Carola Dunn (5 page)

 “Certainly, ma’am.”

 The Duchess twinkled at her. “It is an errand of your own making. My physician and my husband are agreed that I shall do well to employ a page. Will you be so good as to stop at the gamekeeper’s cottage and inform young Ben that I shall expect him as soon as his arm is healed?”

 “Oh yes, ma’am! I am so glad.”

 “The gamekeeper’s cottage?” Lady Flint said dubiously.

 “I need not go in, Mama. The groom may call someone out to speak to me.”

 Permission achieved, Cecily dashed up to her chamber to change into riding dress. Her abigail helped her into her new habit. The chestnut-brown cloth was lavishly trimmed with gold braid and frogging à la Hussar, and the matching hat was a jaunty little creation with a curled gold plume.

 The Duchess had sent a message to the stables, so when Cecily went down a groom had already brought to the front door the dapple-grey the Duke had provided for her. Shadow was a pretty young Thoroughbred mare, docile but with clean lines which promised a fair turn of speed. The groom was a stolid youth, mounted on a stolid dun cob. Cecily hoped he would be able to keep up if she found a good spot for a gallop.

 Errand first, she decided, and asked the groom to lead the way to the gamekeeper’s cottage. Incurious, he obeyed.

 In a clearing in the wood where he had come to grief stood Ben Diver’s home. The thatched, whitewashed cottage looked too low to possess a second story, though tiny dormer windows under shaggy brows peered from the roof. Approaching, Cecily saw a horse tied near the door. She recognized the bay gelding instantly.

 So Dr Macfarlane had not gone with the hunt, as she had assumed.

 On a sudden impulse, she turned to the groom. “Help me down, then you need not stay. Dr Macfarlane will see me back to the house.”

 “M’lady.” Unquestioning, he swung down and cupped his hands for Cecily’s foot.

 As he tied Shadow beside the bay, Cecily hesitated. The door stood open to the mild day, and she heard voices within. No one had observed her arrival.

 She had told Mama she need not go in, but she had not said she would not. Surely the Duchess would not have sent her if she considered it improper or unwise to enter the cottage. Cecily was curious, having never been allowed in a servant’s or tenant’s cottage at home. And Dr Macfarlane was in there.

 She glanced back. The groom had remounted. He tipped his hat to her and rode off.

 The sound of Dr Macfarlane’s laugh decided her. Where he was she could come to no harm.

Chapter 5

 The train of her habit looped over her arm, Cecily stepped up to the open door and raised her hand to knock. Before her gloved knuckles hit the wood, a glad cry welcomed her.

 “Look, Ma, it’s the lady. The lady I told you ‘bout, what helped Dr Iain do me arm and let me go in the grand carriage.”

 Instantly Cecily found herself bustled in, seated in a stout rocking chair by the fire, and provided with a mug of near black tea. She glanced around the room, a kitchen which was obviously also the family’s main living space. All was neat and clean, from the brick floor to the iron pots hanging by the fireplace, to the well-scrubbed table and the ham and braids of onions dangling from the ceiling. A door in one corner probably led to a bedchamber, and a ladder in another corner to a loft with further sleeping quarters, Cecily guessed.

 Mrs Diver, a plump body in a red gingham apron, with greying hair beneath a spotless white mob cap, beamed at Cecily. So did Ben and his older sister, and so did the doctor.

 “I just dropped by to check Ben’s arm,” he said, his dark eyebrows raised enquiringly.

 “I bring a message from the Duchess.”

 “From her Grace?” gasped Mrs Diver. “Well I never!” A small girl who had been hiding behind her skirts peeked out.  “There’s many a message my man gets from his Grace, m’lady, ‘bout the pheasants and all, but what’s the Duchess got to say to the likes of us?”

 Cecily smiled at her. “She hopes you and Mr Diver will be willing to allow Ben to take a post as her page-boy, when his arm is healed.”

 Ben, his splinted arm in a sling, whooped, then asked anxiously, “Does a page-boy get to wear liv’ry?”

 “I cannot promise, but usually.” Cecily turned to his mother, who looked worried. “I understand your husband expects Ben to follow in his footsteps, Mrs Diver. I hope he will at least consider letting him try an inside position for a while.”

 “He’ll do what her Grace wants, m’lady. I just hopes Ben’ll behave himself proper. He’s a good lad but he don’t know how to go on up the big house.”

 “The Duchess realizes he will have a great deal to learn,” Cecily reassured her.

 “That he will. Anyways, it’s right kindly in your ladyship to take an interest in my boy. He come home yesterday singing your ladyship’s praises, he did, didn’t he, Dr Iain?”

 Cecily blushed. She could not very well explain that she had been driven less by kindness than by a spirit of rebellion.

 “I’ll impose on your kindness again, Lady Cecily,” said the doctor, a hint of challenge in his manner, as if he guessed her thoughts. He held out his hand to the little girl. “Young Annie here has the earache and will not let her mama hold her still for me to take a look. Perhaps in your lap she may stay quiet.”

 Rising to the challenge, Cecily smiled at the child. “Would you not like to come and see the pretty gold braid on my dress?” she invited.

 Thumb in mouth, Annie allowed herself to be settled on Cecily’s knee, where she gravely inspected the braiding. The doctor, kneeling beside them, parted her hair with a gentle hand and peered at the offending ear.

 “It is a trifle inflamed, and there is some matter exuding. I want you to wash it out twice a day, Mrs Diver, with some warmed rectified spirits of wine. I shall send down a bottle from the house, and I’ll look in again on Boxing Day.”

 Making their adieux, and followed by thanks, Cecily and Dr Macfarlane stepped out of the cottage. Dr Macfarlane looked around.

 “Did you come alone, Lady Cecily?”

 “No, I sent the groom home, thinking to ride back with you,” Cecily explained, a trifle abashed. Perhaps it was rather presumptuous in her to suppose he would wish to escort her. “Did you intend to join the hunt?”

 “Not I. Less in sympathy with the fox, I fear,” he added, laughing, “than for fear of an accident which might interfere with my work. I was going to ride into the village to visit a few patients, but I have plenty of time to see you back to the house first.”

 “I don’t wish to take you out of your way. May I not go with you? The village belongs to the Felversham estate, I expect?”

 “Yes, the villagers are all tenants. Why?” He frowned. “I suppose the Felversham people will be your—”

 “Oh no, I should not dream of nosing about before....” Cecily’s cheeks grew hot again. “It is just that Mama told me not to ride beyond the estate. She meant the park, I daresay, but that is not what she said.”

 “Fortunately it is not my business to see that you follow Lady Flint’s orders, express or implied! However, it looks like rain.”

 “A wetting will not melt me, I assure you.”

 Iain studied her face. The ready blush had faded, leaving the roses of good health in her cheeks and slightly parted lips. Great blue eyes, an incredibly dark shade, looked up at him appealingly. Glossy brown curls peeked from beneath that ridiculous little hat.

 Jasper was a lucky devil, and he didn’t even seem to know it.

 “I daresay you won’t take a chill,” Iain said gruffly, yielding to temptation, “as long as you change out of wet clothes quickly. Come with me if you wish, but first promise you will not enter where I suspect infection.”

 She promised. He cupped his hands to throw her up into the saddle, where she sat with the ease of a practised horsewoman though the dapple mare danced a little in her eagerness to be off.

 “You ride well,” he said, mounting Hippocrates and turning the gelding’s head towards the village. “It is truly the fox’s fate which deters you from hunting, then, not a dislike of the exercise.”

 “Oh yes, I love to ride. I grew up in the country, and one of the frustrations of spending so much time in Town this past year has been the lack of a place for a good gallop.”

 “I can imagine. In my hunting days, it was the ride I enjoyed, not the pursuit.”

 “The Duke must be disappointed in you for dropping out of the hunt. I am afraid I sadly shocked him,” she added with a saucy smile.

 “Prodigiously, though you recovered his esteem with the chess game. You must not suppose, because he is obsessed with hunting, that my uncle is a bad landlord. Felversham and its farms are in excellent condition, and he takes good care of his dependents. With his example to follow, I’m sure Jasper will become an admirable duke.”

 “No doubt,” Lady Cecily murmured, not noticeably impressed by his attempt to boost his cousin’s standing in her eyes. “He seems to like to spend a great deal of time in London.”

 “And you do not care for life in Town?” Iain asked, unable to stop himself though he ought to be trying to reconcile her to Jasper’s preferences. “You spoke of frustrations.”

 “I do not mean to complain. I enjoy balls and parties and the theatre and concerts and everything. Only not every single night! And to be constantly changing one’s dress, and endlessly standing still to try on new gowns—well, you cannot conceive how tiresome it is. I like pretty clothes, but I am sure I could do very well with not half so many.”

 “That’s a most becoming habit you’re wearing,” he said, seeing not the habit but the slender, rounded, pliable figure within it. Hastily he raised his eyes to her face.

 Their gazes caught and held. Which was the first to look away, Iain was not sure. Lady Cecily burst into speech.

 “I daresay residing in London is pleasanter when one is not making one’s come-out. As a married lady, I will surely be able to spend an occasional evening quietly at home!”

  “Undoubtedly.” But would Jasper stay at home with her? Doing his best to sound convinced and convincing, Iain went on, “Very likely my cousin will choose to spend more time at Felversham once he is wed.”

 “It is charming country,” she said, looking round distractedly, as if she had scarcely noticed where they were.

 The muddy lane led downhill between leafless thorn hedges. On one side a still muddier ploughed field stretched to the further hedge. On the other, dank, dun grass surrounded a lightning-blasted oak overgrown with dismally dripping ivy.

 Their eyes met again and they both laughed.

 “Need I remark that you are not seeing it at its best? We are nearly at the village. There’s the church tower.” He pointed with his riding crop.

 Cecily was glad to reach the village, to have something to take her mind from the alarming disorientation she felt whenever Dr Macfarlane looked at her. Or she at him.

 With the aid of the mounting block by the lych-gate, she descended from Shadow’s back, and they tied the horses to the iron railing around the church. Cecily quickly turned her back on the building where all too soon she would wed Lord Avon, since the Duchess’s disability ruled out a London wedding. Tomorrow, Christmas Day, she would have to attend the morning service there. For now—Sufficient unto the day was the...evil? No! It was a splendid match. Her parents were happy. His parents were happy. He was handsome, charming, amusing. She was the envy of every marriageable young lady in the kingdom.

 She did not glance back at the church where that enviable winter wedding would soon take place.

 The villagers Cecily and Dr Macfarlane met regarded her with as much interest as had Lord Avon’s family. No doubt half of them had gossiping relatives in service up at the mansion. With instinctive courtesy no one made any reference to her future connection with their landlord, or none but a child quickly hushed.

 The children adored Dr Iain, as everyone called him. He did not woo them with comfits, yet his patience, compassion, and willingness to listen won them over. Pleased to be able to help, Cecily held some of the young patients for him to examine while harried mothers kept their siblings out of the way or got on with preparing midday dinner for their fathers.

 Dr Iain had older patients here, too. The last of these, at the far end of the village street, was a rheumaticky old shepherd. He sat huddled under a rug by the fire, wrapped in a woollen shawl, a nightcap on his head.

 The grey-muzzled black-and-white dog at his feet raised its head when his daughter ushered in the doctor and Cecily. It gave them a mournful look and subsided again.

 “The poor beast do take it a’most hard as Pa that they can’t get out and about these days,” sighed the woman.

 “I’m changing that,” Dr Iain said decisively. “Sitting around coddling yourself isn’t helping, Johno, is it? I want you to start moving about as much as you can without severe pain. Take yourself over to the Pembroke Arms for a glass of cider on a fine day. Wrap up warmly, mind.”

 The old man brightened at once. “Down the Arms, Doctor? It’ll be good to see folkses again.” The dog licked his hand.

 “We’ll see how it goes, at least. And I’ve brought you a ginger and willow-bark mixture which seems to help her Grace.” He gave the woman instructions on preparing the medicine.

 Deeply gratified by the doctor’s readiness to try the remedy she had suggested, Cecily wondered whether Lord Avon would ever give any weight to her opinions. She could not even imagine a situation where she might venture to advise him.

 As they walked back down the village street towards the horses, the doctor said ruefully, “I ought not to offer two new remedies at one time. If he improves I shan’t know which is responsible. But I cannot bear to withhold anything which may make my patients more comfortable. There is so little I can do for most of them.”

 “You do all you can, I can see that. I do hope exercise will help him. Did you advise the Duchess to try it?” she asked diffidently.

 “Yes indeed.” He gave her a teasing smile. “I’m still waiting to hear how you reconcile it with the employment of a page. Or was that advice solely for Ben’s benefit?”