Amanda Scott (12 page)

“Oh, but it must have been. He is so handsome. Mama and I paid a call upon the countess yesterday morning and chanced to meet him riding out upon that magnificent chestnut of his. Oh, I did think he looked exactly like a knight of old. Just the thought of driving in a carriage with him sends me over at the knees and makes my inside all shaky.”

“The onset of dyspepsia, I assure you,” said Sylvia unsympathetically. “No, really, Lavvie, the journey took hours, and Greyfalcon rode most of the way. When he did finally take a seat in the chaise, he didn’t speak a word to me, just stared out the window or dozed, I promise you.”

“Then you must have done something to displease him,” Lavender said bluntly, “for I can assure you that when I was in London for the Season last year, he was said to be all that is charming. Why, everyone who knew him sang his praises.”

Sylvia stared at her. “Lavvie, you are making that up. I know for a fact that Greyfalcon has the reputation of a rake. I doubt you ever heard his name.”

“Well, I did,” retorted her friend shortly, “and if he is a rake, all the better, for such men must practice their charm all the time in order to warrant the name. Don’t you find it most exciting? Only imagine what one’s friends would think. They would stare to see me dancing with him, and only fancy being thought beautiful enough to attract his notice.”

Sylvia opened her mouth to point out the difference in their ages and station, and thus the very unlikelihood of such a thing ever coming to pass, but her evil genius intervened before a single word was uttered. Instead, she lowered her lashes and said, gently, “Do you know, Lavvie, you may very well be in the right of it. Greyfalcon mentioned your name to me once. As I recall he said you were a very pretty girl.”

“Nonsense, he wouldn’t remember me. You were the one who spent all her time at the park, not I.”

“Oh, I didn’t get the impression that he was remembering you as a child, Lavvie, not at all.” She frowned as she attempted to bring that very brief conversation to mind. “I am quite sure he mentioned seeing you in London during your come-out last year. Surely, you met him at least once.”

“Well, yes we did, at a rout at Lady Heathcote’s, but only in passing, you know, and only because Mama practically snatched at his coat sleeve as he made to pass us by. I am persuaded that he can scarcely have noticed me.”

“But I cannot think of any other reason for him to have mentioned your beauty, Lavvie.”

The other girl’s eyes sparkled. “Sylvia, do you really think he remembers me?”

“Why, yes, of course he must.” Sylvia salved her conscience by telling herself that that at least was true. Even if, as was perfectly possible, Greyfalcon retained no memory of that conversation, he would know the vicar’s entire family, just as he knew all his neighbors. And if she had exaggerated just how well he remembered Lavender, well, that young lady was pleased as punch to think she had drawn such attention, and Greyfalcon was certainly experienced enough to keep her at bay if she attempted to throw herself at him.

Miss Mayfield would no doubt attempt to do just that by the look of her, but since she had been known in her eighteen years to have fallen madly in love with everyone from a lowly bootboy to the Duke of Devonshire with no ill effects, Sylvia could not feel that love of Greyfalcon would affect her any more powerfully or painfully than love for any of the others had done. And it might well teach his lordship a lesson.

Accordingly, she encouraged Lavender to believe that Greyfalcon, having seen her in London, had been unable to dismiss the thought of her beauty and charm from his mind, and when, predictably, Miss Mayfield arrived less than ten minutes thereafter at the point of wondering if he had come into Oxfordshire for no other purpose than to worship at her feet, Sylvia merely shrugged. However, it then became necessary, if she was not to give way to the mirth bubbling up within her, to note he passage of time and to wonder if Lavender’s mama might not be growing a trifle worried over her daughter’s long absence from home. Miss May field exclaimed at the time, and adieux were made. As Sylvia watched the gig disappearing down the drive, she bit her bottom lip, wondering just where this latest mischief of hers might lead.

Two days later, declaring a holiday for herself, she packed a book that the countess had lent her, some apples and cheese, and some bread and beef into a satchel that she tied, along with a thick blanket, to her saddle. Accepting Tad’s assistance, she mounted, touched Sunshine with the tip of her whip, and cantered off through the beech wood until she came to the drive that bordered Greyfalcon Park. There was a fence here, but it was cunningly concealed in a belt of elm trees, beeches, and a yew hedge, and when she came to an opening into the deer park, there was only a swinging gate that could be easily unlatched and opened with the end of her whip. She was now on the far side of the ha-ha from the house, and there was a path leading through the thick growth of trees down to the river. She had come this way so as not to be seen from the house, for she did not wish the countess to wonder why she did not call. Today, she wanted to be on her own.

She came at last to the river, to the narrow arched stone bridge leading to Greyfalcon’s Island. Sunshine was not particularly pleased to be asked to carry her across the bridge, for there was a weir beneath, and the low parapet enabled even pedestrians to watch the silvery flashes of leaping salmon. The view and the noise of the water rushing across rocks and between boulders made the mare nervous, but Sylvia was content to let her pick her way without haste.

On the island, she wended her way through the trees to the far side, where she dismounted and spread her blanket under a tree, from which vantage point she could watch the river traffic from time to time when she looked up from her book and while she ate her meal. It was a special place, one to which she had come many times before to seek privacy. She could see but not be seen unless someone rowed a boat right up to the island and peered through the reeds and shrubbery, for here the landscape had been allowed to grow freely. The river plants were kept rigorously under control—which is to say they were customarily kept from growing at all—in front of Greyfalcon House, where the lawn was king and must grow right to the water’s edge. But here the bur-reeds and butterbur grew, and already there were marsh marigolds and mace, and the water crowfoot had begun to bloom, its tiny white blossoms hugging the damp earth near the shore, peeping brightly from between the sword-shaped yellow-flag leaves and the slimmer though thicker-growing rushes and reeds. Soon there would be fluffy white wild angelica, and huge yellow-flag blossoms would wave cheerfully above the swordlike leaves.

She read for an hour or so, then gave one apple to Sunshine and helped herself to the other, munching as she watched the river traffic. There wasn’t much today, only some boys in a rowboat and a couple of barges, but the river itself was mesmerizing. She leaned against the tree, her book open against her knees, and watched the gently flowing water. Coots and moorhens splashed nearby, and once she was rewarded by the sight of a tiny, elusive dabchick, startled by the noise of oars, diving and then appearing quite near her in a patch of reeds. She smiled, relaxing against her tree, then bowed her head to read some more.

“Trespassing, Miss Jensen-Graham?”

His voice startled her so that she knocked the book from her lap. He bent to retrieve it for her, but held it when he straightened, looking at the title, engraved in gold on the blue leather cover. “
A Short Residence in Sweden!
That scarcely has the ring of a gothic romance. You surprise me.”

“Well, it is hardly thought by most men to be an improving work, so you should not be all that surprised,” she retorted. “’Tis written by the author of
The Rights of Women.
”

“I ought to have realized that you would be interested in the first Mrs. Godwin’s odd notions, but where came you by this? I doubt your father gave it to you.”

“Why not? He encourages me to read anything that interests me.”

“Nonetheless, I doubt he would provide you with a work that encourages young women to forsake their traditional roles in life. He would not wish himself to be made uncomfortable.”

She smiled at that. “You are quite right in that, sir. But you seem to have read Mary Wollstonecraft’s work yourself, and that does surprise me.”

He shrugged. “I have heard about her from one source or another, I expect. I cannot pretend to agree with her notions, but then she did not hold true to them herself when it came to her well-known opposition to marriage. Nor did Mr. Godwin. Most disappointing.”

“But what else could they do when she found she was with child? That must have changed things considerably.”

“Perhaps, but you have not answered my question. Where came you by this book?”

She grinned saucily. “Your mama lent it to me.”

He stared then. “Giving me my own back, Sylvia? I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you are out then, for she did. You needn’t fret, though. I know for a fact that she has not read a word of it, and I daresay she would be shocked to know the content. If you must know, I believe my father sent it to her. His notion of a joke, I should think, though I dare not ask him just now.”

Greyfalcon handed the book back to her, and she set it down as he pulled out a corner of her blanket and sat down upon it. His nearness made her oddly nervous, but she could scarcely ask him to sit upon the damp ground. Instead, she asked how he had found her.

“I didn’t hear you approach, sir, and Sunshine didn’t so much as whicker.”

“She’s dozing in a patch of sunlight. I walked over. My gelding doesn’t like that bridge. I saw you earlier from the hay meadow, riding across, and didn’t see you ride back. Thought I’d just see if you were all right.” He grinned then, and there was a guilty twinkle in his eyes that she could remember having often seen in Christopher’s in the past. He said, “Actually, if you’d prefer the truth of the matter, Mama has callers, and I thought I’d disappear for a bit.”

“Dear me,” she said, opening the satchel again and offering him his choice of the contents, “who is it who sends you seeking shelter, sir?”

“Mrs. Mayfield and her charming daughter, though I pray you’ll not let it be known that I’m such a coward.”

Sylvia nearly choked, and reached quickly inside the satchel for some bread and meat for herself in order to cover her confusion. “I can’t think why you would fear Mrs. Mayfield,” she said. “She has always seemed very kind.”

“Perhaps, but her daughter is a predatory creature if ever I’ve seen one. Though scarcely past eighteen, she gushes, she simpers, and she clings to one’s lapels like a river leech.”

“Greyfalcon, what an unhandsome thing to say!”

“Yes, isn’t it? You see to what ignoble behavior I am reduced.” He rolled a thick chunk of beef up in a slice of bread and munched for a moment. “They called yesterday, too, you see, and the day before as well and it has rapidly been made clear to me that Miss Mayfield does not find my person displeasing. Indeed, it has been made so clear that today, when by the greatest good fortune I chanced to pass through the stableyard on my way into the house and saw the Mayfield gig standing there, I made my escape rather than chance repeating my previous experience.”

Feeling the need to change the subject before she found herself in the briars, Sylvia asked him how his work was progressing. “Are you finding a great deal to do, sir?”

He shook his head. “Not really. MacMusker is a good steward, just hesitant about doing things without clearing them first. My father kept rather a heavy hand on the reins, you know, and an even heavier hand on his money. I’ve told the man I have every faith in his capabilities, and since my father neither spared any time to teach me my duties here nor ever gave me a free hand to make my own mistakes and profit by them, MacMusker has taught me a great deal in just over a week. I have dutifully visited all my tenants and listened to their complaints and have done all I can, with his help, to redress their grievances. Fortunately there are not too many, so I am able to appear magnanimous. They seem to like me.”

She smiled at him. “It sounds to me as though you have been very busy.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Surprised?”

“Well, I did not think you would be much amused by such duties, sir. Your life in London is rather different from what it is here. I had thought you would be yearning to get back there as quickly as possible.”

“London looks more favorable every day,” he said with a speaking glance in the direction of the house and a wry twist of his lips.

Not wishing to encourage that train of thought, Sylvia spoke without thinking. “Have you paid all your debts?”

“Debts? What can you have been hearing about me, my dear girl?” His tone was not so much one of annoyance as one of long-suffering.

She grinned at him. “Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned such a distasteful subject. ’Tis another of those things about which young ladies are supposed to be ignorant. However, it transpires that I have heard about a certain night at Brooks’s.”

His brow wrinkled. “Only one night? Dear me, I had thought the line of communications between town and country to have been far more efficient than that.”

He said no more, and somehow she was suddenly loath to press him for more information. He seemed relaxed, more at ease and younger than she had seen him before. Indeed, it appeared that his duties in Oxfordshire had agreed with him. If it was not that, then perhaps it was merely the effects of good fresh air and exercise. The deep creases near his eyes and the dark circles beneath them had nearly disappeared. He looked rested, alert, and really quite as handsome as Miss Mayfield had described him.

The last thought caught her unawares and she turned away, feeling sudden, unwelcome warmth in her cheeks.

“You have not told me what you are doing here,” he said quietly after a long moment of silence. “I trust you are not still so deep in disgrace with Lord Arthur that you must seek sanctuary.”

“No, at least I do not think so. He received a parcel of books from my Uncle Lechlade three days ago, and I have scarcely seen him since. He even brings his books to the table, you know. Thank heaven the Assize court convenes soon. He will have to come up for air then.”