Grace Gibson (8 page)

Lord Robert Allendale, Marquis of Denley, Heir of Devonshire, rode blissfully through leaves of red and gold, into deep plum coloured shadows and back out into the brilliant amber light of the country. He had left Lord Eversham at a comfortable posting house near the Westfork road. He spent the hours of his ride recollecting the particulars of the last night’s remarkable revelations. Certainly his despair with regard to the madness he had always supposed he carried in his blood had caused Eversham to reveal all. Nothing substantial had come of it — he was still bound in honour to bear the weight of Devonshire and to see that his house did not fall into entailment for lack of an heir; he would still inherit a penniless, mortgaged empire; and his free will was still bound in trust to Eversham. Yet in spite of these dreary considerations, he enjoyed a lightness that he had not previously known.

Somewhere behind was a hired gig, carrying his luggage and his household staff. Where once he had required scores, he now had two — his groom and his new maid, Molly Harper. He pondered the mundane details of employing a servant, questions that had never occurred to him before now, for some other person had always had the charge of these things. Coming up short on many points, he made up his mind to get direction from Mary Fanley, who would know all that was right, fair and proper, and could warn him of the difficulties he could not foresee. As he thought of Mary, he saw far up the road a lone figure walking alongside of the hedgerow. As this person grew near enough, he made out the telltale signs of skirts and a shawl.

Lord Robert had not yet passed into Hampton and was still some way out from Greenly; the particular stretch of road on which he travelled was quite remote. Though he was not in the habit of concerning himself with anyone else’s troubles, the appearance of a female walking entirely alone beyond the confines of a village, or even an occasional farm, caused him to sit up and attend.

He clicked Caesar into a more interesting pace while he inspected the woman who approached him. Her head was bowed, her arms clasped tightly across her chest, her pace was resolute; all in all, her air and posture struck Robert as familiar. Slowly he began to suspect that he was about to encounter, of all persons, Mary Fanley, and he increased his pace even more.

“Mary?” he called out a few paces from her. She glanced up at him furtively and quickened her pace, lowering her head even further so that he could not see her face. “Mary Fanley!” he said in a booming voice.

Mary’s head came up, and she stopped reluctantly just as the Marquis of Denley dropped out of the saddle in front of her. “Good God, Mary, is that you? How is it you are here?”

She curtsied a little shakily, and could not meet his eyes. “Lord Robert! I…we…did not expect you until the morrow.”

“I am come ahead and Eversham is to follow, but I am astonished to find you so far from Greenly.”

“Am I far?”

“I would say you are at least seven miles from the gate house and another two to the manor. Are you…is aught amiss?” He stooped a little and scrutinized her downcast face.

“No, sir, I beg you to excuse me. Allow me to explain,” she stammered, looking around her again as if she had never seen this track before in all her life. “Do you know the time?”

He told her it was past four o’clock and watched her face turn from bewilderment to anxiety. “Oh, they will wonder what has happened to me!” she exclaimed. “Papa will be beside himself! You must excuse me sir. I must turn back.”

He put his hand on her arm and stayed her. “I cannot let you walk back alone. Come, Mary,” he said firmly, “hold the reins.”

She did as she was told, but her agitation was not dispelled, for she could not let herself be under obligation to him nor did she want him to perceive she had been weeping. “Indeed, sir! I…I am perfectly capable of managing,” she insisted with a sniff even as he lifted her up into his saddle. In a trifling, he was mounted behind her and taking the reins.

“Faith,” he chided, “you are chilled.” He wrapped his cloak around her and directed Caesar onto the roadway.

Mary Fanley sat stiffly in mortified silence for some moments before she began to feel that she really was chilled. She shivered involuntarily and thought to misdirect Lord Robert’s attention by protesting. “I am perfectly able to walk home, sir, in truth I am a famous walker. And I cannot burden your horse. I am sure he has been ridden all day and he is most likely very tired.”

He gave a low chuckle. “I will allow you to be mistress of Greenly Manor, and of all the county for that matter, but you will allow me to be the master of my own horse.”

“Indeed, I beg your pardon.”

“Besides, it will be dark very soon, and Mr. Fanley would never forgive me for riding past you while you are out here, even though you
are
a famous walker.”

She allowed this to be true, and in the space of a mile had pulled Lord Robert’s cloak more tightly around herself. By three miles, and in spite of all her resolve against it, she sank back against Lord Robert’s chest. He placed his left arm firmly around her middle, and occasionally uttered little encouragements or warnings to Caesar, who seemed not to have noticed he had taken on an extra passenger and continued on in his docile way.

As they neared the outskirts of Hampton, Mary roused herself. “Sir, I beg you to put me on the ground now.”

“You may beg, but that does not mean I will.”

“Oh, but I so dread being seen! I do not want to be the subject of…”

“Of impertinent comments, or to be forced to answer any uncomfortable questions.”

“Precisely.” She cast her head around and looked anxiously up at him. “You do not know how it is here.”

Lord Robert pulled his great horse to an abrupt halt. “Mary Fanley,” he said sternly, “like it or not, you are inescapably cast in the role of damsel in distress, and I am determined to act as your protector. Now, allow me to go about it!”

“Certainly, sir, I beg your pardon,” she murmured with her great brown eyes having grown a little wider.

“Very well. I will try to overlook it,” he said with a grave face and a twinkle in his eyes. “Now, suppose we come across someone. Show me how you will look.”

With her faced still turned to look up him, she looked precisely how she would look if they should actually meet someone — that is to say, she looked utterly stricken.

“I see. That will never do. You have committed no sin, my girl. Now, give me a proud look, one that tells me you are always used to riding in the lap of a gentleman.”

Mary Fanley made a weak attempt.

“I am sure you can do better. Lift your chin,” he reached around and lifted it for her, “now look down your nose.” He traced his finger down her nose and pointed out to the imaginary person. “And now say very condescendingly, ‘How do you do?’ Pretend you are me, go ahead.”

Mary gave him a half smile, and then she lifted her chin even higher and arched her brows, saying “How do you do?” in the haughtiest voice she could command.

“Perfect.” he grinned. “Now then, we are off.”

They circumnavigated both Hampton and Greenly Village, and, as the light began to fail, he approached the stretch of road where they would turn off to the Manor house. Rather than keep to the road, however, the Marquis urged Caesar into the ditch, through a space in the hedgerows, and across the field.

Mary stirred. “Should we not have gone on to the gate house?”

“I have never known a gatekeeper who was not a shocking tale bearer.”

She leaned back into him and said, “Of course you are right, sir. I beg your pardon. It is just so terribly late.”

“All will be well if you will but allow me to make it so,” he reassured her, coming at last through the spinney and onto the Greenly Manor road. There he stopped, dismounted and reached up for her. By instinct, she allowed herself to be swung down off the great horse. “Now, Mary, you will sit right here and not move, mind. I will leave my cloak.”

“Where are you going?”

“I am going to double back and pass through the gate house. Is it possible your gatekeeper might not have seen you pass the gates this morning?”

“It is possible as I did not see him.”

“Then he is like every other gatekeeper,” Denley said grinning, “useless but for gossip.” He leapt up to his saddle and said very sternly, “If I return to this spot and find you gone, I will run you down, missy.”

She immediately sat down on a log and wrapped his cloak around her.

“Good girl,” he chuckled.

Mary sat in a forlorn little huddle and admitted to herself that she rather liked being thrown up onto a horse and told just what to do. She dreaded the moment when she would have to actually explain to Lord Robert what she was doing so far abroad; he had surely noticed her distraction, her watery eyes and lamentably damp nose. That he had not demanded to be told her business earned him her temporary gratitude. The time he was away she spent in searching for some kind of a tale to tell him. Nothing came to her that did not sound utterly absurd or make her out to be a simple hoyden.

Before she could think further on the subject, the Marquis arrived in a cloud of dust.

“Caesar despises running,” he grinned, dismounting, “but he accommodated me. I am glad to see I do not have to run him further in pursuit of you.”

“Indeed, I dared not move.”

“Good! Now, come here.” He lifted her very easily and threw her up into the saddle. Once she was firmly seated, he took out a small jewelled knife from his pocket. “Give me your right foot, Mary,” he directed.

She shyly held out her foot, which he took firmly in his hand while he pried off her heel with his knife. She let go a small gasp of surprise.

“You were walking?” he prompted.

She ogled him momentarily before she replied with hesitation, “…to the far west boundary of the estate?”

“Quite so.” He examined handiwork with a frown. “I do hope these were not your best shoes,” he said ironically.

She blushed and proclaimed them to be her meanest, everyday pair.

“Good. Now, your heel…”

“Came off?”

He nodded and looked up at her. “And you were…”

“…considerably slowed,” she replied tentatively.

“You were all but lamed,” he corrected severely, “and your progress was…”

“Oh, laboured, sir, very laboured.”

He smiled up at her. “And now you are…”

She smiled back. “And now I am a little tired,” she proclaimed truthfully.

“No, you are quite done up,” he corrected again.

“Oh, I cannot be too bad!” she protested. “There will be such a fuss and I will be needed everywhere once I have calmed my father.”

“You will be as bad as I say you are, Rabbit,” he answered. “Now, hush.”

They rode up to the front of Greenly Manor, where a groom ran out to meet them. “Is that the miss?” he shouted.

“Of course it is,” Lord Robert replied severely. “Take my horse and see to it that he gets extra care, will you?”

The flustered boy rushed to the reins. “Is he all right, sir?”

“Perfectly. I am fond of him, that is all, and I would like him coddled,” Lord Robert replied loftily. He then reached up for Mary, who fell readily into his arms. He found that he did not dislike the sensation in the least, but he could not dwell on it overlong, for the door to the manor house flew open and Mrs. Darlington ran down the steps.

“Miss Mary! Miss Mary!” she cried. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? What could have happened to you? We have been in such a pucker! Oh, I was sure you’d broken your ankle and were lying in a ditch. I said to your papa…”

“Miss Fanley is uninjured,” Lord Robert interrupted, in a commanding tone, “but I do not like her being kept out in this wind. She is halfway to catching a chill.”

Mrs. Darlington flew to her nursling, flung her arms around her and bustled her into the main hall. “Your father is upstairs putting on his coat, about to mount a party to search for you. You had better go up and see to him!”

Just as Mary was about to fling herself up the stairs, Lord Robert stayed her with a firm hand. “My good woman,” he said firmly to the housekeeper, “Miss Fanley will do no such thing. She was walking rather far from here and lost the heel of her shoe, and now I am afraid she is quite done up. Send for her abigail immediately, and see that she has plenty of hot water, and perhaps a warm plaster for her right foot.”

Mrs. Darlington looked aghast and began to move as she was told. “I will personally see to Mr. Fanley — and, Mrs. Darlington,” he called after her, “see that your cook sends dinner up to Miss Fanley in her room within the hour.”

“You
are
in a coddling mood,” Mary whispered to him.

He looked at her and said in a low voice, “This is less a charade than you think, Rabbit. When you look in your mirror, you will see a very distressed young lady who is chilled to the bone, famished and worn to a thread. Now, be off with you, and leave the servants to do their jobs.”

Tired as she was, she still managed to thrust out her lower lip and give him a mulish glare before being ushered into the arms of her maid.

He had spoken no less than the truth; Mary Fanley saw clearly in the mirror that she was overwrought and exhausted. For once in her life she allowed herself to be stripped, washed and helped into her nightclothes like an infant. When a tray arrived with her dinner, she cried a few tears of relief thinking of all the things she had been spared from handling in her condition, and she devoured her meal in a somewhat unladylike way.

When she had gotten to the end of the meal, her maid brought in a pot of tea and warm milk. “Lord Robert asked me to bring this special, Miss, and he asks if he might step in for a moment?”

“Oh,” Mary said in a little confusion, “indeed, Cora, let him come in.”

He entered immediately upon being allowed in and looked around the room. “Cora, “I think Miss Fanley should have a better fire. Will you see to it?”

“Instantly, sir,” she said, and flew unthinkingly out of the room.

Lord Robert turned and looked at Mary, who sat apprehensively in her bed, with her lace cap a little ajar. “Shockingly improper,” he winked, “but I risk the parson’s mousetrap only for a moment.”

He approached and reached out his hand, which she took shyly. Her reply however, was not so timid as her handshake. “You had best have a care, Lord Robert. No doubt my father’s blunderbuss was loaded for the search party.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not think Mr. Fanley will shoot me in your bedchamber. When last I left him, he was at his ease in the library, where we will have our dinner together shortly.”

“Had he gone quite distracted?” she asked in dread, sitting forward as if she would leap from her bed.

“Quite.” He pushed her very gently back against her pillow. “But once he heard that you were not murdered by poachers he was much relieved. After two glasses of burgundy he was much less distressed by the incident with your shoe, and as of now, he is on his way to forgetting it altogether.”

“Oh, Robert, I thank you with all my heart,” she said, unthinkingly forgetting to mind his title. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

“That is gratitude I have hardly earned, Rabbit. Now, in the morning you may leave your room to come to breakfast. But I warn you not to go off into your incessant doing or I will have them fetch the doctor to bleed that lame foot.”

“That would be very cruel,” she said sleepily, “and I would have no choice but to tell my papa that you compromised me by visiting me alone in my room.”

“So he could shoot me with his blunderbuss.”

Mary yawned. “Yes, but perhaps he will do it in the yard to spare my rug.”

He chuckled and kissed her hand lightly before he tucked it into the bedclothes and bid her goodnight.