Elizabeth Mansfield (14 page)

“May I see it?” Roger offered. “Perhaps I can make a suggestion or two.”

Osbert passed the paper to him, and Roger read the stanza carefully. Letty, her eyes brimming with suppressed amusement, looked over his shoulder. “Well, my lord, how do you propose to improve it?” she challenged.

“How about this?” he said promptly,

At this, Woodward gave a loud guffaw from his place on the box, slapping his knee in appreciation. This was too much for Letty, who burst into uncontrollable laughter. Roger tried for a moment to keep his expression serious but soon had to follow suit. Osbert, accustomed to hearing his verses greeted with merriment, good-naturedly joined in. The ice thus broken, the conversation in the phaeton became much less constrained, and by the time the halfway point had been reached, somewhere south of Midsomer Norton, the four were engaging in the comfortable raillery of old friends.

This was not the case in the curricle, where Prue had maintained her attitude of frigid indifference for almost two hours. Brandon had tried, at first, to maintain a stream of innocuous comments on the weather and the scenery, but her lack of response soon wearied him. He relapsed into silence and gave his attention to the magnificent horses. It was not long before he could drive the vehicle with skillful competence. He had left the other carriages far behind, and he bowled along the road at a pace lively enough to impress any young lady, but Prue showed no reaction. At length, he slowed the horses to a comfortable trot and settled back in his seat glumly. The ride that had seemed at the outset to be so promising was turning out in actuality to be a complete fiasco. Brandon turned to Prue in desperation. “Please, Miss Glendenning, won’t you listen to me? I have apologized and apologized for my rudeness the other day. Can’t you possibly forgive me—at least to the extent of speaking to me during this curst ride? We can’t possibly travel all the way to Wells without saying a word to each other!”

“Yes, we can,” Prue said coldly. “We’ll be there in another hour.”

“Nevertheless—by your leave—an hour can be interminable in these circumstances,” Brandon pointed out.

“By your leave, I’m well aware of that,” she answered drily.

“I seem to say ‘by your leave’ a bit too often, I suppose,” Brandon said miserably.

“You say it every time you open your mouth,” she told him in disgust.

“I’m sorry …”

Prue shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she said bluntly. “But while we’re on the subject of your silly repetitions, I also find that you are always saying you’re
sorry
about one thing or another.”

“Really?” Brandon asked thoughtfully. “I’m sor—I mean, I didn’t realize. Well, as the great Homer once said, ‘A noble mind disdains not to repent.’”

Prue merely looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

Brandon colored. “Oh, I see. You are thinking that I’m too full of quotations also. I’m sor—”

A giggle escaped Prue. “It seems that, if we eliminate your by-your-leaves, your apologies, and your quotations, you have nothing at all to say for yourself.”

Brandon turned away. “If you choose to mock me, go ahead,” he said, the epitome of injured dignity.

“If you ask me, a bit of mocking may be good for you,” Prue said waspishly.

Brandon, nettled, turned to her. “If you ask
me,
a bit of—” But he cut himself off.

“What?” Prue asked curiously. “Go ahead and finish what you started to say.”

Brandon shook his head and stared straight ahead, his mouth compressed in a straight line.

“Say it,” she urged. “You were going to say that a bit of
something
would be good for me. Tell me what it is. Although I don’t see why I bother to ask. I wouldn’t take advice or counsel from a … a … stuffed prig.”

“A stuffed—!” Brandon gasped. Pushed beyond endurance, he wheeled himself around and grasped her by the shoulders. “I’ll tell you what would be good for you—
this
!” And he shook her so violently that her teeth rattled. After a moment, aghast at his loss of control, he stopped. His hands still grasping her shoulders, he stared at her in shamefaced remorse. “I’m … I’m …
sorry …”
he stammered breathlessly.

Prue stared back at him, her heart beating violently against her ribs. Adept as she was at coquetry and flirtation, she was really quite inexperienced in the feelings which come from intimate encounters between men and women. She knew that her feelings for Brandon were strangely ambivalent. He was often in her thoughts, and she knew that, of all the young men who circled about her, he was the one whose approval she most desired. Ironically, however, he had made his
dis
approval of her quite plain. First, he had criticized her to her sister, then to her face, and now this. She had a strong urge to burst into tears and collapse against his shoulder, but her pride and a fierce resentment that seemed to well up inside her kept her from succumbing to an urge that was nothing more than mawkish sentimentality. Instead, she shook his hands from her shoulders. “Sorry!” she cried out in fury. “Sorry! Here’s what I think of your sorries!” She put her two hands flat against his chest and pushed him with such strength that he tumbled out of the carriage.

Frightened at the result of her impetuous act, Prue looked down at the road to see if he’d been hurt, but the horses, ignoring the drama being played behind them, continued to trot on. “Brandon! Are you hurt?” Prue called back in alarm.

Brandon sat up in the road and shook his head in confusion. Then, with a dawning realization of what was happening, he looked up and shouted frantically, “Prue,
wait
! Stop the horses!”

But she, now relieved of any guilt, since he was apparently unhurt, laughed wickedly. “I will not!” she called back. “You can jolly well
walk
to Wells!” With that, she picked up the reins, gave Brandon an insolent wave of her hand, and drove off round a bend in the road.

In desperation, Brandon jumped to his feet, only to topple over on one knee. His ankle was sprained. “Prue,
Prue
,” he shouted in anguish, “you must stop! The
horses …
I promised Lord Denham! Prue, come back!”

Once round the bend, Prue felt a twinge of fear. She had never driven a vehicle by herself before. Gingerly, she pulled the reins. Lord Denham’s well-trained horses placidly slowed to a halt. She breathed a sigh of relief and decided to remain where she was. Brandon would come along soon. She would apologize, and all would be well.

It was a full quarter of an hour before the much-abused Brandon hobbled into view. The sight of him caused Prue to gasp. He was covered with dust, his face was streaked with perspiration and grime, and he winced in agony at every step. Prue leapt from the carriage and ran to him. “Oh, Brandon,” she said in a voice of sincere self-reproach, “you
are
hurt. I’m a beast! I’ll never forgive myself! Here, let me help you.”

Brandon glared at the infuriating minx who stood so remorsefully before him, offering her arm. Even his sense of relief when he saw that she and the horses were safe was not strong enough to ease the wrath she had inspired in him. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped at her. Limping to the curricle, he painfully lifted himself into his seat.

Prue climbed up and seated herself beside him. She glanced covertly at his face, but one glimpse of his tense, frozen expression and the look in his eyes as he stared implacably at the road before him told her that any words of hers would fall on deaf ears. With a silent, rather pitiful sigh, she settled back to endure the rest of the ride. She knew in her bones that it would be passed in a silence more insupportable than before.

Despite the temporary setback
,
Brandon’s vehicle was the first to arrive at the King’s Head Inn at Wells. Within half an hour, the other carriages pulled into the courtyard. The gaiety of the four who spilled from Mr. Woodward’s phaeton was so infectious that the whole group made a merry entrance into the inn and joined Prue and Brandon who were sitting glumly at opposite sides of a tiny but cheerful dining room. Prue greeted them with an affected eagerness, but she was soon laughing with perfect and heartless sincerity over the fulsome compliments being paid to her by Sir Ralph. Brandon, who was determined not to spoil the outing for the others by bringing attention to his injured ankle, gave strained smiles to everyone, gritted his teeth, and said nothing. And since Prue had no idea of the severity of his pain, she, too, said nothing about his accident. Thus no one else noticed that anything was at all amiss.

They sat down to a noisy luncheon, during which great quantities of country ham, cold mutton, coddled eggs, hot biscuits, currant pudding, and home brew were consumed, after which they drifted out to take the short walk to the cathedral. Brandon, telling them that he would follow shortly, watched until they were out of sight and then hobbled to the innkeeper and asked for a room in which he could lie down for a while. The innkeeper helped him up to a small bedroom and offered to pull off his boots, but when they attempted to remove the boot from the injured foot, it caused such a spasm of pain that Brandon decided to leave it alone. The innkeeper shrugged and, not knowing what else to do for him, left him alone. Poor Brandon lay back against the pillows and surrendered to self-pity.

The rest of the party arrived at the cathedral and promptly separated into small groups, since some wanted to go first to the chapel, some to the chapter house, and some straight to the famous Wells clock. Thus the fact that Brandon failed to arrive was not noticed.

When Letty became separated from her group, her absence was not noticed, either. Fascinated by the sculpture that could be found embellishing the arches, the walls, the bosses, and the tops of every column, Letty had stopped to study a charming lizard eating a bunch of grapes, which was carved on the far side of an arch through which they had passed. When she looked up, the group had gone. Untroubled, she continued her rambles quite contentedly. Near the door to the cloisters, she discovered to her delight a number of little sculpted scenes depicting rather unusual subjects. One was of a man scowling at a thorn in his foot. Another scene showed a man suffering with a toothache. She was studying a third, in which a man appeared to be stealing fruit, when a voice behind her made her jump. “Did you know that this scene is one of a series?” Roger was remarking pleasantly.

“Series?” she asked stupidly, trying to hide the turmoil that his sudden appearance caused in the pit of her stomach.

“Yes. Here he is stealing the fruit. In this next scene, he is being apprehended, and here in the last he’s being beaten.”

“Oh, dear,” Letty said with a rueful smile, “I wish you hadn’t told me that. It seems a cruel punishment for so small a crime.”

“So it is. Perhaps we should turn our backs on the whole scene and take a moment’s respite out there in the sunshine. I see an ivy-covered wall that looks quite inviting.”

“But … I’ve scarcely begun to see the sights—” Letty demurred.

“I know, but I’ve walked
miles
looking for the sight of you, and I’m exhausted,” Roger countered, drawing her arm through his. “Besides, I’ve been waiting all day for the opportunity to talk to you alone.”

Letty’s heart began to beat in a disturbingly irregular fashion. “But, my lord,” she said with a smile so broad she hoped it would cover her uneasiness, “what can you wish to speak to me about?
You
haven’t composed a poem in my honor, have you?”

Roger grinned. “Well, no, I’m afraid not. But I would make the attempt, if it would please you.”

“No, not today. One poem a day is quite enough. Any more would surely turn my head.”

“No, we certainly must not have your head turned,” Roger agreed, firmly leading her to the place he had indicated. “You’ve given me enough trouble with your head just as it is.”

“Given you trouble, my lord?
I?
” she asked demurely.

“Don’t play the innocent with me, my girl,” Roger said, lifting her upon the wall and jumping up beside her. “You’re quite well aware of the trouble you’ve been causing me.”

“If the trouble to which you refer is related to a subject that is barred from discussion between us, you bring it on yourself, sir,” Letty said with sudden seriousness.

“When do you think,
Miss Glendenning,”
Roger demanded, “that you will feel friendly enough toward me to call me Roger? I find your endless ‘my lords’ very intimidating.”

“Intimidating!” she said, outraged. “You wouldn’t be intimidated if I had a … a … leopard alongside me!”

“You have a very flattering estimate of my courage, my dear,” he laughed. “I think a leopard might well do the trick, if your object is to keep me at arm’s length.”

“Then perhaps I should investigate the possibilities of obtaining one,” Letty said with a smile.

Roger’s smile faded. “You needn’t go to such lengths as that,” he said, taking her hand in his and looking at her with sober affection. “I’m much more vulnerable to your slights than you think. One harsh word from you would be enough to send me to the grass.”

Letty could not help but be touched. “I have no wish to … to send you to the grass …” she admitted in a tiny voice.

“I’m glad of that,” he answered earnestly, his eyes fixed on her face. “I do love you, you know.”

She felt her throat constrict. “Roger—!”

His clasp on her hand tightened. “Don’t look so frightened. I know I’m being too precipitous again, but surely you can’t be surprised. You must know how I feel. I’ve not tried to hide it from you—”

“No, no—!” Letty said tearfully, trying to remove her hand from his grasp. “I didn’t think—”

“But you
must
have realized,” he insisted. “And you must feel it, too. I cannot be so misguided as to have misunderstood—! Letty, dearest, what
is
it that makes you so afraid of me?”