The Bumblebroth (6 page)

Mattie's smile could not be contained any longer. She tilted her head and laughed accusingly at him.

"It is dormant," she said, reaching over to take it. "Before they are planted, roses must be pruned of all their foliage. But I am quite astonished that an expert like yourself, Lord Westbury— one who has cultivated both red and pink roses, if I have not forgotten the precise varieties— that a gentleman of your vast experience should not know that!"

"Ah, yes," William said, smiling to acknowledge how shamefully she had caught him out. "Most likely I should. You will have to pardon me, Duchess, for my deplorable memory."

"Not at all." Mattie placed the bush in the hole she had dug. "Your deplorable memory, sir, has afforded me a great deal of entertainment."

William stooped again and picked up the beaver hat he had tossed to one side. He brushed it casually with the cuff of his jacket, placed it at an angle on his head, and then tipped it to her.

"If I have been of any use to you at all, Duchess, then I must be eternally grateful." He bade her good day, and Mattie watched him move without hurry across the lawn.

She shook her head and laughed delightedly to herself. If Lord Westbury had been under the impression that he could deceive her as to his motives, she trusted he knew better now.      

Chapter Four

The next Tuesday morning, William was reading the paper over beefsteak and eggs, when a loud thump at the bottom of the stairs heralded the approach of his brother Gerald. Ready to hurl himself into the day, Gerald had obviously decided to skip the last eight steps of his descent.

A fair, boyish face, perched atop a gangly body, appeared in the doorway and lit up upon seeing William.

"Hullo, Will. Didn't expect to find you here."

"You had better not let Mama see you taking the steps in that manner, or you will receive a brisk lecture on proper gentlemanly behaviour."

Gerald started guiltily. "Is she up, then?" He cast a glance over his shoulder.

"What a disrespectful thing to ask. Of course, she is not yet risen. Mama is of the opinion that any female who breaks her fast before the hour of ten— noon in Town— must necessarily be vulgar."

Gerald chuckled, but as he strolled to the sideboard, he said with a shade of diffidence, "Oh, Will, Mama is not so bad as that."

"No?" William's brows rose in surprise. "You must be privy to a facet of her character that has been denied me.

"But," he said, changing the subject quickly, "Mama's character can wait. I am glad you are down, Gerry, as I have a proposal to make to you which involves my team of greys."

Gerald turned to the table, his plate heaped high with fish and strips of bacon. "Your team? You've brought them with you?"

William nodded, an understanding gleam in his eye. "I thought you might be interested. I need your help."

"If it has anything to do with that team, you've got it," Gerald said, straddling a chair. "Where are we going?"

"Not very far. I have promised to give Lady Pamela driving lessons this afternoon."

Gerald gaped and nearly choked on a piece of bacon. "You're going to let a female drive that team? You must be dicked in the nob."

"Flattery, my young cub, will get you nowhere. Do you wish to drive my team or not?"

"Of course, I want to drive them. Will I before or after Lady Pamela— whoever she is— ruins them? I'd rather not be blamed for the harm she'll do their mouths."

William allowed a rare grin to cross his lips. "Since you seem to have been spared this knowledge, I will inform you that Lady Pamela is our neighbour. She resides with her mother, the Duchess of Upavon, at Westbury Manor.

"And you need not fear for my greys if I do not. I think Lady Pamela will surprise you. She seems a quite capable sort of girl. And you will be driving with us during our lesson."

"Me? Play groom to a female? You must be bosky!"

"Gerald, may I remind you that you have just defended our mother to me. I am sure you can discover a buried snip of gallantry inside that thick skull of yours."

Gerald looked anything but comforted. "But, why? Why would you want to submit your prime tits, which must have cost you the better part of fifteen hundred guineas, to a lady?"

"She is not a lady yet. She is little more than a girl."

Gerald's brows rose, and a suspicious look came into his eyes. "Not your usual fare, is she?"

"Not at all, but she is that rare sort of girl who shows a complete mastery over her animals. I promised to teach her, and since I have pledged myself, I would like to have your company."

"Can't handle the team yourself?"

William replied with terrible firmness, "I must warn you, Gerald, that such disrespectful language could easily be misconstrued as an insult, which would do nothing to further your own expectations. I might be driven so far as to consider marriage as an option with which to cut you out of the succession."

Gerald whooped. "What gammon!"

"Indeed. I trust you will tell that to our mama."

Not having seen each other for many weeks, the two brothers embarked on a lively discussion which included the result of the last race-meeting they had both attended. The talk became quite heated, Gerald being of the opinion that the horse he had backed, and on which he had lost thirty pounds, had been grossly mis-ridden by its jockey, while William demurred, having backed the winner.

But by the time they pulled up at Westbury Manor and Gerald had been given the opportunity to drive William's greys, he was in high spirits once again.

This time, on knocking, William was greeted as if expected, although he could not fail to detect the disapproval in Barlow's carriage. Recognizing that it would behoove him to make an ally of Mattie's steward rather than an enemy, he set about placating him by being on his best behaviour.

He agreed meekly when Barlow announced that Her Grace would be down shortly and asked whether the gentlemen would not rather wait outside "to keep their horses from setting on the fret." William even managed not to grin at this rather clumsy attempt of Barlow's to mimic coaching slang.

Before the ladies joined them, Mattie's head groom, Stocker, limped stiffly out from the stables, ostensibly for the purpose of checking out the harness, although William suspected Stocker could not forego the opportunity to see such rum goers. William had made the groom's acquaintance on his last call, and had not been surprised to find that he, too, was an octogenarian.

"You'll be needin' a firm hand with these bits, my lord," he said, shaking his head dourly.

"You needn't fear for your mistress, Stocker. Even if I prove to be ham-handed, my brother Gerald will bring us about."

Gerald snorted, as well he might, for William was a noted whip. He had set a record time from London to Reading, which still had not been broken. However, Stocker gave no sign of having heard of William's well-earned reputation. He seemed to think that the entire party would be carried home on litters.

The arrival of the ladies put an end to their idling. William presented his brother, and Gerald managed a creditable bow. Lady Pamela, though shy, seemed eager to meet a boy about whose daring exploits she had heard so much.

William handed her into the front seat of the phaeton he had brought down for the purpose from London, while Gerald helped Mattie onto the rear bench.

"Now, you hold on, Miss Mattie," Stocker called anxiously from the horses' heads. "If the carriage goes to rolling, you just duck down below that box."

Amused by her groom's familiar address, William glanced over his shoulder in time to see Mattie flush. Had they all known her since her infancy then?

He did not let himself be distracted by her appearance, although this was the first time he had seen her without a smudge on her face. She was garbed in a blue riding habit which, though dated, seemed hardly to have been worn, and this piece of evidence helped to explain Stocker's unwarranted concern.

The blue became her, bringing out the blue of her eyes and the rose of her cheeks. So much so, in fact, that William felt an incurable urge to discover how Mattie would look in a ball gown of the same hue.

Pamela was eager to begin, so he raised the reins and coaxed the greys down the carriage way. Gerald had taken the edge off their friskiness, but still they took a moment to settle in to their paces. Unused to the countryside, they had the tendency to shy at the scurry of every squirrel or the flutter of every pheasant.

"Are you ready to take the ribbons, Lady Pamela?" William asked, when he thought they were ready for her.

She nodded, so he pulled the carriage to a halt. Gerald hopped down and ran to their heads while William explained the proper way to thread the reins through her fingers.

Watching from the back seat, Mattie strove not to appear too anxious, although the prospect of this outing had loosed butterflies in her stomach. She knew that the way to her daughter's heart would likely be through horses, and she had put herself on guard for Pammy's sake.

Nothing would be simpler for Lord Westbury, Mattie feared, than to exercise his considerable charm while teaching Pammy how to drive. Mattie stood ready to call a halt to the outing at the first hint of flirtatious behaviour.

As William patiently placed each of Pamela's fingers where it needed to be, Mattie could not truly fault his manner. There was nothing lover-like in his approach. He spoke to Pammy kindly, much the way His Grace had when teaching Mattie how to play whist when she had been of a similar age.

Despite this similarity— or perhaps, because of it, Mattie could not be certain— she felt her worry increasing. A subtle difference underlay the two episodes, but a difference Lord Westbury could not help. He could not be blamed for being so handsome, for having a voice both gentle and low, or for possessing hands that were at once, both strong and elegant.

Mattie focused on his hands as he shifted them farther down the reins to support Pamela's grip. Surely, the sight of such hands alone would attract any girl's notice. If not, then the tone of his hypnotic murmur would lure her. And if all else failed, which Mattie could not conceive of, then a look into Lord Westbury's keenly etched face would do the trick.

Mattie saw the way the horses tossed their heads, and William's correspondingly firm grasp upon the reins. His hands seemed bigger and his shoulders even broader as he controlled them.

Pamela was shy of him, but so eager to drive the carriage that she seemed hardly to notice his charm. William cautioned her once more as he adjusted one more loop between her fingers. He did not relinquish control entirely even when Pamela was ready, but placed his hands lightly over hers in case she should have need of him.

He gave the word, and Gerald jumped back onto the seat beside Mattie, stretching to see in front. Unused to a light open carriage, Mattie gripped the seat, expecting a lunge at the very least. But Pamela managed to ease the horses out fairly smoothly.

"Well done!" Gerald called. He was sitting so far forward that Mattie thought he might spill onto the two in front. "Have her tighten up on that leader, Will."

William made the adjustment without responding. After they walked the length of the drive, he encouraged Pamela to take the team out onto the road and trot them.

Her movement must have been too abrupt, for one of the leaders bolted. Mattie felt a sharp jerk backwards, but she recovered in time to see Pamela bringing the team back under control.

Instead of making a grab for the reins, William had calmly instructed Pamela how to do it herself.

"You shouldn't have had her trot them so soon, Will," Gerald grumbled. "You should have demonstrated longer than you did."

Mattie had to agree, but she could see that Pamela was thrilled to have stopped the horses on her own. Nothing daunted, she was eager to let them out again.

"Let me show her first, Will." Gerald bounced on the back seat.

"Gerald," William called patiently over his shoulder. "If you do not stop driving from the rear bench, I shall have to put you out."

Pamela giggled, and Gerald turned a mottled colour.

"Just trying to help," he muttered, falling back against the seat.

"You are helping, and you shall help again," William replied, "but you might try entertaining the duchess while awaiting your turn."

Gerald started guiltily, and Mattie hid a smile. He was an engaging boy, and she did not want to be a burden to him. Gerald had neither his brother's looks nor his Town polish, but his boyish enthusiasm pleased her.

To put him at his ease, she said, "I would be very grateful if you would explain some of the terms you and Lord Westbury are using. I am very ignorant, you see, when it comes to driving."

He brightened at a task he could so easily fulfill. "Certainly, Your Grace. Well, the two horses in front are called the leaders, naturally, and the two in back are known as wheelers. Each nag is guided by a set of ribbons— which is what we call the reins."

Seeing that Mattie had followed his very basic introduction, Gerald continued, "Did you see how Will made Lady Pamela lace the ribbons through her fingers?"

She nodded.

"Well, it is done that way, you see, so one won't get them tangled up, and each horse may be controlled separately."

Gerald went on, and Mattie lent him half an ear while she strained to listen to the conversation taking place between her daughter and William. She half-feared that Lord Westbury had set his brother the task of distracting her so that he could sweep Pammy off her feet when her mother was not watching. But, for the moment at least, she heard nothing to confirm her suspicions.

William took back the reins, and immediately Gerald's attention shifted forwards.

"Is it my turn, Will?" he asked eagerly.

"In a moment."

William showed Pamela how to turn the carriage in a tight spot in the road. Then, he addressed the proper way to hold the whip.

He gave a flick to his leader's ear, and the phaeton bounded forward, just as William trapped the thong in his fist.