A Country Wooing (7 page)

“She’s too fine an animal to use as a spare, for just anyone to ride.”

“Charlie liked the best,” she reminded him.

“That’s why I thought she must be for you,” he answered in a rallying way that might have been a joke, though there was enough admiration in his regard to cause some doubt. “Quite sure she wasn’t?”

Anne felt a flush brighten her cheeks. “Positive. Charles never offered me Lady or anything else. Any other mount, I mean.”

Alex looked at her for a long moment before saying, “I see.” She had the feeling there was more being discussed than a mount, and his next question confirmed it. “Never offered you his name either, Anne? I’m sure it was his intention to do so. Did you refuse him?”

It was hard to read his expression. It was intent, and he was keenly interested in her reply, but what else was in it she could only guess. “He didn’t offer the name or the mount. I’ve already told you I should have refused the latter.”

“And the former? The name?”

Anne would no more have refused an offer from Charles than she would have cut off her arm, but she felt a sudden disinclination to say so. Just why she hesitated to confirm what was a pretty well known suspicion was unclear to her. Perhaps it was no more than pride. “We ladies like to keep our secrets,” she said with a little toss of her shoulders. The motion held a touch of flirtation.

It emboldened Alex to adopt a similar tone. He inclined his head to her and said, “I think you would have made a charming Lady Penholme.”

“I see what it is. Dissatisfied with a mere three sisters, you wanted another.’’

“No, I didn’t want that at all, I promise you.” His smile faded as he stood gazing at her. When he spoke again, he was deadly serious. “Did you love him?” he asked simply.

With equal directness, she said, “Yes, very much. All the girls were fascinated with Charles. Oh, I know his reputation smacked of every sin in the Bible, but rakehells are attractive to women, you know.”

“They make fine daydreams, but less fine husbands, I daresay.”

“It was just a daydream, so there’s no point discussing it further.”

Alex nodded silently. The ensuing pause was long and uncomfortable. Unable to sustain the tension, Anne sought to lighten the mood. “I love Lady, too, but I could not accept her from either Lord Penholme.”

He hunched his shoulders. “She’s no good to me. I held her back from auction for you. It’s more bother than it’s worth to take one mount over to Eastleigh another time. Come now, accept her. You’ll hurt her feelings. She’ll only be eating her head off in my stable, with no one to exercise her. See how frisky she is—dying to be ridden.”

It was a sore temptation, the more so as there was really nothing wrong in accepting a gift from the Hall. There were precedents aplenty—in fact, Mrs. Dobbin had been a gift from the old earl. But somehow Anne was not happy to accept one from Alex.

“You can’t possibly be getting a decent ride on your old Dobbin,” he persisted. “Lady likes you—see how she’s nuzzling your shoulder.’’

“So would she be nuzzling you if you massaged her neck on this side,” Anne said, laughing. “But we are retrenching. When Mrs. Dobbin cocks up her toes, we shall be glad. Her formidable appetite is eating us out of house and home.”

“So are we retrenching at the Hall. A new regime has set it, if you don’t know it already from all my complaining relatives. You must have heard of the affair of the threadbare linen. I’m only trying to get you to take on the feed of this glutton,” he said.

“You did not use to be so stubborn, Alex. I see your trick. Next you will send those ravenous twins down to batten themselves on us. Thank you, but I really cannot accept your gift.”

Far from pokering up at the charge of stubbornness, he appeared pleased with it. “I shan’t sell her. May I leave her here for you to use till Loo grows into her?”

She tossed up her hands in surrender. “Very well, I’ll say yes, before you’re put to some other lying shift to force her on me, since it’s clear you mean to have your way.”

“You see how quickly the title has gone to my head. I expect folks to cater to my every whim. Next thing you know, I’ll be expecting you to jump to your feet when I enter the room.”

“I should be happy to do it if this is the way you pay your toadeaters. She’s a beauty, Alex. Thank you for being so imaginative in your insistence.” As she patted Lady’s muzzle, the sun caught the marquises in her ring, reminding her of that other gift.

“Should you be out in the sun so long, Alex? Would you like to go inside?”

“I’m fine. Let’s walk a little,” he suggested. “It’s such a fine day.”

They left Lady behind and strolled around to the garden, back through the orchard. Again Alex put his hand on Anne’s elbow, not moving it till they came to a stone bench and sat down. He gazed into the sun-dappled roof of leaves with a wistful smile.

“I missed three seasons of blossoms. Three springs—the finest time of the year. I love to see the petals blowing in the air, like snowflakes. It’s strange, the things you miss when you’re away from home. You can’t think how often I imagined it, when I was slogging through swamps, being eaten alive by flies and lice, or trekking over some rough mountain with the sun burning my eyes. It hasn’t changed. That’s the miracle. It’s still so green and cool and fresh, just as I remembered it. Next year the petals will form again, and fall.”

She studied his rugged profile, which gazed unblinking at the trees. His rapture imbued them with some special charm. Three years—three of his best years, and hers. “Why did you go Alex?” she asked softly. “It was very sudden, wasn’t it?”

“No, I was five years working up to it, actually.”

Charles had been earl for five years when Alex had left. That was the impetus, then.

“You never said anything about it.”

“I’m the oyster of the family. We need one, you know, when the rest of us cackle like geese.”

“I wouldn’t call you an oyster.”

“Wouldn’t you. Duck?” he asked, turning to smile at her. It was a warm, intimate smile that eased the harshness of his expression. “We used to call you Duck when you were two years old and waddling like one.”

“What a memory! You must have been only a child yourself.”

“The name lingered a long while. You were called Duck till you were twelve—and I a callow seventeen.”

“I seem to remember,” she said vaguely, but what she remembered more clearly was that Charles used to call her Duck occasionally, right up to the time he died. The dark eyes smiling intimately into hers looked suddenly very like Charles’s eyes. How odd! She’d never noticed that resemblance between the brothers before.

“Do you remember the day you forbade it?” he asked.

“No.”

“I do. It was the Easter Charles came down from Oxford and gave you the white kitten that was supposed to be for Bung. He bawled all night long. You must remember the kitten. I was so gauche as to call you Duck in front of Charles, when you had taken into your head to flirt with him. Your first effort at batting your lashes— inexpertly done, but a pretty performance. I daresay the inopportune moment I chose to call you Duck accounted for your rant.”

“I called him Whitey—the kitten.”

“And you called me—no, some things are best forgotten.”

“I had forgotten all about the incident,” she said, dismissing it as of little interest. “Alex, why did you leave? Now that you’ve turned voluble, perhaps I can pry it out of you.”

“Not yet,” he said. “Later.”

“You’re just giving yourself airs, to be mysterious and interesting.”

“You don’t have to put on airs to be interesting. You’re interesting, and you’re the most airless girl I know.”

“I sound remarkably stuffy—absolutely airless.”

“Never! Airless, but not stuffy. A rare combination.”

“I sound like a vacuum. Absence has made your heart grow fonder of more than trees and petals. If I hear you praise the sermon on Sunday, I shall know it’s homesickness speaking, for you always abhorred Danfer’s sermons, and they have not improved during your absence. In fact, they haven’t changed.”

“Then I shall be sure to disparage it, for I don’t want you to take the notion my praise was insincere. Notice I don’t call it flattery, Duck?”

“Since you’re determined to be gallant, I shan’t discourage you, but let me slip you a clue, Mr. Oyster. Your future gallantry is not to take the form of expensive gifts.”

“Oh, expensive!” he scoffed. “I don’t know what Rob was thinking of not to have given you Lady years ago. You should have suggested it, Anne.”

“Of course I should. I really ought to have hit him up for a new team and carriage while I was about it. The kitchen roof is not all it should be either. I wonder he didn’t get it fixed for us before now. Really, he’s been very behindhand in looking after Mama and me.”

“I’ve passed the margin from gallantry to gaucherie, have I? You make it easy on my pinched purse, forcing me to limit my gallantry to mere words.”

They returned to the house, but on this occasion Alex did no more than say good day to Mrs. Wickfield before leaving to go into the village.

“I must find out how much I am in hawk to all the merchants,” he said. “Some of them came to the Hall, which fills me with terror. I should have thought they’d wait till I went to them. Such an undue eagerness for my company makes me fear the sum is staggering. I hope there is enough money left from the auction to begin tiling.”

“Tannie told us three hundred pounds for the cobbler,” Mrs. Wickfield mentioned.

“I should realize between one and two thousand from what Rob took to the auction. Closer to two—I sold off a few carriages we didn’t need, as well. A sky-blue phaeton and a rattan curricle seemed an unnecessary extravagance. Even Rob won’t drive in them.”

After he left, Mrs. Wickfield cast a few animadversions on the late earl’s extravagance. “What a rotten kettle of fish for Alex to come home to,” she griped.

But as he spoke of picking up a couple of thousand from selling his excess stable, no one could worry about his solvency. Anne’s mother did not find the loan of Lady exorbitant and smiled softly to herself. She suspected the offer of his hand might follow before too long.

“Did he say anything interesting while you were walking?” she asked hopefully.

“We were just talking about the old days.”

“It might be best not to harp on the past, Annie,” Mrs. Wickfield advised. “A young gentleman wouldn’t like to hear about his lady’s other flirts.”

“Good heavens, Mama, we weren’t talking about Charles,” Anne said. “Just a mention in passing ...”

But really they had talked about Charles quite a lot. Specifically about her and Charles, and she had been too naive to disclaim her interest. What was the point? She
had
loved Charles—one couldn’t erase the past. But somehow she rather wished she had softened it a little.

Chapter Six

Anne was surprised to discover her muscles were stiff the next morning from her short ride on Lady. The best cure was to do exactly what she wanted; namely, remount and go for a longer ride.

As the backhouse boy was busy cleaning ashes from stove and fireplace, she was confined to the private land between Penholme and Rosedale, but this left her plenty of choice. How exhilarating it was to be flying through meadows with the wind in her face and a smooth pacer under her, to be able to jump a stream instead of urging Mrs. Dobbin through it. When a low fence suddenly appeared in front of her, she summoned her courage and put Lady over it. There! She hadn’t done that in five years. She had forgotten the soaring joy of a real ride.

When she became warm from her exertions, she rode through the shaded spinney at a slower pace, to admire the wild flowers and the soft gurgle of a brook. The morning was perfect—nearly. A companion to ride with would have completed the pleasure.

From there she rode around the edge of the sheep field to admire the gamboling new lambs, which looked like little clouds fallen from the sky. After an hour’s hard riding she was tired, but the day was too fine to go home. In the distance the stone walls of Penholme rose. As she approached it from the rear, the first person she saw was Alex. He already had his arm out of the sling. He was talking to some workmen. When he saw her, he waved and walked forward to meet her, leaving the men behind.

“Now aren’t you glad you came down off your high ropes and took Lady?” he asked. “You make a beautiful pair.”

“More gallantry! Lady and I thank you. I didn’t come to take you from your work, Alex. I’ll go in to say hello to Aunt Tannie.”

“I’ll join you presently. Wait till I come.”

“Yes, milord.” She gave him a pert smile.

“That was a request, however incivilly worded.”

“It had the air of a military command.”

“No, no. I’ve sold out. It’s my new title that makes me so arrogant, Duck.” He laughed and turned back to the workmen.

Loo and Babe were in the stable, admiring the ponies Robin had chosen for them at Eastleigh. The stable looked half empty. Anne mentally tallied up what mounts had been put on the block. He’d kept the grays for the curricle, the bays for the family carriage, a hack and hunter each for himself and Rob, a hack each for the twins, and he’d bought the ponies for the girls. Just what a man in his position would consider essential.

While she was complimenting the girls on their Welsh ponies, Alex joined them. “Here, up you go,” he said to Babe.

“Alex, your arm!” Anne cautioned.

“I can lift Babe with one arm,” he said, and did so, hoisting her up on the pony’s back. Like all the Penholmes, she had a natural affinity for horses. She was soon jogging around the yard as easily as she walked. Loo had scrambled up on her pony by herself and went after her.

“Imagine Babe not being mounted till she’s six,” Alex said ruefully.

“She’s still a baby.”

“A Penholme baby! Rosalie was hunting when she was eight. And look at Loo—what an awkward set of hands. Here, Loo!” He went after her and rearranged the reins between her fingers, urging her to sit straight and not pull on the line.