‘Don’t stand there daydreaming,’ Weatherby growled. ‘Get off, lad. You need a half-hour start on the pack or they’ll overrun the fox before midday.’
‘We don’t want that,’ Robert said wryly and set off through the kitchen garden at a jog. He’d take the short cut and be gone from the inn long before the Wynchwood party appeared.
The hounds and red-coated hunters streamed up Gallows Hill far ahead of Frederica and Maggie, but Frederica didn’t care.
‘Hurry up, Frederica,’ Maggie called back, twisting in her saddle. ‘We are falling behind.’
That’s the idea, Frederica thought, but she urged Pippin to a greater burst of speed. The gelding, who’d fretted at being held back, took the bit and surged forwards. Frederica kept a sharp eye out for rabbit holes.
Fortunately, her slow pace had annoyed Viscount Lullington. He’d galloped ahead, promising to return to see how she was doing the next time the hounds were at a stand.
She caught Maggie up and matched Pippin’s speed to the chestnut. They rode side by side over the brow of the hill. Hopefully, they would not see her particular fox this morning.
Far ahead, the hunt master blew the view halloo. It seemed her wish was not to be granted.
‘Here we go,’ Maggie yelled, her eyes brimming with excitement. ‘Come on, if you want to be in on the kill.’
Ugh. ‘You go ahead. Pippin is lame. He must have picked up a stone. I will need to dismount and take a look.’
Maggie gave a little grimace of disappointment. ‘I’ll send Lull or your cousin back to find you if you don’t catch us up.’
Frederica waved her crop and watched Maggie fly off down the hill.
Pippin’s ears pricked forwards. He strained at the bit.
‘I know, old fellow. But we don’t want to be there when they catch the fox. Wait a few minutes and then you can gallop.’
A lady in dark green and two men in hunting pink, members of Mr Radthorn’s party whom she’d met at the village inn, straggled up to her. She waved them on. The last thing she needed was some well-meaning gentleman poking around in Pippin’s hooves. He’d soon realise her excuse was a hum.
She had Pippin walk slowly down the hill, listening to the retreating sounds of baying hounds and the hunting horn. Leaning forwards, she patted her mount’s neck. ‘What do you think? Are they far enough ahead?’
He tossed his head as if he understood every word.
She laughed. ‘Very well.’ She dug her heel into his flank and he sprang forwards into a gallop, straining at the bit. Oh, dear. He seemed determined to catch the other horses. The hedge at the bottom of the hill came up fast. Too fast. She hauled on the reins, trying to turn his head. Too late. They were going to have to jump it. Not a good idea in a lady’s saddle.
Her heart picked up speed. She eyed the closing distance, judged the horse’s pace and steadied herself. Not that the saddle provided much support.
Pippin gathered himself. And they flew. She was going to make it. Beautiful jump. Clean. Clear. The horse landed. Frederica hit the saddle with a bump and jolted sideways. She was flying again. Straight at the ground.
Ouch. She landed on her bottom. Hard. She couldn’t breathe. She’d crushed her ribs. Panicked, she clutched her chest. She couldn’t inhale. She was dying.
‘Steady,’ a deep voice said. ‘Take it easy.’
A huge rush of air filled her lungs. Her head swam. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. Then Robert’s anxious face filled her vision. ‘Where are you hurt?’
Grateful to feel the air sawing in and out of her lungs, she managed a weak smile. ‘Winded.’
‘Are you sure that is all?’ His hands, gentle, clinical, ran over her arms, legs, back. ‘Does it hurt when I touch you?’
‘No. It feels lovely.’
He repressed a quick grin. ‘Not another word.’
‘Why aren’t you up front with the villagers?’
‘I was. I noticed you hanging back, then Lady Caldwell showed up without you. One of those idiots should have stayed behind.’ He sounded furious.
‘I’m not a child, you know. I’ve ridden these fields alone all my life.’ She glanced around for Pippin. Not a sign of him.
‘Still chasing the leaders,’ Robert said.
‘I don’t know what got into him.’
‘Overexcited, I suspect.’ Robert held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Can you walk?’
She took a couple of steps. Her legs felt like blancmange and her bottom hurt, but she wasn’t injured. ‘A little stiff and sore, but I’m fine.’
‘Too bad.’ His dark eyes sparkled. ‘I was hoping for the excuse to carry you in my arms.’
‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Because you don’t play those kinds of games,’ he said. ‘Good thing too.’
There was no one in sight. The only thing in the middle of the field was them and an oak tree. An oak tree with a very wide and gnarly trunk. As they passed it, a wicked thought popped into her mind. ‘Oh, I’m not feeling quite the thing.’ She headed for the tree trunk and leaned against it with her arm covering her eyes.
‘Are you feeling faint?’ he said, peering into her face.
She let her arm fall and laughed up at him. ‘No.’
He cursed softly. ‘Do you know how beautiful you look?’
‘No. But I’m hoping you are going to tell me.’ Had she said that? Was it he who made her recklessly wanton, or was it all her bad blood?
He gave an unwilling laugh, his white teeth flashing in the black of his curly beard. ‘It seems you do play those games.’
‘Why have you given up shaving?’ she asked.
He stroked his chin with strong square fingers. Mischief shone in his eyes. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I’m not sure.’
He placed his hands against the rough trunk, his broad forearms bracketing her head. She drew in a quick breath at the jolt in her stomach. He leaned in for a kiss and she flung her arms around his neck and melded her body to his. After the strain of the morning, it felt wonderful to be in his arms.
He groaned and deepened the kiss, his mouth working magic against her lips, his hands crushing her close.
He broke away, and she was pleased to see he was breathing just as hard as she. ‘Robert—’
‘Someone is coming. Listen.’
Hoof beats approaching fast. ‘Dash it all,’ she muttered.
His dark eyes gleamed. ‘You owe me the rest of that kiss, but for now, start walking.’
They stepped out from behind the shelter of the tree as a black horse and rider leading Pippin stopped to open the gate to the field.
‘Your rescuer arrives,’ Robert said drily.
‘Viscount Lullington.’
He nodded. ‘Watch that man, Frederica.’ His voice held such deep loathing, she couldn’t help but glance at his face. His eyes were narrowed and his shoulders tense.
‘Do you know him?’
His lip curled. ‘I know men like him. He’ll take any advantage.’
‘Oh, he’s not interested in me. He’s in love with Lady Caldwell.’
‘That kind loves only one person. Himself.’
‘Why, Robert,’ she said, her smile growing, ‘are you jealous?’
He glanced at her, his eyes dark, almost bleak. ‘What right do I have for jealousy?’
With a sinking sensation, she realised he’d made no promises to her. ‘Just do not trust that man.’
The viscount was almost upon them. She turned to face him as he leaped from his horse and strode to her side. He appeared not to notice Robert. ‘Are you all right, Miss Bracewell?’
Wishing him elsewhere, she forced a smile. ‘Perfectly fine. Pippin decided I needed a walk.’
He grinned. ‘I am all admiration. Your spirit does you credit. I expected tears and gnashing of teeth.’
Federica could almost hear Robert grind his teeth. She gestured towards him. ‘I was fortunate Mr Deveril
came along or I might be less sanguine.’
‘Good man,’ the viscount said. He dug into his pocket and flipped a coin to land at Robert’s feet.
Robert stared at it, his face rigid, pride in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, then he bent to retrieve the coin from the dirt. He touched his cap and walked away.
She felt sick and faint. As if he’d been shamed and it was all her fault. She longed to call out an apology, but Robert’s long legs carried him off at a rapid pace.
Meanwhile the viscount was all kind concern. ‘Are you sure you are not hurt, Miss Bracewell?’
Heart aching, she forced herself to answer calmly. ‘P-perfectly sure.’
Lullington looked at her face and then at the retreating Robert. ‘Has he been with your family long?’
‘Just a few weeks,’ she said.
‘He seems like a competent fellow, if rather bold.’
She glanced up to find him staring at her intently, his pale eyes seeming to see into her mind. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he gave a tight smile. ‘Now, Miss Bracewell, do you think you can re-mount this beast?’ He pointed to Pippin.
Aware of prickling heat creeping up her face, she nodded. ‘I can.’
‘Pluck to the backbone. Let me give you a hand.’
He led her to Pippin and she noticed how soft the leather of his gloves and how long and languid his fingers were. A shudder ran down her spine as if she’d brushed past a cobweb in the dark. Such nonsense. He was a dandy. A nobleman. She was wrong to compare him with the hard-working Robert.
With Maisie looking on, her face a picture of envy, Frederica twisted to look at her back in the mirror. Wings. Made of the sheerest material and dusted with sequins, they looked almost real. The gown made her look taller, more shapely. ‘It is supposed to represent Titania from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Mrs Phillips did a wonderful job.’
‘You look like a fairy an’ all, miss,’ Maisie said. ‘My ma used to tell me about them. Don’t walk in the fairy circle, she always used to say. Toadstools, they was.’
With a smile, Frederica ran her hands down the front of her sheer gown of browns and soft greens.
Maisie went to work with the hairbrush and Frederica let her thoughts wander. What would Robert think if he saw her now? Would he approve? Or would he stare at her with those fathomless dark eyes and tell her that she looked like a damned peacock? Pretty, but useless.
She couldn’t prevent a small smile. Yes, that was indeed what the blunt, unpolished man would say. And after tonight, after her one and only ball, she would never look like a peacock again. Why, she might even dance the night away on the arm of a handsome gentleman. She sighed. If only that gentleman could be Robert, it would be the best night of her life.
A knock sounded on the door. ‘Who is it?’
‘Maggie. May I come in?’
‘Please do.’
Maggie looked simply ravishing. A vision. Frederica felt quite dull and plain as she took in the gauzy trousers and soft veils of midnight-blue covered in sequins. The dress of an exotic eastern harem girl. Bangles jingled on her wrists and around her ankles, and a heavy gold choker fringed with coins hugged her elegant neck. Her eyes, rimmed with kohl, peeped over the top of a goldedged veil.
The brush was held suspended over Frederica’s head as Maisie let her mouth hang open.
‘You look beautiful,’ Frederica said.
The dark-eyed siren ran her gaze over Frederica. Her finely plucked brows shot up. ‘Oh, my dear. You are simply divine.’ She floated across the room to finger the fabric. ‘Look how cleverly she dags the hem and so much fabric. If I had only thought of it.’ She shook her head. ‘But no. My curves were never meant to play a wood sprite. I would look like a gnome. My dear, you will be the belle of the ball.’
‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ Frederica said with a laugh, quoting one of Mortimer’s favourite sayings.
Maisie began brushing again.
‘And modest too. So refreshing. My dear, you must come to London. They will adore you.’
Until they discovered who she was, then she would be ostracised. Uncle Mortimer had made that very plain. And that was why she did not understand why Simon’s parents were going along with his uncle’s betrothal plans. But apparently they were. There was only one way out, she’d realised in the dark of her room late last night. She’d have to tell Simon she was a fallen woman. He’d be so disgusted, he’d have to cry off.
She’d offer to save him a whole lot of embarrassment by disappearing.
She could do it without getting Robert into trouble. No one would need to know who had debauched her, any more than they knew who had debauched her mother.
All she needed was a few private words with Simon and she would be free to live her own life.
Unfortunately, Simon spent all his time glued to the viscount’s side while Lord Lullington looked bored nigh unto death.
Tomorrow, after the ball, she’d find a way to get Simon alone.
While Maisie finished brushing Frederica’s hair, Maggie wandered around the room, touching the bed, pulling open the curtains to stare out of the window, strolling back to the dressing table. Restless energy rolled off her in waves.
She spun about. ‘How will you wear your hair?’
‘Miss always has it in a knot,’ Maisie said.
Maggie tilted her head to one side. ‘Wear it down.’
‘Too fine,’ Frederica said. ‘It doesn’t have a scrap of curl.’ Unlike the older woman’s luxuriant waves.
Maggie picked up the headdress, a simple wreath of silk flowers in yellow, pink and white, wound around with ivy leaves. ‘You are wrong. Pin it up at the sides so it falls down your back and leaves your neck and shoulders bare.’ With a hairpin, she caught one side up, then added another. She popped the circlet on Frederica’s head so it settled high on her brow. ‘Like so. What do you think?’
It made her look young and vulnerable, and…well almost pretty. ‘I like it.’ She smiled at Maggie’s reflection. ‘I really do. But it will not stay.’
‘More pins,’ Maggie cried. ‘Fasten those pieces we pulled back to the circlet. That will hold them in place.’ Once more she looked at Frederica like a bird eyeing a worm. ‘Earbobs.’
Frederica blinked. ‘I don’t have any.’
Maggie looked surprised. ‘No? I know. I will lend you some of mine. Sapphires?’ She shook her head. ‘Diamonds. Nothing but diamonds will do. You will provide the colour and they the light.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’
‘But you shall.’ The lady had a determined gleam in her eye and a stubborn set to her jaw.
And Frederica could not think of a reason to refuse. She smiled. ‘Then thank you.’
‘Oooh. This is so exciting. Wait a moment while I fetch them.’
‘What a nice lady,’ Maisie said as Maggie scurried out of the door. ‘And pretty too.’
How nice to have a friend for the first time in her life. There had been a lot of firsts just lately. ‘Very pretty. Thank you, Maisie, for your help. I am sure there are lots of things you are needed for downstairs. You can go now.’
‘Aye. Mrs Doncaster is fair fit to burst she’s that busy.’ Maisie packed up the pins and tidied the dressing table.
‘I suppose Cook did not want to lose you to me this afternoon.’
Maisie grinned. ‘Mums the word on that, miss. Oh, and by the way, I was to tell you that your uncle wants to see you in the library before the other guests arrive.’ She bobbed a curtsy and headed for the door, standing back for a moment to allow Maggie to enter carrying a leatherbound case, before she hurried away.
‘Here you are, my dear Frederica.’ She set the case down on the dressing table, and pulled forth a string of the most gorgeous diamonds, a delicate strand of little teardrops with earbobs to match. She fastened the necklace around Frederica’s throat and stood back to admire. ‘Perfect. Now the earrings.’ Frederica turned back to the mirror and gasped. ‘It is lovel
y, but I can’t wear something so valuable.’
‘Nonsense. It is not half as lovely as you, my dear. You will outshine everyone.’
Frederica swung around to face her. ‘Oh, no! How can you say such a thing?’
The other woman sighed and patted her hand. ‘I’m not much prone to think of others, but for some odd reason I like you.’ She laughed. It sounded a little brittle. ‘And Lull will be so proud of me when I tell him, he will no doubt buy me the pearls I have been after.’
Frederica couldn’t help laughing at her naughty grin.
‘And now I must be off,’ Maggie said. ‘My poor Forester is quite in a fit about my headdress. Apparently, it needs work.’ She stood in the doorway and blew a kiss. ‘I will see you downstairs.’
Frederica felt rather as if a whirlwind had blown in and out of the room. She took a deep breath. Time to visit Uncle Mortimer. Hopefully he would not be too shocked at this gown.
Simon and Uncle Mortimer rose on her entry into the study. They looked quite splendid. For once, Uncle Mortimer was not wearing his old-fashioned frock coat. Although not in costume, he looked magnificent in a black coat with silver buttons and satin knee breeches. He’d even powdered his best wig. She made her curtsy. ‘You wanted to speak with me, Uncle?’
As Mortimer looked her up and down, his pink nose quivered. Oh, dear. Perhaps she would not be attending the ball after all.
‘I say, coz,’ Simon said, his eyes bulging worse than usual above his mountain of neckerchief. ‘You look splendid. Where did you get the jewels?’
‘Lady Caldwell l-l—’
‘Lent them to you,’ Simon said. ‘Most obliging. Is she not the most delightful of creatures?’
Uncle Mortimer grunted, but gestured her to sit. ‘We need to talk about this evening.’
She perched on the chair. ‘Yes, Uncle.’
‘Mind your manners and behave as you ought. Do not mention your mother and things should come off well enough.’
She stiffened. ‘I don’t know why Simon wishes to marry me, when you are all so ashamed of my connections.’
Simon’s mouth opened and closed. He gulped. Small beads of perspiration lined his loose top lip. ‘Really, coz. A pleasure.’
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