Alicia (21 page)

“We shall have to convince her to come again soon then.”

“There is little likelihood of that. She has family still at home and the holidays are not so far away now. She has invited us to go to her then, but I do not see how we can.”

“Why not?”

“I cannot simply abandon the shop, Lord Stronbert,”
Alicia said a little sharply.

“I daresay Mr. Allerton could manage,”
he drawled.

“Not for so long,”
she retorted.

“Could he manage for a few hours tomorrow?”

“Why?”

“So that you might go riding with me.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because you have been working so hard that you are beginning to snap,”
he said firmly. “You need some fresh air and exercise.”

“I am flattered that you should concern yourself, but I assure you that I am perfectly healthy.”
Alicia grew uncomfortable under his uncompromising gaze and said faintly, “Perhaps you are right. I do need to get away from the shop for a while, but there is no need for you to trouble yourself. I can ride with Felicia.”

“I will bring a mare for you tomorrow at twelve, at your cottage.”
His tone was insistent but his eyes were gentle. “The weather is like to hold fine. I will bring a picnic hamper.”

She nodded slowly. “As you wish. Thank you.”

Stronbert then assumed the direction of their conversation, talking of the members of his household and their backgrounds. He had counseled patience for Rowland, and he had thought to pursue the same course. It was not impetuosity that led him to this move, however, but the sudden realization that Lady Coombs would become more resolved in her fear the longer she was allowed to live with it in isolation. Her daughter was young and without previous male contact. Lady Coombs had suffered altogether too much of the wrong sort of male contact. He was determined on a course of re-educating her. When Miss Carnworth returned, he bid Lady Coombs farewell and they took their leave.

Alicia and her daughter each chose a fabric to make new gowns, although Alicia laughed that they would never show any profit at this rate. When Felicia put back the fabric she had been examining and said, “I do not really need a new gown, Mama; I have the blue satin,”
Alicia hugged her.

“Do not be a goose. I was merely jesting, my love. The reason we have the shop is that there will be some income for our out-go. Otherwise our funds would have lasted but a few years. With the shop we may live reasonably and for as long as we work.”
And so Felicia took the two pieces of fabric to the cottage and sat down to consider some really special design for her mother.

When Alicia arrived, her daughter had sketched a gown with low neck, high waistline and a skirt tighter and shorter in front than in back. There was to be ruching at the wrists and a diadem of fall flowers.

Felicia was so enthusiastic about it that Alicia’s feeble, “Do you not think perhaps it is a little revealing?”
was brushed aside.

“Heavens, no, Mama. Come and see these pictures in the magazine. Why, this is all modesty by comparison.”

Alicia did not protest further, but thanked her daughter for the design. “Oh, I intend to make it for you as well, Mama, as you will be busy. You can help me in the evenings sometimes. Though really,”
she said thoughtfully, “you should more beneficially take a walk in the evening. You are cooped up too much in the shop.”

“So Lord Stronbert informs me,”
Alicia said dryly. “He is to take me riding tomorrow.”

“Good for him. Is he not the kindest man?”

“Yes, my dear.”
Alicia bent over the sketches determined to think no more of his lordship.

* * * *

She did, however, don an attractive riding dress the next day at her daughter’s insistence. Felicia would not countenance the drab beige outfit her mother had taken to wearing. She had been almost impatient with her mother, and had gone herself to retrieve from the wardrobe the riding dress Alicia had had made shortly before her husband’s death. The royal blue jacket was molded to her form, with a velvet collar and a waistline in its proper place, flaring out below. The high-crowned hat had a buckle and the dress was not so full as her previous riding outfits.

“Much better,”
Felicia pronounced. “There is Lord Stronbert now. You are just in time.”

Alicia felt unaccountably nervous in the becoming outfit. And the admiration in Stronbert’s eyes made her more so. He did not attempt to hide it; it was part of his training program. “We have a lovely day for our ride, Lady Coombs, and you grace it perfectly,”
he said lazily as he assisted her onto the horse he had brought for her. “The mare’s name is Muse, and she is rather spirited. I thought you would prefer that.”

Alicia assented and ran a hand over the black mare’s neck. “You have no hamper,”
she said accusingly, not because she feared that she would not eat but because she had hoped that a groom would be riding with them to bear it.

“I have had it left at our picnic spot,”
he informed her as he mounted.

“And where is that?”

“On the estate. I think you will like it.”

Once they reached the lodge gates and entered, Stronbert led the way to the west away from the carriage path. Without consulting her, he set his horse to the gallop and she gladly did likewise. It had been a very long time since she had ridden a horse like Muse, highly bred and mannered, with easy paces and controlled power. Stronbert drew in as they entered the home wood and smiled at her. “She’s an excellent little goer, is she not?”

“I have not ridden better,”
Alicia admitted, returning his smile.

They rode around a hill and came upon the waterfall, with the stream rushing off below. There was a hamper set out on a cloth, a bottle of wine in the stream. Alicia exclaimed involuntarily, “What an enchanting spot!”

“I thought you would like it.”
He dismounted and stood by her. “May I help you down?”

Alicia agreed and felt his firm hands about her waist. They dropped from her the moment her feet touched ground and he said, “Would you rather walk about for a while or have luncheon now?”

“The ride has given me an appetite,”
she confessed, “and I do not know that I shall have time for a walk.”

“I feel sure you will,”
he responded gently. “Will you set the food out?”

Alicia opened the hamper and grinned at the assortment of treats within. “Did you tell them that there were only two people to eat all of this?”

“I have a remarkably large appetite,”
he retorted laconically. “These are my favorites,”
he commented as he lifted a stuffed mushroom. “Will you try one?”

Alicia silently extended her hand for the mushroom he held out to her. Their fingers brushed as she accepted it and her eyes met his as she lifted it to her mouth.

“You are not cold, are you?”
he asked, obviously concerned at her shiver.

“No, no.”
She continued to chew the bite in her mouth while he retrieved the wine from the stream and produced two glasses. “I am not sure that I should have any wine,”
she protested.

“I think you should. Just a little.”

“Lord Stronbert...”

“I think it is time you called me Nigel.”

Alicia was honestly shocked at the idea. “I could not.”

“As you wish, of course,”
he drawled.

Alicia busied herself with arranging the items on the cloth. She spread them out so that they formed a barrier between her and the marquis. He reached across it to set her wine glass beside her, somehow making the barrier very ineffective indeed. “We have all manner of fruit and vegetables from the hothouses most of the year,”
he said conversationally. “Would you pass me a chicken wing?”

When she lifted the container closest to her he said, “Oh, just hand me one.”
She set the container down and lifted a chicken wing from it which she extended across her barrier. Again their fingers brushed; she did not shiver. “Excellent,”
he said approvingly. “I do think that one should be informal at a picnic.”

Stronbert spoke of the hothouses and the stables and the deer park and the lake. He requested items of food from her and offered her others. “Do have a sip of your wine. It is extraordinary.”

Alicia lifted the glass to her lips; it was indeed the most mellow she had ever tasted—fruity but not sweet. “I like it.”

“My father had it laid down years ago.”

“You should have saved it for a special occasion,”
she said guiltily.

“I did.”

Alicia did not know how to respond to this, did not want to think about its significance. Through the whole of the meal she had the strangest feeling that something was expected of her, and she could not understand what. Stronbert did not say anything, but there was a patient, waiting look about his eyes when they rested on her. In her confusion she lifted a tart and took a bite of it. The flaky crust and the raspberry filling were delicious. She reached down and handed one across the barrier to Stronbert saying, “Here, you must have one of these.”

The smile with which he rewarded her made her feel pleasantly fluttery inside. She had pleased him somehow and the brush of his fingers as he accepted the tart was not frightening but reassuring. “Ah, here are the children,”
he said a moment later. “I promised them they might join us if they did not come before we finished eating.”

Matthew and Helen rode toward them gaily waving and burst into speech before they stopped, “We have not come too soon, have we? We thought for sure you would be finished by now.”

“Well,”
Alicia laughed, “I for one could not touch another bite.”

The children looked inquiringly at their father, smiling impishly, and he beckoned them to join him. “No doubt you have already eaten, but Lady Coombs has discovered that the raspberry tarts are very special and you may each have one if you wish.”

The children seated themselves at the ends of the barrier and Alicia handed each of them a tart.

“May I have a sip of your wine, Papa?”
Matthew asked.

“You give them an inch...”
he murmured helplessly. “One sip, young man.”

In an effort to make this the largest sip possible the boy choked on the wine and had to be pounded on the back for a moment by his father. Matthew raised an embarrassed face to Alicia and said quietly, “Forgive me, ma’am.”

“I think it is only to be expected at one of your father’s picnics,”
she said judiciously. “We are very informal, you know.”

The children giggled and began to chatter about previous picnics they had made. Alicia listened to them as she packed the remaining food into the hamper. Then she sipped at her wine, feeling Stronbert’s eyes on her. When she had finished, she put her glass in the hamper, asked him if he was finished, and leaned over to take his glass from him. The barrier was no longer there, of course. Stronbert rose and held out his hand to her. She took it and was lifted easily to her feet. He gave her hand a firm squeeze before letting it go.

“Have you time to walk to the deer park, Lady Coombs?”
he asked gently.

“Y-yes, I should like that.”

She placed her hand on his offered arm and was very aware of his strength. For a moment she hesitated, but he appeared to take no note of it and in a while she was more relaxed. After all, the children were there. She had nothing to fear.

Later, when they returned to the horses, the children rode off and Stronbert assisted Alicia to mount. They rode back to town companionably discussing the coming party and which neighbors had been invited. Stronbert seemed to know some anecdote about each of them, and Alicia knew them all from the shop. As they approached her cottage, Stronbert said seriously, “I should like to make a special effort to introduce Felicia to some of the young people. She is like to be lonely when Dorothy and Rowland leave.”

“Yes,”
Alicia replied, a note of sadness creeping into her voice. “But you know, Lord Stronbert, that you are an exception in accepting her. Lady Wickham and her son have been otherwise.”

“It can do no harm for her to be seen at the Court.”

“No, I am sure it can only be beneficial.”

Stronbert jumped down and came around to her. He did not ask this time, but she allowed him to lift her down, and his hands fell away as quickly as they had before. “Thank you,”
she said shyly. “I enjoyed the ride and the picnic tremendously.”

“I’m glad. I have business tomorrow, but I hope you will ride with me the following day. No picnic. We cannot expect such fine weather to last at this time of year. Shall I come by at one?”

“Yes, please.”
She was offering him her hand before she was aware of doing so and gazed wonderingly at it. He shook it gravely, only his eyes acknowledging her bemused expression.

Lord Stronbert’s business the next day was arranging for Lady Coombs’s protection. He was pleased with the small progress he had made with her, but reminded himself that leading her to accept normal social contact was far different than accustoming her to the idea of marriage with its more intimate demands. There was a long way to go, and he had no intention of neglecting her protection while he trod the careful path. Stronbert sent for several of his most trusted employees, separately, and set them about the tasks he had determined on.

Felicia spent as much time as possible during the next few days with Dorothy and Rowland. It made her sadly dashed down to think that they would be leaving soon. She cherished their friendship. But her feelings about Rowland especially were confused. Before Tackar had abducted her she had shared a special sort of companionship with him. She had not allowed herself to think ahead to the future,  precisely. But she often thought of their talks while she was sewing and going about her tasks. She had especially dwelt on the afternoon when Dorothy had wandered off to pick the blue cornflowers in the meadow where they had paused. Again and again her mind dwelt on the scene of Rowland standing with her under the gnarled elm and telling her that her hair was the color of the falling leaves. She could almost feel his hand as he stroked her hair. He had been about to kiss her, and she had wanted him to. And now?

After the experience with Tackar she shied from even the most casual touch from Rowland. Somehow the memory of his touching her hair now embarrassed and frightened her. At first she had feared Rowland because he was a man, and only a man could be capable of what Tackar had intended. As her sight began to clear a bit, she acknowledged that Rowland was not the kind of man Tackar was. She became ashamed of herself for her lack of faith in him. But she still dreaded the thought of her body being touched so intimately and being defenseless. She would always be defenseless. There was no help for that.