “Undistinguished Antecedents” hovered in the air. “She's tolerably pretty.”

  “Is she?” Alaric asked, stifling a yawn. He rose. “May I refill your glasses, ladies?”

  Sarah had no opportunity to sit even an instant with an empty glass or empty plate. If she had not kept on her feet, she would have been too stuffed to move, like a force-fed goose. The young men seemed intent on having her taste at least a little of everything Simmers thought necessary for a special luncheon.

  Sarah saw Lord Reyne bow and speak a moment to his hostess. Lord Dudley Tarle was taking a glass of wine with Lady Phelps, and the two men talked, seemingly at ease.

  Beside he
r, Harcourt asked, “Do you want Mother? I'm sure she'll be glad to get away from that old stick, Lord Dudley. Reyne's not a bad sort, however. Even if he's interested in butterflies.” The boy's disgust was palpable.

  “That's not so terrible,” Sarah said, determined to cultivate a passionate interest in winged insects.

  “No, but he wants to talk about them. All the time. And you know, I leave that sort of stuff to Harold.”

  “What do you leave to me? Are you making out a will, old man? I trust this treasure is among ..."He bent and kissed Sarah's hand. Harcourt made an expressive face. “But I forget. Sarah is not yours to give away.” Harold retained her hand, and Sarah had to tug forcefully to get it back. She wiped it surreptitiously on a napkin.

  “We were talking of Lord Reyne,” she said.

  “No, we weren't, either,” Harcourt said sharply, then, recalling to whom he spoke, he softened his tone. “Don't you remember? We were talking about that fool, Tarle.”

  “Oh. Butterflies,” Harold said. “How dull. I can entertain you better than that, Sarah. Wouldn't you like to walk with me by the water? I'll read you my latest poem. It's ... I'm dedicating it to you. It's called ‘To S. E.’ ‘Oh, eyes that mirror heaven's hue ...’ “

  “But my eyes aren't blue,” Sarah said, thinking of a pair that were.

  “They aren't?” Harold stooped and tried to see past the brim of her hat.

  Sarah thought Harcourt was going to be sick. “ ‘Course they ain't blue, you fool; they're grey. And she don't want to hear any poem you wrote. It's bound to be rotten. Come down to the lake, Sarah. Do come. Some of us are going to fish.”

  “No, thank you,” she said, touching his arm for a brief moment, smiling at him. “But you go. And you, too, Harold. Maybe you can alter your poem.” Because she'd known him forever, she added, “Then I'd be so pleased to hear it.”

  “Of course. I'll just arrange the rhyme so it's a stormy sky. That should be simple enough.” He squinted in concentration and began to count meter on his fingers.

  As Harcourt led his brother off, Sarah found herself alone. The rest of her admirers, with the goddess monopolized by the twins, had gone off to do their duty by the other girls Lady Phelps had invited for the afternoon. They were the same who had come to the evening party last week, and Sarah felt their attitude toward her had not warmed. It troubled her, but she didn't know what to do about it. On trying to approach Jessica, the girl blatantly turned away and pretended not to see her.

  Lord Reyne still remained by the Dealford ladies. So did Mr. Atwood. She didn't know what to do about that, either. Harmonia did not seem to be about. Smithers said, when asked, “Miss Harmonia has gone down to the lake for the fishing.”

  Perhaps Harmonia did not really mind Mr. Atwood's attendance on the enemy. Because Lord Reyne stood there, Sarah crossed the grass, closer to the chairs set a little way off from the rest of the party.

  In a piercing tone, Mrs. Dealford said, “Lord Reyne, you promised me an introduction to Miss East.” He obediently performed this office. “Now, be off, sir! We want no tiresome gentlemen. We want to talk. Sit down, Miss East. Emma, let Mr. Atwood show you those cattle. No. It is foolish to be afraid. You must persevere.”

  Mrs. Dealford proceeded to turn Sarah's mind inside out in an apparent effort to learn her every thought since babyhood. She had just wrested free the facts regarding last year's irksome meeting with a traveling portrait painter when the inquisition was broken into by a scream. The sound went on and on as though emerging from some machine.

  “My dearest!” Mrs. Dealford said, starting up. Horror-stricken, she pointed toward the paddock. “She'll be gored!”

  Mr. Atwood, Miss Dealford and several other intrepid gentlemen had entered the paddock to come closer to the cows. Unfortunately, the cows were not alone. Without so much as a preliminary paw at the ground to indicate his displeasure, the bull thundered forward. His chest was deep, his horns sharp and glinting in the sun, and his hide as black as an evil wish.

  The others turned to flee, supporting Miss Dealford. But upon departure, she tripped on her trailing skirt, landing directly in the evidence that this had long been a cow enclosure. Instead of rising, she remained sprawled on the ground, screaming incessantly. With word and gesture, the gentlemen encouraged her to hurry and be gone.

  Among the horrified onlookers, paralysis seemed to have taken hold. Then, Sir Francis called, “I'll get a gun!” and began to run up the hill to the house as fast as his long legs would carry him.

  Sarah said, “Carrots!” Mrs. Dealford gave the girl a pained glance before once more gazing at her soon-to-be destroyed daughter in an agony of fear.

  Already dashing toward Smithers’ tower of greenery, Sarah passed Lord Reyne. He went the other direction, carrying an unfolded tablecloth. It was dyed a mild pink. Grabbing the carrots from the base of the pyramid, Sarah followed him.

  Nimbly as any boy, she climbed the white fence. Lord Reyne approached the line of gentlemen, who stood between the fallen girl and the fearful beast, as they prepared to defend her life at peril of their own. “Pick her up, you fools!” Sarah heard Lord Reyne growl as he passed them.

  Stopping a few yards from the bull, who had paused as though deciding which body he'd juggle first on his horns, Alaric extended the tablecloth as a breeze billowed the material. The bull snorted and shook his head. He dashed forward a yard, then turned away as if uninterested. However, Alaric saw the animal look back at him as if judging the distance.

  “Miss East!” he said, as Sarah came to his side. “Leave at once.’ The bull came around to face them. Shaking the cloth at the bull, Alaric asked mildly, “Are you daft?”

  “Not at all. What are you doing?”

  “A technique practiced in Spain.” He walked slowly forward, the tablecloth at the ready. “Will you please leave?”

  Sarah watched him, admiring the set of his shoulders and the cut of his coat over his narrow hips. Realizing she should not even be thinking of his person let alone permitting her gaze to dwell upon him, she stepped out from behind the shelter of his body. Holding out the carrots, she said, “Here, Petey.”

  The bull trotted past Lord Reyne and stopped before Sarah. He lowered his massive head, as large as a man's chest, and took the carrots, stalks and all, from the girl's hand.

  “Petey?” Alaric asked, as he folded the tablecloth. “A family pet, I take it?”

  Though he approached with caution, in a very few moments he was scratching the bull's woolly head. He murmured, “Did that woman's screaming bother you, boy? Sounded like a night at the opera—something I'd advise you to avoid.”

  The bull's fringed ears twitched as though taking heed of this advice. He almost seemed to nod in agreement before placidly chewing the prized vegetables. Alaric took Sarah's arm as he escorted her back to the fence. “You're a very brave young lady.”

  “Oh, I've known him since he was a calf. I wasn't frightened at all.”

  “You're rather remarkable, aren't you, Sarah East?”

  For the length of a single heartbeat, they looked into one another's eyes before Mrs. Dealford came forward. Lord Reyne moved away from Sarah, leaving her both breathless and confused. To be called remarkable seemed very fine, but somehow the meaning and his expression had not agreed. It was almost as if she'd displeased him somehow. Yet there had been some other feeling present in the depths of his eyes— something she could not recall ever having seen there before.

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  Chapter Five

  Having heard the commotion, Harcourt, Harmonia, and Harold ran up from the lake, closely followed by the other fishers. Eagerly, they listened as several people described what had happened to Miss Dealford.

  “Oh, is that all?” Harmonia asked. “She frightened the fish because of Petey? Poor fellow, he must have been terrified. I'm going to eat some cake. Mr. Atwood, pray join me.”

  The thin gentleman, lurking at the rear of
the crowd for fear Mrs. Dealford would forget that showing Emma the cows had been her own idea, brightened up at hearing his name spoken by a friendly voice. “Miss Phelps, I should like it above all things.”

  Harvey, delayed all this time at the house getting the proper shine on his boots, put his arm around the weeping Miss Dealford, not noticing that she was reeking rather from the mingled mud she'd fallen into. “There, there, old girl. Come up to the house, and we'll soon have you put to rights.”

  Miss Dealford ceased calling brokenly for her mother and raised her glistening eyes to young Phelps. “Yes ... yes, please. Oh, he can't get out, can he?”

  “Certainly not. Old Petey—that is, we keep him stoutly penned. Yes, quite stout, those pens. Helped put ‘em up myself.”

  “Did you really?” Reluctantly, she turned her attention once more to her mother, approaching with Lord Reyne. “I beg your pardon. Mama?”

  “Of course, Emma also wishes to express her appreciation for your bravery just now. Don't you, dear? That bull would have charged you, Emma, if not for Lord Reyne.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Dealford,” Alaric said, “it was all Miss East's doing. Any thanks going about belong to her.”

  Mrs. Dealford affected not to hear. “Emma ... Emma, thank Lord Reyne. Poor child, she's so distraught.”

  “I'm going to the house. Mother,” Emma Dealford said. “Mr. Phelps is going to help me.”

  Mrs. Dealford might be convinced that Lord Reyne's bravery alone saved her daughter, yet the young gentlemen were of the opinion that it was all due to Sarah. Then and there she was voted the Order of the Carrot, with Parsley Clusters. That made her laugh, causing Mr. Posthwaite, who'd thought of the jest, to preen himself for quite half an hour.

  When handsome Sir Francis arrived just too late for glory, the jokesters did their best, but his amour propre was too great to allow him to reply in kind. Valiantly, he pretended the pistol he'd hastily shoved into his waistband was not there, until relieved of it by Smithers. Freed from this encumbrance. Sir Francis bowed low over Sarah's hand and said, “I'm most happy violence was avoided. Especially as the bull is an old friend of the family. Your lovely hands could gentle any wild beast, even a man.”