The Wolfe Wager (15 page)

“Calm yourself.” Eveline’s eyes widened at Captain Hudson’s voice. She was surprised he had torn himself from Lady Mansfield’s side for even a moment. “Lady Vanessa has a kind heart and a strong will. She shall not have her opinions formed for her by the rest of the Polite World.”

“Well, I can tell you Miss Clarke shall find no welcome under our roof again.”

“‘Our roof’?” Captain Hudson laughed. “You presume much. Or have you already asked Lady Vanessa to marry up with you?”

“Not yet.” Eveline could almost see the sly smile on Mr. Swinton’s pasty face. “She thinks I wish no more than friendship from her, but any man would be a muff not to be drawn to her loveliness.”

“And wealth?”

“It is a consideration.”

Eveline heard a layer of anger beneath Captain Hudson’s voice. “I had guessed you to be a man of more sense.”

“Sense?”

“To see that the lady is a fair prize even without the blunt.”

Mr. Swinton did not answer immediately, but his voice was steady when he said, “Here is the book you wanted, Hudson, although I find it peculiar that you are interested in reading maudlin poetry.”

“Carolyn enjoys it. I thought we might share some tomorrow in a quiet moment.” His hand struck the cover of the book. “I bid you good night, Swinton, and wish you good luck on the morrow with your pursuit.”

“Of the fox?”

Again Captain Hudson laughed. “With the pursuit of whatever you wish to capture. If you hunt other than the fox, you shall need every bit of good luck you can gather. Your chase may be a long, fruitless one as others have discovered.”

As their laughter receded, Eveline released the breath searing her throat. She put the letter into her lap desk and edged out from around the bookcases.

She hurried up the stairs and knocked on the door of Vanessa’s bedchamber. When Leale opened it, Eveline said, “I must speak with Vanessa.”

“My lady has retired.”

“Leale, please!”

The abigail hesitated, then stepped back. Eveline rushed in as Vanessa rose from a chair. Seeing her friend hold a sheet of paper, Eveline wondered if Vanessa had been writing a letter, too.

“Eveline, whatever is amiss?” Vanessa asked, staring at the pallor of her friend’s face.

“Forgive me for querying you about what may be none of my bread and butter, but do you have a true
tendre
for Mr. Swinton?”

Vanessa put Corey’s letter in the pocket of her dressing gown. Curiosity pierced her. If Mr. Swinton had spoken of his prejudices to Eveline … She took the lap desk her friend was carrying. Setting it on a rosewood bookcase, she clasped Eveline’s hands in hers.

“My dear Eveline,” she said as she drew her friend, who was trembling, to sit, “you have yourself in quite a state over something that is of the least significance.”

Eveline’s green eyes were flooded with tears. “Do you have a cupboard love for him? I saw how earnestly he spoke to you tonight.”

Vanessa sank to a chair. Noting Leale in the shadows, she guarded her words. Eveline must never guess how Vanessa had struggled to be pleasant to their host after his crude words this afternoon. Only the fact that the other men seemed to accept Mr. Swinton’s claim on her attentions had kept her from sending him from her side at the evening’s beginning. She did not want to have to deflate their interest in her as well. “Do not confuse friendship for more.”

“But he said—”

“He spoke to you of this?” Vanessa gasped, shocked that Mr. Swinton would speak of a personal matter to Eveline, when he had professed such a strong dislike for the Clarkes. Her composure splintered as she wondered if
she
was the only one truly strung on by her tactic of pretending to accept Mr. Swinton’s attentions.

“No, but I overheard him speaking to Captain Hudson.”

“And he told the captain he wished to have more than friendship with me?”

Eveline lowered her eyes. “Not in so many words. He said—oh, thunder! I wish I could recall his exact words.”

“No need.” Vanessa rose and hugged her friend. “Mr. Swinton and I have spoken only this afternoon. You must have misunderstood our host.”

“But, Vanessa, I am sure I heard him say he wishes to take you as his wife.”

“Eavesdropping is a deplorable habit,” she answered, then winced. She had said the same to Lord Brickendon by the duck pond. “I am sure you misheard Mr. Swinton.”

“Perhaps,” Eveline said reluctantly. She stood and gripped Vanessa’s hands. “Forgive me for disturbing you. Good night.”

“There is nothing you need to be forgiven for.” She hugged Eveline again. “Will you change your mind and join us for the hunt in the morning?”

Eveline picked up her lap desk and smiled. “I think not. I have a letter I must finish.”

“Then I shall see you at nuncheon.” Vanessa smiled wryly as her friend left.

Leale came forward. “My lady, perhaps you should give Miss Clarke’s words more credence.”

“Why?”

“There is talk belowstairs of what the house will be like when you are overseeing it. They are very eager to speak to me, because I know you well.”

Vanessa opened her mouth, then closed it. If the servants were speaking openly of Mr. Swinton’s plans to marry her, they must see them as a
fait accompli
. Bother! Mr. Swinton had been honest with her … hadn’t he? Bother again! She could not be sure of anything any longer.

A yawn flowed into her mouth. Freeing it, she slid her dressing gown off, then took Corey’s letter from the pocket. Putting the note in her bodice, she vowed to confront Mr. Swinton during the hunt and demand him to be honest with her. Then the matter of these rumors, which were as discomforting for her friends as for her, would be put to rest. She had too much to concern herself with to be embroiled in such silly intrigues.

“On the morrow, you shall see how mistaken Eveline was.”

Leale said nothing, but her frown proclaimed she did not share Vanessa’s expectations.

Clouds hung low over the stone house as Vanessa emerged into the eager crowd waiting for the hunt to begin. The wind brushed her face, offering an invitation to ride at
ventre-à-terre
across the meadow, which was still drenched with morning dew. Holding the skirt of her new crimson riding habit over her arm, Vanessa saw the other women glancing enviously at the bobbish scarlet plume in her cocked hat. With a smile, she recalled Madam deBerg’s delight when she first had shown the feather to Vanessa and suggested it would complement her new habit.

Hearing her name, she smiled as she went to where her aunt was waiting by a gray russet mount. Vanessa was not astonished to see Captain Hudson next to Aunt Carolyn.

“Good morning,” he said with a tip of his beaver. Without his uniform, he was not as imposing, but he still was an undeniably handsome man.

Aunt Carolyn smiled as she left his side to take Vanessa’s hands. “My dear, you look lovely. I swear your color is nearly as rich as the shade of your habit. How long has it been since we have ridden together to the hunt?”

“Since the week before Corey’s seventeenth birthday,” she answered, then wished she had remained silent when she saw sorrow in her aunt’s expressive eyes. She had not intended to ruin Aunt Carolyn’s day. Forcing a smile, she added, “I agree that another ride together is long overdue, and we shall rectify that today.”

“Are you enjoying your visit to Swinton Park?” the captain asked as he took the reins of the brown horse a stable boy brought to him.

“It is always pleasant to feel a cushion of dirt beneath one’s boots,” Vanessa replied.

“But not inside the house.” Aunt Carolyn’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “This house needs the light touch of a feminine hand. Think of the fun it would be to put it in apple-pie order, Vanessa.”

“You know you have more skills in that direction than I do.”

“You need not be shy with me. Mr. Swinton follows you like a shadow. He is undoubtedly taken with you.”

“I think we shall be friends for a long time,” Vanessa answered carefully. She did not want to disabuse Aunt Carolyn of her misapprehensions now.

When Captain Hudson offered to throw Aunt Carolyn up in the saddle, Vanessa excused herself to find her mount. She grimaced as the hem of her habit dropped to the ground. The accursed thing was the proper length for riding, but not for walking halfway to the stables to find a lazy stable boy.

A shout pierced the morning. She whirled to see a horse rearing, its ironclad hoofs inches from her head. A woman screamed. Something struck Vanessa. She crashed to the soft ground, a weight over her knocking the breath out of her. She cringed as hoofs hit the earth, spraying her with dirt.

The frightened shouts surrounded her when she heard, much closer to her ear, “Are you hurt, my lady?”

She opened her eyes to see Lord Brickendon’s face only a shadow’s breadth away. His kohl-colored eyes were filled with fear, and gray tinged his healthy coloring. Feeling her cheeks burning as she realized how intimately they lay amid Mr. Swinton’s fearful guests, she whispered, “I am unharmed.”

Standing, he easily drew her to her feet. He was about to release her hand when she wobbled. His arm encircled her waist, and she rested her head against his chest. Contentment, unlike any she had ever known, sent warmth through her useless limbs.

“I fear you were being overly optimistic,” Lord Brickendon murmured, and she was fascinated by the resonance of his words beneath her ear. To someone else, he added, “She can barely stand.”

Vanessa grudgingly raised her head when she heard Aunt Carolyn’s sob. She edged away. As Lord Brickendon drew his arm from her waist, he kept his hands out to catch her if she collapsed.

“I am fine,” Vanessa asserted with more strength. Putting her arms around her quivering aunt, she realized her words were true. “Hush, Aunt Carolyn. Lord Brickendon saved me.”

Looking past her aunt, she again saw the unfamiliar, somber expression on the viscount’s face. Even as she watched, his smile returned. She whispered her thanks, but he dismissed her words with a wave of his hand.

“Nothing any dashing knight would not have hesitated to do.” He bent to collect the dirty hem of her skirt and hand it to her.

Mr. Swinton pushed past his guests. “Oh, my lady, that fat-pated stable boy will be turned off before day’s end.”

“It was an accident.” Hearing the echo of her words to Sir Wilbur, she pasted a smile on her lips. “The hounds must be eager to be on their way. Shall we take to the chase?”

Aunt Carolyn murmured, “Vanessa, I think it would be wise if you returned to your chamber and rested until your head is settled upon your shoulders.”

“I am unhurt,” she repeated, offering her aunt a smile. “Let’s ride after the fox.”

Mr. Swinton said, “Lady Mansfield, fear not. I shall not allow your niece out of my sight during the hunt.”

“Kind of you,” Captain Hudson replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Vanessa was sure she heard a muffled laugh behind her, but Lord Brickendon was busy talking with a stable boy, who held the reins of a black horse. She frowned. Someone had laughed, but who?

A lad came forward, leading a chestnut horse. Vanessa smiled. “Mr. Swinton, this is an excellent mount.”

“I had thought you would appreciate him, my lady.” Mr. Swinton stepped between her and Lord Brickendon. “If you are certain you feel strong enough to ride—”

“I do.”

“—allow me to assist you into the saddle.”

Vanessa accepted his help. Settling herself comfortably in the saddle, she waited for the others to mount. Bafflement threaded her forehead when she realized Lord Brickendon had not mounted his horse.

“You aren’t joining us, my lord?” she asked. Dismay struck her. “Are
you
hurt?”

He put his hand over hers. The motion—which should have been friendly—consumed her in succulent warmth. “Your consideration is as entrancing as you are, my lady. The truth is that just before that horse went wild, I learned Maestro had picked up a stone. I must remain to be sure it is tended to properly.” His gaze led hers to where his fingertip grazed her longest finger, then touched the next as lightly. “Perhaps we can ride together another time.”

“In Town?” she asked before her good sense could silence her words.

“Perhaps.” The yapping of the hounds halted his next words. He stepped back and nodded to her.

Vanessa urged her horse forward, reminding herself that she could not ask Lord Brickendon for his help to find Corey until she was sure he
could
help her. She had no chance to look back, because Mr. Swinton was riding toward her. He clearly intended to keep the pledge he had made to her aunt. She vowed not to slow him, so he could follow close on the heels of his prized hounds.

With a shrill call of the master of the hunt’s horn, the dogs raced from the hole in the hedgerow to chase down the fleeing fox. Vanessa slapped the reins and let the horse have its head. She glanced back to see Mr. Swinton’s surprise, but he sent his horse at top speed after hers.

The bumpy ride revealed aches Vanessa had not noticed before, but she gamely continued. Her discomfort must have been visible because Mr. Swinton signaled to her to slow her horse. With regret, she watched the other riders race past.

“Perhaps we might be wise to take this hunt at an egg-trot,” Mr. Swinton said when he maneuvered his horse closer.

“I cannot tolerate riding at a snail’s gallop. I would as lief follow the hunt.”

“If you will not pause for your own good, then pause while I express words that demand to be spoken.”

“Mr. Swinton,” she said, torn between exasperation at being left behind and gratitude for his concern, “nothing needs to be said between us. The horse’s actions were not your doing.”

“There is much to be said.”

“If this is about Eveline—”

“No!”

His vehemence astounded her. “Mr. Swinton, we must ride if we wish to catch up with the others.”

His hand on hers halted her from slapping the reins on the horse’s neck. She jerked her hands back when she saw the glitter in his eyes. Once again Sir Wilbur Franklin sprang to mind along with Eveline’s cautions the night before.