The Marquess and Miss Davies (18 page)

Perhaps Lord Leighton’s chief interest was quite specifically her ... person. She did not entirely object to that, although she knew she should. Besides, as far as her
person
was concerned, a gentleman did not dally with a well-bred young lady—

Ha. Carys knew perfectly well that some gentlemen did. Such a dalliance, if brought to the attention of a family with enough influence, generally resulted in marriage, sometimes to the detriment of all concerned. Miss Davies did not wish to find herself in
that
situation. Only last year—

“Shall we gallop?” suggested the marquess. They had arrived via the Sheen Gate, which was marked by two smallish brick structures of no pretension, and were already passing through the newly-planted woods nearby.

Carys nodded.

“Heah!”

And, side by side, they were off.

Tantevy, Lord Leighton’s stallion, was an enormous bay creature, with white stockings on his hind legs and a narrow blaze. Carys’s own Alcaeus was nearly as big, but a lighter chestnut sorrel, and the two made a striking—and imposing—pair. Although not as well-behaved as one might wish. From the start each animal had seen the other as a challenge, and both Miss Davies and Lord Leighton were obliged to keep a firm grip on the reins.

Now they ran, flat out, and Carys felt the pins loosen in her hair, until several were lost entirely, and her curls streamed out behind her. ‘Twas fortunate she had decided to leave the matching cap to her costume behind; ‘twas a small tri-cornered affair and she had foreseen that it would easily fall off. She bent slightly over Alcaeus’s neck, hearing nothing beyond the pounding of hooves.

The park was not manicured and uneven ground was a well-known hazard; one tried to keep a sharp eye. They flew across the grass and headed up the slope of a long hill. Carys felt all worry leave, together with all concerns for the future, all second thoughts and ruminations on young gentlemen and young ladies. She became a different person while riding, a person who enjoyed her life as it came to her, one hoofbeat at a time. There was no other choice, at this speed, no other possibility than to pay the closest possible attention to the turf immediately underfoot and ahead. And hope for the best.

 They crested the rise and Carys pulled up, as ‘twas entirely unfair to one’s mount to go downhill at such speed. Lord Leighton did the same, and the two stallions pranced a bit, eager to continue, blowing and nickering their impatience.

The sun shone, the birds sang, the little creatures of the woods—

Oh, good grief.

Pencarrow, she thought, as she had so many other times. Cornwall. I could go back, and forget all this nonsense about society and marriage.

Then, in her mind, she saw Taliesin in Lady Reggie’s arms. ‘Twas not that a child was the only possible goal for one’s life; she and Isolde knew any number of maiden ladies of the
ton
who lived quite as happily as the married ones, and often with considerably less worry.

But
she
would like children, she was sure of it. She did not want to live as an onlooker while Talfryn, and later Isolde, held one babe or another of their own.

“Where did you get such an animal?” said the marquess, breaking into her thoughts. “I meant to get the entire story, the other day.”

“The other day?” She smiled slightly, not looking directly at Lord Leighton. There was a bit of a view from the crest and the morning sun felt warm on her shoulders.

“When I ...uh—”

“Nearly killed me chasing after Alcaeus?”

“Yes. That day.”

“Tattersall’s. Where else?”

“Lord Davies bought that horse—for you—at Tattersall’s.” A note of disbelief crept in.

“He certainly did not. I bought it.”

“You—”

“Women are not forbidden to enter Tattersall’s.”

“I know, but—” He hesitated.

“We know nothing about bloodstock? I assure you that
I
do.” She answered honestly, even sharply. There was something about a gallop that did not admit of soft words.

The marquess seemed to be deep in thought, and Carys hoped that these thoughts were not now fixed on ‘what an odd chit she is after all’.

“So you have,” he said finally, “a real interest in thoroughbred cattle.”

She smiled. “Indeed. Ever since I first climbed into a saddle.”

A much longer pause. “I ... my stables at the estate in Suffolk might be of some interest, then.”

It took a minute, then Carys stared at him as the realization hit. This was the Marquess of Clare. Suffolk. An estate in Suffolk. Oh good heavens, what ailed her that she never made that connection?

“The Claresholm stables,” she said. “They belong to you.”

“Yes, of course, although I’m surprised you’ve heard of them. We are only just beginning—the head groom and I, that is, to—”

“The Claresholm stables!”

“—and they are nothing like the larger establishments, of course, but we’ve taken every—”

“They are yours!”

Lord Leighton finally stopped, whether because she continued to interrupt him or because he was starting to laugh, Carys was unsure.

“Yes,” he said gently, after several moments. “The Claresholm stables are mine. I take it you
do
have some interest.”

“They are rather famous, my lord.” Carys, regretting her outburst, spoke with measured calm.

“Oh, I dare say not—”

“Not among the hoi polloi of the
ton
, no. But among horsefolk, they are indeed.”

“I am gratified to hear it.”

The topic was now fully in play, and of acknowledged interest to both. Tantevy and Alcaeus were persuaded to continue at a walk along the winding trail of the hilltop, and Carys forgot the time, the happy woodland creatures, and everything else as she listened to Lord Leighton explain his efforts at improving the line that had led, if nothing else, to Tantevy.

“We were fortunate to get a brood mare off Curwen’s Bay Barb.”

Carys nodded. “You were fortunate.” The Bay Barb was a famous stallion; sent to England from France, and originally a gift of the King of Morocco.

“They tend a bit small—”

“Small!”

“Tantevy is an exception.”

* * * *

After some considerable discussion of scientifical breeding practices, and when they had reviewed the pedigree of every stallion and mare at Claresholm—Miss Davies longed to see the place, which she was unable, of course, to admit—’twas agreed that another gallop would be just the thing. They had descended by this time to the area of the Pen Ponds and headed south at a mad pace, flying past the gardens of the New Lodge, with both stallions fighting to lead.

Even Carys was not accustomed to such speed, and she focused every thought on the path ahead of her. Heavens help them if—

A small stream appeared suddenly, immediately past a slight rise in the land. Alcaeus gathered himself before she had the time to think twice on the matter. They were in the air.

And landed, beautifully, with Tantevy and the marquess at their heels. Carys realized that Lord Leighton had shouted nothing in warning or concern, had left her to her own devices—

Had
trusted
her, to ride as well as he did himself.

‘Twas rather ... warming.

A small woods lay to the east side of the Lodge, and when they had again pulled Tantevy and Alcaeus up to a walk, the marquess suggested they dismount for a few minutes of rest. Miss Davies said that she welcomed the plan, as galloping was hard work for both horse and rider. She saw that the woods were shaded and cool, and that she and the marquess would be afforded considerable privacy once they had gone not very far inside its borders.

She did not object.

They walked along in silence for several minutes, but ‘twas a contented silence, and Carys’s thoughts had begun to return to the lovely blue sky and the twittering birds when she saw a small meadow in front of them. In the middle was, at first glance, an odd assortment of items, but this quickly resolved itself into a large basket, glassware and plates, a glass-stoppered bottle of what might be wine, and an enormous blanket spread underneath the whole.

A picnic, in short. She looked around for the proper inhabitants of this pleasant scene, and turned to suggest to the marquess that they turn their path into another direction.

He was smiling at her with a particular look, and she realized that the picnic was his own device.

“I hope you do not mind a madeira,” he said. “I thought it might be palatable in the circumstances.”

“Oh,” was all that Miss Davies managed. Her attention was caught by the blanket. They would sit on it. Together. If her brother knew—

“The groom, I suppose?” she said to Lord Leighton.

“Indeed. He is now taking the carriage on a slow round of the southern environs of the park, and will return later to collect everything.”

“And the meadow ... just happened to be here, and available?”

“I came upon the place some time ago, and always thought ‘twould be a wonderful spot for a meal al fresco.”

“‘Tis a lovely idea,” said Miss Davies, even though a part of her insisted on wondering if she was the first young woman to be so entertained by the marquess. Oh, well—

Neither Alcaeus and Tantevy needed to be tied up, and so they looped the reins over the saddle and let the animals graze at their leisure. Carys looked at the blanket, which was impeccably clean, and wondered how one might find one’s way to the ground.

“Allow me,” said the marquess.

He extended his hand and she held it during what she hoped was a graceful descent. Lord Leighton sat a few feet away, the basket between them, and she was grateful for the distance. There was something about a blanket, and the privacy of this spot, and the warmth of the sun—

She should not be here, alone, with this gentleman. In theory what they did was unobjectionable. A young lady and gentleman were allowed to converse within public view. At midday, in a park open to anyone—

In theory.

Lord Leighton was looking at her, Miss Davies realized, with some concern.

“I did not wish you to be uncomfortable,” he said. “Usually there are more people about, I believe, and the bridle trail passes just there—”

He pointed to a spot in the direction opposite to the Lodge, and she realized that he was entirely correct, and that in fact, she could hear voices, faint but approaching, along that path. Carys felt rather foolish and decided that she would enjoy the picnic and enjoy the company.

She smiled and said, “So what have we to eat, my lord?”

They talked for a long time, sipping his lordship’s madeira. The amount of food that emerged from the picnic basket was extraordinary—fruit, sandwiches and pastries of every sort—and they were able to make only small inroads upon it.

“It’s all quite wonderful,” said Miss Davies, teasing him. “But it seems you intended to bring several hungry young gentleman and ladies along with us.”

“I did not know what you might prefer,” said the marquess, and for a few moments he seemed so diffident and unsure of himself that she liked him all the better.

“I think ... perhaps the wheatmeal biscuits. I’ve never tasted better.”

“I shall convey your respects to our Cook.”

“And I shall carefully refrain from mentioning it to our own.”

The privacy of their encampment was, as Lord Leighton had suggested it would be, illusory, and several groups had ridden past, all of them shouting a pleasant halloo, and no-one seeming at all shocked. Apparently a picnic in Richmond Park was quite the usual thing. Miss Davies and the marquess discussed life at Claresholm in some detail, and she was well able to appreciate his description of the issues involved in running a large estate; crofters’ roofs were crofters’ roofs, whether one was in Suffolk or Cornwall.

“And yet you do not prefer London?” asked Carys.

He did not answer immediately, and she wondered why he looked at her like that, only a brief glance, but one holding a question.

“No.”

There is hardly a better feeling in life than when you first discover that another human being feels exactly the same way you do on some important subject. Especially when the person in question is a very attractive young man, for whom one is developing a
tendre
.

“No?”

Could it be true? Could this be a gentleman of high rank who preferred not to spend his days at one ball after another, or drinking brandy at White’s? The urge to confess her own feelings about town was strong.

And yet, he had seemed entirely at home in society, not to mention quite comfortable, drunk, on her front lawn.

 Which topic now came to hand. “I would rarely visit, if I had my choice,” continued Lord Leighton. “But my mother still resides at Clare Manor, and Jo was only lately married.” He turned to Carys with a slight smile. “You may remember the night.”

No. She didn’t remember.

“‘Twas the night prior to our first meeting.”

Ah. His sister’s
wedding
. She felt better, somehow.

“And you?”

“I hate London,” said Miss Davies, suddenly. And blushed red.

So few words. And yet, both Carys and the marquess would remember that moment, in all the years to come.

* * * *

She was reviewing the details of Alcaeus’s parentage—with Lord Leighton offering an occasional amplification, as he knew the sire’s bloodlines well—when the groom returned with the carriage.

“My lord?”

“Yes, of course, Perry, go ahead.”

The groom began packing all of the odds and bits, not to mention the remaining food.

“Send that to the Pagetts, would you?”

“Very good, my lord.”

Lord Leighton turned to Miss Davies. “Mrs Pagett recently lost her husband,” he explained. “I’ve taken the oldest girl in service, but there are younger ones to feed.”

She nodded. ‘Twas hardly unusual for a noble house to feed some impoverished family that had come to its attention, they did it themselves. Still, her admiration grew, as everything about the Marquess of Clare now seemed wonderful to her, and she thought the memory of his first appearance at Cardingham House might fade completely away.