Promise Me Tomorrow (15 page)

Before they started, she made sure to remind Lady Buckminster that she required a placid, preferably slow mount. The woman gave her a faintly pitying look, but Marianne saw with satisfaction that while Penelope was mounted on a splendid bay mare, her own horse was a pudgy, docile pony. Lord Buckminster gave her a leg up, and she managed to mount as clumsily as she could. He manfully stayed with her at the back of the party, matching his own spirited steed’s pace to her plodding one, but she could see that he shot envious glances from time to time ahead of him, where Nicola and Penelope rode with Verst, Lord Lambeth and the other young men. Only Westerton, an admittedly poor horseman, stayed back with them, irritating Buckminster further by vying with him for Marianne’s attention.

Lady Buckminster was right, Marianne saw. Penelope did ride well. Her trim little figure was almost one with the horse. Her riding habit suited her, for even Lady Ursula could not advocate an insipidly pale riding suit, and the warm brown set off her hair and eyes well. Her face was flushed with happiness, and her eyes sparkled, and Marianne noticed that Verst was paying a good deal of attention to her.

“It seems a dreadfully long way to go by horseback,” Marianne whined. “Why couldn’t we have gone in carriages?”

“Yes, a curricle would have allowed one to enjoy the air just as much,” Mr. Westerton agreed, happy to have found an ally among his horse-mad friends.

“You have to travel cross country,” Buckminster explained with a smile to Marianne and an irritated glance at his friend. “Why, even the wagon that the servants and food are taking can’t make it all the way to the falls. They will have to carry it the remainder of the way.”

Of course these people would think nothing of making their servants trek across rough terrain with baskets and blankets and such for their convenience, Marianne thought sourly.

“It sounds dreadful,” she said, allowing a touch of petulance to creep into her voice. “Is it really worth all the trouble?”

“Oh, the Falls is a beautiful sight,” Lord Buckminster assured her. “The waters fall a hundred feet. You have to see Lydford Gorge to appreciate it. I know you’ll find the beauty well worth the trek.”

Marianne set her mouth in a pout. “I certainly hope so. It is so hot already. I do hope that I won’t turn brown.” She touched her pale cheek with concern.

She saw doubt creep into Bucky’s eyes, but then he dismissed it and smiled at her. “You look beautiful,” he assured her stoutly.

Marianne smiled back. She definitely thought she was making some inroads on his infatuation.

After a few miles, they saw three other riders approaching them: two men and a woman, all mounted on excellent animals. Lady Buckminster hailed them with a hearty shout and wave.

“Who is that?” Marianne asked curiously.

“Oh. That’s the Earl of Exmoor. He has guests staying with him, and they’re joining us today. Miss Cecilia Winborne and her brother, Fanshaw.” Buckminster’s tone was colorless, and Marianne glanced at him sharply. She had the strong suspicion that he did not like one or more of the approaching group.

“Miss Winborne—she is the one who is going to marry Lord Lambeth, is she not?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully casual.

“They’re not engaged,” Buckminster replied almost sharply. “People say that, but Lambeth’s never offered for her.”

“I get the impression that you are not fond of Miss Winborne.”

Bucky’s stiff face relaxed, and he smiled at her. “You are too sharp for me, Mrs. Cotterwood. The Winbornes are a cold lot, I think. Good family and all, but…well,
I
certainly wouldn’t want to marry her.”

“I am sure Lord Lambeth will not mind,” Marianne replied frostily.

On the other side of her, Westerton chuckled. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Everyone’s been pushing the match for years, but Justin’s not been very forward with his suit, I must say.”

The two groups came together, and Marianne surveyed the others with interest. Lord Exmoor was a man approaching fifty, with streaks of silver running through his brown hair at the temples. His features were rather sharp and not unattractive, except for his mouth, which was thin and had a rather sneering set to it. He was tall and still fit for a man his age, and he sat his horse well. On either side of him were Cecilia Winborne and her brother. Cecilia’s hair was jet black, and her eyes were a cool gray. She would have been quite attractive, Marianne thought, if her features had not been stamped with such hauteur. Her brother, though much older, looked enough like her to be a twin.

“Lady Buckminster,” the Earl said, sweeping off his hat and bowing to the older woman. “Pleasure to join you on this outing.”

“Lovely day for it, eh?” Lady Buckminster countered jovially. “Hallo, Cecilia, Fanshaw. Glad you could join us.”

Cecilia responded politely to Lady Buckminster, but Marianne noticed that her eyes sought out Lord Lambeth. He nodded toward her, but Marianne could see no sign of affection in his face. Beside him, Nicola urged her horse forward so that she faced Lord Exmoor.

“Where is Deborah?” she asked, and Marianne was surprised to see that Nicola’s face was white and set and her eyes blazing.

“Your sister could not join us,” the Earl replied smoothly, startling Marianne even more. Nicola had not said a word about her sister living nearby. “She is indisposed, I’m afraid. You know that she is a trifle invalidish.”

“She never was before she married you,” Nicola snapped. The air around her fairly crackled with antagonism. Everyone else in the group looked at them with interest.

“Oh, dear,” Bucky muttered under his breath. He cast an apologetic glance at Marianne and said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Cotterwood.”

He urged his horse forward to form the third point of a triangle with Nicola and the Earl of Exmoor. “Good morning, Exmoor. Sorry Deborah could not be here. Nicola was so looking forward to seeing her. Weren’t you, Nicky?”

He reached out and closed his hand around her wrist, looking into Nicola’s eyes. For a moment Marianne thought that Nicola was going to jerk her wrist away and launch into a speech, but she relaxed and gave her cousin a tight smile.

“Yes. I was.” She did not look at Exmoor.

“Please send Deborah our best wishes,” Buckminster added to the Earl, who nodded.

“Better get going,” Lady Buckminster boomed. “Wasted enough time already.

Bucky urged his horse forward, positioning himself between Nicola and Exmoor. He talked quietly to Nicola as they moved ahead of the rest, and Penelope joined them. The Earl fell back beside Alan Thurston, while Cecilia and her brother mingled with Lambeth, Verst and the other young men. Cecilia twisted around in her saddle, looking behind her, and her gaze fell on Marianne. She looked at her for a moment without expression, then turned forward again.

Marianne watched the group from her perspective behind them, her mind only half on Mr. Westerton’s chatter. Cecilia had taken up a place beside Lord Lambeth, but after a while Lambeth dropped back to talk with Lady Buckminster’s friends, the Mintons, leaving Cecilia with Verst and Lord Chesfield. After a few more moments he left the Mintons and pulled off to the side, waiting with an air of patience until Marianne and Mr. Westerton pulled close to him.

Lambeth swept off his hat and bowed toward her. “Mrs. Cotterwood. Mr. Westerton.” He directed a meaningful gaze at the other man. “I’m surprised to see you are not riding with your friend Chesfield and the others.”

“Lambeth, really, you know my skill on horseback. I wouldn’t even have come today except that her ladyship insisted.”

“Mmm. Too bad. Miss Winborne was asking about you.”

Westerton’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Cecilia Winborne? She thinks I’m an impertinent fool, you know that.”

“Still, scarcely polite of you not to greet her, don’t you think? I am sure you would find it more enjoyable riding there.” He looked at Westerton blandly, one brow cocked, until finally the other man sighed.

“Yes. All right. I will yield the field to you, Lambeth. Mrs. Cotterwood, if you would excuse me?” He bowed toward her and urged his pony into a trot.

Marianne watched him ride, bouncing madly, up to the group that included his friend. Marianne cast a jaundiced look at Lord Lambeth. “You certainly have a way with people.”

“Yes.” He did not look at all abashed. “’Tis one of my many charms.”

They rode along in silence for a moment, then Lambeth gestured toward where Buckminster rode with Nicola and Penelope. “It looks as if you have lost one of your swains.”

“Both of them, actually—thanks to you,” Marianne pointed out sarcastically.

“I did help Westerton along,” he admitted, “but I can lay no claim to Buckminster.”

“What was that all about?” Marianne asked, her curiosity overriding her desire to freeze out Lord Lambeth.

Lambeth shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure if Bucky does. But it is a well-known fact that Nicola despises the Earl of Exmoor.” Lambeth’s lip curled a little as he said the name.

“I take it you are not very fond of the man, either.”

“He is not a man I would call my friend, but I would not classify him as an enemy, either. There is simply something about him…” His voice trailed off.

“But Nicola’s sister is married to him?”

“Yes. They’ve been married for several years now. I suppose the enmity between Nicola and Richard has something to do with the marriage, but I’m not sure what. My guess would be that he is less than an ideal husband. One never sees Deborah anymore. She always stays here in the country, doesn’t come to London. Apparently she’s rather invalidish; my understanding is that she has had several disappointments concerning heirs.”

Marianne took this statement to be a socially approved way of intimating that she had miscarried several times. “Oh. I see. Poor woman.”

Cecilia Winborne turned around again to look back at Marianne. There was no expression in her face as she took in the sight of Lord Lambeth riding beside her, but Marianne had the suspicion that Miss Winborne was not destined to be her friend.

Confirming her guess, Lambeth said, “Miss Winborne has come to protect her investment, I believe.”

“Her investment?”

Lambeth flashed a sardonic grin at her. “Don’t tell me you have not heard the rumors that she and I have ‘an understanding.’”

“Yes. Are they unfounded?”

Again he shrugged. “It is what our families want. What Cecilia wants.”

“And you?”

“She is as eligible as any other young woman. And at least she has the advantage of not expecting me to dance attendance on her or spout words of love. She will enter into it in the same manner I do.”

“A business arrangement only? No love?”

“That is the way marriage usually is. An alliance with another family. Love does not enter into it.”

“For a future duke, perhaps,” Marianne conceded. “Not for everyone.”

“No doubt you and your husband were a love match,” he retorted in a cynical voice.

Marianne stiffened. She had forgotten for a moment her role as a widow. “What Mr. Cotterwood and I were is none of your business, my lord.”

“Of course not. But that does not stop my curiosity about the man.”

“Well, I am afraid that it shall have to remain unfulfilled. I prefer not to discuss my late husband.”

“Mmm. Not even to the extent of saying whether he is actually dead or not?”

“What? How dare you?” Marianne’s cheeks flamed, though she was not sure whether it was from anger or embarrassment.

“Come, come, you do not have to dissemble in front of me. I am the one person here who knows that you are a sham, and I frankly do not care, although I sincerely hope that you and your friends will refrain from stripping Bucky’s house bare. Lady Buckminster would be quite unhappy to lose her treasures.”

“As long as it was not her horses, I’m not sure Lady Buckminster would care,” Marianne retorted frankly.

He smiled faintly. “You might be right about that. But we are getting off the subject.”

“Which is?’

“I would like to know about you—the person you really are. Rosalind’s mother, for instance. A woman of great beauty and passion. But what else? I don’t even know if Cotterwood is really your name. Somehow I doubt it.”

“This conversation is absurd. If I were the person you maintain I am, why would I admit any of it to you?”

“Perhaps because it might be pleasant to have an honest relationship with someone?”

“I know what sort of relationship you wish with me,” Marianne replied, bitterness staining her voice. “I have never heard that it was a particularly honest one.”

“Indeed? I think sometimes it is far more honest and real than most marriages. At least it springs from genuine passion.”

Marianne cast him a contemptuous look. “On the side of the man, perhaps. After all, he is the buyer. The woman is the seller, and she, like most salespeople, tells him what he wants to hear.”

“Ouch. A direct hit.” Lambeth chuckled. “You certainly do not try to spare a man.”

“What is the point? All relationships to you are business. A wife, a mistress, whatever light-of-love you choose to spend the night with—they are all the same to you, things that you can buy. Are they not? Why should you recoil from hearing that there is no feeling in return?”