A Rival Heir (16 page)

Emily rolled her eyes. "Well, of course not, silly. You are always here with your aunt!"

However, the first gentleman to approach them was Lord Westwick, and Nell felt her face flushing at the memory of what Mrs. Dorsey had told her. The earl appeared not to notice anything unusual as he greeted them with a charming bow. "Ladies, how delightful to find you here, just when I thought I had come too late to encounter any of my acquaintance."

"Too late! Why, it's the earliest I have been here all month," Emily informed him.

"Ah, perhaps that is the problem. I shall have to delay my entrance to a more fashionable hour." He offered each of them an arm, suggesting a walk about the room.

Nell felt slightly nervous with the earl now, but she imagined her discomfort would be attributed to shyness or an unfamiliarity with the social niceties of the Pump Room. Emily had no hesitation in flirting outrageously with their escort, since he was of an age to be her father, if not her grandfather. And Emily's artless chatter would have covered for Nell's own quietness, had not the earl made a point of including her in the conversation.

"Have you formed the habit of coming late to the Pump Room, too, Miss Armstrong?" he asked with teasing interest.

"Why, no, we haven't been coming at all for the last week or so. And when we came, it was much earlier than this."

"Your aunt is an early riser, is she?"

The question seemed somehow embarrassing to Nell. If he had married Rosemarie Longstreet, he would know such things. "Yes, no, well, here in Bath she rises later than at Longstreet Manor. But she has decided against attending the Pump Room."

"Too bad, for I imagine that limits your own ventures here."

"Oh, I don't mind at all. I find the waters peculiarly nasty."

The earl laughed. "You and everyone else. But there are those who swear by them. And it has always been my impression that most people come here for the company, and not the waters."

"Yes, indeed!" Emily agreed. "I doubt if half the people even try them after the first time."

"But your aunt came to Bath for the waters, didn't she?" Lord Westwick asked.

Nell thought he was regarding her rather closely, as if her answer was of some import to him. She tried to reply in a circumspect manner, so as not to lie. "My aunt occasionally suffers from the gout and had heard that the waters were especially good as a cure for her illness."

"Ah, someone recommended them to her," he surmised.

"I believe so," she said carefully.

"Has she been here before?"

"No, she seldom leaves the Manor."

"Mmmm." The earl seemed to consider this for a moment before he asked, "And do you get away from the Manor much, Miss Armstrong?"

"No, never," Nell admitted with a flush.

"Never!" Emily exclaimed. "Oh, you poor dear! Well, we shall have to make a change in that."

Nell shook her head with amused frustration. "Emily, my dear, the Manor is my home. It is not so strange that I don't travel, especially without my aunt. She is in need of my companionship."

"Ha!" Emily gave a spirited toss of her head. "In need of companionship, is she? The woman isn't fit for human society. Do you know, Lord Westwick, that she wasn't at all accommodating to my dear little boy? Why, she practically pushed us out the door!"

Lord Westwick’s eyes twinkled. "Did she, my dear? I must admit that she did the same to me."

Emily stared at him, aghast. "Surely not!"

"Indeed. Miss Armstrong was there and can verify that I received a very poor reception."

Nell frowned slightly but nodded. "My aunt takes peculiar aversions from time to time." Carefully, avoiding the earl's gaze, she said, "But it is exceedingly strange to me that she would behave so with a gentleman from our own neighborhood."

"Is it?" he challenged. "Does she not behave in a similar way to your neighbors at home?"

"Well, as to that..." Nell's lips twitched. "Most of them, my lord, know better than to come and visit us!"

"My word!" Emily cried. "And now you tell us that not only are you stuck in that godforsaken manor, but that none of your neighbors come to visit. I tell you, Nell, that it is insupportable. Something must be done."

"There is nothing to be done," Nell told her firmly. "I am perfectly content with my situation."

"Perfectly content!" Emily fumed. "My dear, if you are perfectly content, you must be all about in your head. And that, I know you are not!"

Lord Westwick stepped in to distract attention from Nell's situation. "I think, Miss Armstrong, that you have no access to a mount while you are in Bath, and I should be happy to correct that. You may have heard that I have a small horse farm not far from town. Perhaps you could drive there with me this afternoon and we could choose an appropriate horse for you to ride."

"How... how kind of you," Nell said. "That would be most appreciated, Lord Westwick."

When Emily attempted to resurrect her previous indignation, Nell saw Lord Westwick give her a quelling stare, and the young matron fell silent. For this Nell could only be thankful. She did not wish to be viewed as the object of pity by such a dashing young lady--or by anyone, for that matter.

She entered enthusiastically into the earl's discussion of the differences in riding occasioned by the disparate terrains of Westmorland and Somerset, and eventually Emily joined in as well. But there was still that martial light in her eyes which alarmed Nell. Mightn't she approach her brother about her discoveries? Nell was horrified by the thought of Sir Hugh's pity.

Lord Westwick arranged to call for Nell in his carriage early in the afternoon. The timing was ideal, as it would provide her with an excuse for not being there when Mrs. Dorsey called. She would not, of course, tell her aunt with whom she was to be. No sense in distressing her unnecessarily. But the opportunity to find out more about the earl intrigued Nell, and the chance to ride gave her a sense of country freedom she had not experienced since their arrival in Bath.

Chapter Eleven

It was not Lord Westwick, however, who called for her. Nell had waited anxiously close to the front door in order to avoid having her aunt catch a glimpse of the earl. When there was a clatter of hooves in the street outside the Queen Square house, Nell hastened to tie the old-fashioned bonnet into place. Her even older riding habit, she had decided, was not really a disgrace, as its lines were classic and it fit her well. As the brass knocker sounded and their butler opened the door, she stepped forward, only to be confronted with Sir Hugh.

"Oh," she said, startled. "I'm sorry, Sir Hugh. I am expecting Lord Westwick to call for me any moment."

"I have convinced him to forego that pleasure," Sir Hugh said, bowing. "I hope you will not mind, Miss Armstrong, but I offered to convey you in my curricle, so that he might go ahead and see that all was in readiness for your visit."

"How kind," she murmured. "A curricle, you say? I've never ridden in a curricle. Shall I be safe?"

Sir Hugh looked rueful. "I cannot speak for any other driver on the road, but I assure you I shall do my utmost to deliver you safe to the farm."

"Of course." Nell preceded him down to where a tiny older man in livery was standing at the horse's head. The little elf pulled his forelock in polite recognition and Sir Hugh assisted Nell into the sporting vehicle. The baronet then climbed in beside her, picked up the reins and nodded to the elf, who hastened to the back of the curricle and clambered on just as Sir Hugh gave his horse the order to start. Nell, accustomed to closed carriages and slow starts, gave an involuntary exclamation of surprise and grabbed hold of the seat to keep herself upright.

"I beg your pardon," Sir Hugh apologized, but his attention was mainly on the street before them. There were pedestrians crossing near the square, and a handsome large carriage which took up most of the street. The situation seemed fraught with danger to Nell, but Sir Hugh managed to avoid running down any walker, or grazing the side of his carriage. She let her breath out with a sigh.

He glanced over at her, a grin stretching his generous mouth. "Frightened you, did I? You have my permission to keep your eyes closed until we're in open country if you wish, Miss Armstrong."

"No, no. Then I would miss all the fascinating sites. Look, there's Mr. Bentley on his way to the library. And isn't that Emily Holmsly's sister-in-law?"

For answer, Sir Hugh lifted his hat in salute to the young lady as they drove past, which necessitated his using only one hand on the reins. Nell was tempted to ask him to not do that again, but knew better than to protest. She merely gritted her teeth together for the duration of their wending their way through the crowded streets of Bath, and relaxed only when they at last reached open countryside. Past Southgate Street and across the Old Bridge, they reached Holloway, with its steep ascent up to Beechen Cliff.  Sir Hugh guided his curricle onto the winding Prospect Place and brought the vehicle to a gentle halt.

"What do you think of that?" he asked, gesturing to the city of Bath spread out beneath them. Nell could see the Avon winding through town, and the magnificent Abbey towering over the buildings around it. Sir Hugh pointed out the surrounding landmarks--Lansdown Hill, Kelston Round Hill, Englishcombe Barrow. To Nell it was a glorious sight, and she said as much. Gratified, he smiled warmly on her and remarked, "I have always felt this was one of the most delightful prospects in the area. But we should be on our way. We're headed in the direction of Combe Down, just beyond Glasshouse Farm."

Once the dangerous traffic was behind them, Nell allowed herself to enjoy her excursion with the baronet. They chatted easily about life in the country, about the baronet's horses, about the music they'd heard the previous evening--the usual mix of comfortable conversation which slid from topic to topic when two people had many interests in common. Nell did not bring her aunt's name into the conversation, nor did Sir Hugh mention her.

As they bowled along country lanes, the scenery about them shifted to rolling hills dotted with trees in new leaf. A warm spring breeze carried the rich scent of plowed earth. Nell stole circumspect glances at her companion, admiring the openness of his countenance and the humor in his eyes. Her heart swelled with an unfamiliar emotion that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to rest her head on his broad shoulder, to have his strong arms close around her, to feel the wild touch of his lips on hers.

And not in one of her daydreams.

She wanted this charming, thoughtful man to cherish her, to love her. Nell had never desired that of a man in her life. Scold herself as she might for such folly, she had to acknowledge that she
did
want these things from Sir Hugh. That would be her secret, tucked firmly away in her heart, for her alone to treasure. It didn’t matter that there was no possibility of her achieving such a goal. Sitting beside him, talking with him, marveling at the sheer beauty of the day, was enough for her now.

Because she was distracted, she only belatedly noticed the solitary figure on horseback. Even from some distance there was something about the cut of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, which gave her the sense that she recognized him.

Sir Hugh had been pointing out the approaching farm and had not as yet appeared to notice the horseman. Just as Nell suddenly exclaimed, "Why, I believe that's Mr. Holmsly!" the rider abruptly wheeled his horse, caused him to leap a shallow ditch, and took off across the field beyond.

Startled, Sir Hugh followed the line of her pointing finger and frowned at the disappearing rider. "John Holmsly? Emily's husband? I can't think why he should be here."

"I can't think why he should take off like that."

"But I fear you must be mistaken, Miss Armstrong. It is my understanding that John is in Bristol at present."

"Perhaps he is on his way back."

"We're quite a distance from the road to Bristol. This lane leads only to Lord Westwick’s farm and two other country places. It doesn't even connect with any other road."

"Well, the man looked a great deal like Emily's husband," Nell stubbornly insisted.

"There's more than one handsome devil wandering about the English countryside," he quizzed her. "It was probably a local estate agent come to survey something in the acreage over that hill. There's probably no other access to it than across the fields."

Unconvinced, Nell nevertheless said no more on the subject. Instead she pointed to two fine-looking horses racing along beside the road. "Will these be Lord Westwick’s horses?"

"They will. On the knoll there you can just make out the farmhouse behind the trees. It's not a large place, but well appointed. The earl has spent a great deal of time here since his wife died. I'm sure it's what helped him get through that loss. They were an especially devoted couple."

"Does he breed horses for racing?"

"Mostly, though oddly he seems not much interested in the races themselves. He's particularly talented at choosing which horses are natural runners, and which would be best trained as carriage or riding horses. He has some of the finest hacking horses I've ever ridden."

Sir Hugh guided his horse off the lane and onto the drive up to the farmhouse, which was built of the same warm stone as the buildings in Bath. It was, as Sir Hugh had said, a modest structure, but it was somehow welcoming in a way a more formal dwelling would not have been. Longstreet Manor, for instance, had always seemed stiff and uncompromising to Nell. As one approached it, there were no shrubs or vines to distract from the hard lines, no graceful trees to soften the vertical expanse of stone, no flowers to brighten the grim grayness of the place.

Combe Park was far otherwise. Ancient elms flanked its sides, and there were flower beds in every direction. Though it was still too early for any but the first of the spring flowers to be in blossom, Nell could picture the house at the height of summer. What a glorious vision that would be! As Sir Hugh handed her down from the curricle, Lord Westwick came around the side of the building in his riding clothes.