The Gamekeeper's Lady (13 page)

She sighed. ‘Soon. Robert?’

‘Yes, love?’ He liked the way the word tasted on his tongue, but it was as far as he dare go for the moment.

‘What if I can only dance the waltz with you, here in this room? What if I trip over my feet?’

He pulled her close, felt her fear in the faintest tremor beneath her skin. He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, inhaled the musky scent of their loving and the essence of her, outdoors and fresh air with a trace of vanilla. ‘You will be fine.’

He’d find a way to make sure of it. ‘Come, let us get you dressed.’

The next morning, still feeling blissful, Frederica strolled into the breakfast room and found Snively hovering over the sideboard.

She lifted the lid of a silver platter and helped herself to a couple of gammon rashers. Goodness, she was hungry this morning. Today she would see the results of the dressmaker’s efforts at Lady Radthorn’s. The riding habit and the gowns would be a boon for her travels. Poor Uncle Mortimer. All that expense for nothing. One day, she would find a way to pay him back. In the meantime she’d do her best to make sure the ball went off without a hitch and keep her own plans a secret.

‘Is everything ready for our guests, Snively?’ she asked. ‘Do you have all the extra help from the village you need to decorate the ballroom?’

‘Yes, miss. All is arranged, as we discussed.’

Frederica smiled. There was no one as well organised as Snively. Or so willing to aid her over the years. She would be sorry to leave him behind. ‘Thank you so much for your help. You will let me know if you have questions, will you not? Lord Wynchwood will have an apoplexy if we run into problems.’

He afforded her a quick smile. ‘All will be well. Oh, I should let you know that his lordship asked that we move your things to the second floor in the morning.’

She stared at him. ‘My things?’

‘Yes. Next to the other lady who will be staying here. He thought it made more sense with company in the house. I’ll set someone on it in the morning.’

So they felt a little guilty at hiding her away. ‘I do not want my desk moved. Or my easel.’

A twinkle lit his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, miss, I’ll see to that part myself.’

She grinned back. ‘You are a dear. By the way, is there any mail for me this morning?’

‘Michael is not yet returned from the village. If there is anything for you, I will see it reaches you directly as always.’

‘Thank you.’ She selected a slice of toast and went to her usual place at the table facing the window. Beneath a clear blue sky, a hoar frost sparkled like crystals on the lawn. Impossible to catch that glitter with a paint brush. She sighed.

Snively brought her a cup of tea. He glanced at the door and back to her. ‘Miss Bracewell, are you thinking of leaving Wynchwood?’

Her heart jumped, heat flashed under her skin, followed by cold. She stifled her gasp and tried to look unconcerned. ‘Whatever d-do you m-mean?’

‘I’ve known you a long time, miss. I’ve watched you grow up. I know what goes on in this family and I’ve never seen you so happy, or so excited. Not since your uncle let you ride the gelding. You are up to something. And it’s my opinion that you are planning to take the money from your drawings and run.’

Heart pounding, she folded her shaking fingers in her lap. Snively had always been her ally in this house, but as her uncle’s employee, would he see it as his duty to betray her? His eyes remained kindly but concerned. Dare she give him her trust?

‘L-leave? Why would you think so? For the first time, I am to attend a ball and I am to have a whole new fashionable wardrobe in honour of our guests. What can you mean?’

He frowned and stepped back, shaking his head. ‘If I spoke out of turn, miss, I beg your pardon. I just wanted to be sure you will be here for your birthday. I have a gift for you, you see.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘For me?’ No one ever gave her gifts on her birthday. Unless you counted her annual new gown as a gift.

He shrugged. ‘I understood it to be a special day. Your age of majority, so to speak.’

He looked so uncomfortable she wished she’d told him the truth. ‘How kind of you, Mr Snively.’ The birth of an unwanted child had never been a cause for celebration. She couldn’t help her sarcastic little laugh. ‘I think my uncle prefers we not make too much fuss.’

A sheen of perspiration formed on his wrinkled brow. He looked as if wild horses were tearing him in two. He once more glanced at the door and leaned forwards and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial manner. ‘If by some chance you change your mind, Miss Bracewell, promise me you won’t go without speaking to me first. Please? I swear I’ll tell no one else.’

He’d never ever let her down. She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘If I were to leave, I promise I will tell you beforehand.’

‘That is all I can ask, miss.’ He bowed and stalked out of the room, and somehow she had the sense she’d hurt his feelings.

Dash it. She’d told him of her longing to study in Italy. He must have guessed she would use the money from her painting to achieve her ambition.

Surely he wouldn’t interfere. He’d always helped her in the past. Still, she needed to be careful. She didn’t want her uncle guessing her purpose before she was ready. And if Snively had guessed, someone else might too.

The following day, the drawing room after dinner seemed eerily silent. Even the walls seemed to be listening for the sound of the carriage. Frederica let go a long breath.

‘Stop your sighing, girl,’ Uncle Mortimer said. His eyes gleamed over the top of his book, softening the stern words. ‘It is good to see you so anxious to meet your cousin again, I must say. You are going to make a fine couple. Do this family proud.’

If only he knew. ‘Simon said they would be here this afternoon. He’s late.’

‘They’ll be here. The hunt is tomorrow.’

She frowned. ‘We don’t have enough horses for two extra people.’

‘Don’t be absurd, child. They will bring their own. Behind the carriage.’ He made a sound in his throat like disgust. ‘We’ll have the stabling of them for a week, though, I’ll be bound. They won’t think to leave them at the inn in the village.’

‘We have lots of room.’

‘It isn’t the space, girl, it’s the cost. And there will be grooms to feed as well as valets and ladies’ maids.’

‘Just one of each I should think, Uncle. At least, that is all I have provided for.’

‘Hmmph.’ Uncle Mortimer returned to his book.

About to let out another deep sigh, Frederica stopped herself just in time. She picked up her embroidery and eyed the design. It would have made a lovely addition to the drawing room. It would never be finished. Working right-handed just took too long.

The sounds of wheels on the gravel and the crunch of horses’ hooves brought Uncle Mortimer to his feet. ‘Here they are at last.’

‘Will you greet them at the door, Uncle?’ she asked, putting her needlework aside.

‘No. No. Too draughty. Snively will bring them in here.’ He stood, rocking on his heels, his head cocked to one side, listening to the front door opening and voices in the entrance hall.

The door flew back. ‘Uncle,’ Simon cried, his round face beaming. ‘Here we are at last. Did you think we were lost on the road?’

Uncle Mortimer shook his nephew’s hand and patted him on the shoulder. ‘I knew you’d come, dear boy. Eventually. I just hoped you’d not be too late. Need my rest these days, you know. Not been quite the thing.’

The instant gravity on Simon’s face was so patently false, Frederica wanted to laugh.

‘I know, Uncle. The ague. You wrote to me of it.’ He turned to Frederica. He had to turn his whole body, because his shirt points were so high, his head would not turn on his neck. In fact, he didn’t appear to have neck or a chin. His head looked as if it had been placed on his shoulders and wrapped with a quantity of intricately knotted white fabric to keep it in place. It made his face look like a cod’s head. His valet must have stuffed him into a coat two sizes too small to make him so stiff and rigid.

He bowed. ‘Coz. I hope I find you well.’

Good lord, he had put on some weight around the middle, and was that a creak she heard? Some sort of corset?

‘Y-yes, Simon. V-v—’

‘Very well,’ Simon said. ‘Splendid.’

Frederica’s palm tingled with the urge to box his ears.

Simon turned himself about and looked expectantly at the door. ‘I want you to meet my friends, Uncle. Great friends.’

Snively appeared in the doorway. ‘Lady Margaret Caldwell and Lord Lullington, my lord.’ He promptly withdrew.

Pausing on the threshold, the lady glittered. Dark curls entwined with emeralds framed her face. More emeralds scintillated in the neckline of her low-green silk gown as well as at her wrists and on her fingers. Her dark eyes sparkled as they swept the room, seeming to take in everything at a glance. Lady Margaret held out her hand to Mortimer, who tottered forwards to make his bow.

All Frederica could do was blink. It was like looking at the sun. Compared to this elegant woman she felt distinctly drab even with her new blue gown.

Lady Caldwell sank into an elegant curtsy. ‘My lord. How kind of you to invite us to your home.’

Uncle Mortimer flushed red. ‘Think nothing of it, my lady. Nothing at all.’

The lady turned to Frederica. She tipped her head to one side. ‘And you must be Simon’s little cousin.’ She held out her hands and when Frederica reached out to take one, Lady Margaret clasped Frederica’s between both of her own. ‘How glad I am to make your acquaintance. I vow, Simon has told us all about you, hasn’t he, Lull?’

The viscount, a lean, aristocratic and tall man in a beautifully tailored black coat, finished making his bow to Uncle Mortimer, then raised his quizzing glass and ran a slow perusal from Frederica’s head to her feet. ‘Not all, my dear, I am sure,’ he said with a lisp.

Frederica felt her face flush scarlet.

‘Simon,’ exclaimed Lady Margaret, ‘Lull is right! You didn’t tell us your cousin was so charming. Absolutely delightful.’

Simon stared at Frederica, opened his mouth a couple of times like a landed fish, then nodded. ‘By jingo, Lady Caldwell, you are right. New gown, coz?’

‘A whole wardrobe of new gowns,’ Uncle Mortimer mumbled.

The burn in Frederica’s face grew worse.

Viscount Lullington lounged across the room and took Frederica’s hand with a small bow. His blue eyes gazed at her from above an aquiline nose. She had the sense he was assessing her worth. ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Bracewell. Simon has indeed been a songbird regarding your attributes. And I see his notes were true.’

Oh, my. Had he just issued a compliment? And if so, why did his soft lisping voice send a shudder down her spine as if a ghost had walked over her grave?

Swallowing, Frederica curtsied as befit a viscount. ‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.’

He patted her hand. ‘Call me Lull. Everyone does.’

Not she. She backed up a step or two, looking to Simon for guidance.

He rubbed his hands together. ‘Here we are then. All ready for the ball. It will be such a grand time.’

‘Oh, it is sure to be, isn’t it, Lull?’ Lady Margaret took the seat by the fireplace and Frederica returned to the sofa. The men disposed themselves around the room, Lullington beside Lady Margaret and opposite Frederica, Simon beside the window and her uncle in his favourite armchair.

‘Without a doubt,’ Lullington said, his gaze fixed on Frederica.

Frederica took a slow deep breath. ‘W-would you like t-tea?’

‘We were waiting to ring for tea until you arrived,’ Uncle Mortimer added. ‘Didn’t expect your arrival so late.’

‘By Jove,’ Simon said. ‘What a good idea. Tea. Just the thing.’ He looked at Lullington. ‘If you think so, Lull? Do you?’

It seemed Viscount Lullington now pulled Simon’s strings. Not a pleasant thought.

‘Oh, yes, please,’ Lady Caldwell said with a brilliant smile. ‘We stopped for dinner when we realised the hour was far advanced, but I would die for a dish of bohea.’

All eyes turned to the lean viscount. He nodded his head. ‘Very well. Tea for the ladies. For myself, I’d prefer brandy.’

‘Me too,’ Simon said.

Frederica got up and rang the bell.

Lady Caldwell smiled up at her. ‘I wonder if, while we wait for the tea, you could show me my room. I am desperate to freshen up.’

Oh, dear. She should have thought to ask. ‘S-s-s—’

‘Surely, she will,’ Uncle Mortimer said. ‘Show our guest upstairs, Frederica. Don’t take too long. My head aches if I drink tea too late in the evening.’

Aware of Lady Caldwell’s rustling silks, her lush curves and exquisite face, Frederica found her tongue tied in knots. She would have liked to ask the woman about London, about the museums and the academy of art, but feared her words would only make her a fool. So they walked side by side in silence until they reached the bedroom.

Frederica opened the door and Lady Caldwell breezed in. ‘Ah, Forester,’ she said to a stiff-looking grey-haired woman standing over a brass-bound trunk, shaking the creases from a gown of a soft rose hue. ‘Here you are.’ She turned to Frederica. ‘Come in, my dear. Fear not. Forester’s bark is much worse than her bite.’

Forester played deaf.

Since the words of a polite refusal escaped her, Frederica stepped inside. She perched on the upholstered chair by the door, while Lady Caldwell headed for the dressing room.

‘Do you need help, my lady?’ Forester asked.

‘Fiddle-de-de. If I cannot make water at my age, you best send me to Bedlam.’

Forester’s lips pressed together, but she made no comment, continuing to remove items from the chest and put them away, opening and closing drawers, putting scraps of lace here and handkerchiefs there. Such delicate items and so many? Had their guests come for an extended stay? Uncle Mortimer would not be happy.

A soft chuckle made her turn. ‘You are gazing at my wardrobe in awe, Miss Bracewell.’

‘You have a g-great many gowns.’

Her ladyship laughed. ‘So I do. Lullington and I are on a progress, do you see? We are going to visit everyone we know for the next month or two, until the Season starts again. London is flat, there is absolutely nothing to do.’ She sat down at the mirror on the dressing table, patted her hair and pinched her cheeks.