The Bumblebroth (7 page)

To Mattie, the quick movement seemed a miracle of precision, so she was surprised when Gerald said, "What's got into you, Will? I've never seen you make such a mess of it."

"Thank you, Gerald. If I had known that you meant to point out my faults to the ladies, I would have had second thoughts about bringing you along."

Lord Westbury's teasing note robbed the words of their sting, and Gerald laughed. But Mattie was confused.

"I must say," she confessed to Gerald in a low whisper, "that I failed to see that your brother did anything amiss."

Gerald hovered anxiously over William's head as he attempted the manoeuvre again. "It's not that he did anything wrong, but I've never seen Will startle his horses so."

Lord Westbury tried the flick of the ear again, but his horses jerked forward as if they had shied.

"Will!" Gerald's voice was plaintive. "You shouldn't be teaching Lady Pam to do it the wrong way."

"Then, perhaps you would like to show her yourself," William said over his shoulder. "I seem to be missing the knack today."

Gerald eagerly agreed, and as soon as William brought the team to a halt, leapt out of the seat to go to the horses' heads. William trusted Pamela to hold the reins while the exchange of drivers was quickly effected, then came around back and climbed in beside Mattie.

She found that William occupied considerably more of the bench than Gerald had. Whether his larger size was to blame, or something more mysterious, she could not tell, but she immediately felt his nearness in a burst of heat.

As Gerald drove, William met her gaze, and a deprecating smile lit his eyes before it touched his lips. "I am afraid that I have just been given my conge."

"No, not at all!" Mattie felt an absurd desire to defend him. "You taught Pammy beautifully, and I am certain she is most grateful."

William sighed. "You are too kind, Duchess. It is always wounding to one's pride to be outshone by one's younger brother."

"You could not be outshone." The words escaped her before she thought.

An irrepressible grin lit up his face, and Mattie was conscious once again of a heat stealing over her. Why, oh, why, she thought, did this man make her so uncomfortable?

"Thank you, Duchess. Or may I call you Mattie since we are neighbours, and everyone else seems to do so?"

His request took her off guard. She was not familiar with the way such matters were decided in society these days, but His Grace's household had always been a casual one. At least, where she was concerned.

Mattie knew her servants' familiarity must appear quite odd to a man who had been raised by Lady Westbury, so she hastened to explain. "You will think that I have a shocking lack of authority where my servants are concerned, and I must admit that I have. I was raised by His Grace after my parents died in a boating incident. You may have noticed that my servants tend to coddle me, but they all raised me, you see. They never have stopped thinking of me as a child."

"I should think that your marriage would have made them notice you had matured, if nothing else did." William's tone was perfectly even, but the accompanying glance, which raked her figure lightly, disconcerted her.

Flustered, and feeling her pulse quicken in response, Mattie blurted, "His Grace hardly noticed me himself, so why should they?"

William's brows jerked together. A question hovered behind them, but he did not speak it aloud.

"What I meant," Mattie said, talking much too quickly, she knew, "was that His Grace did not concern himself with social niceties. We married with little fanfare and went back to living the way we had always done."

"Surely, not entirely?"

His questions were making her uneasy. How could one explain to a man of the world the sort of life she had led? There had been one difference, of course, and that difference had led to Pamela's birth, but it had not disrupted their routine for long.

"Not . . . entirely, no. Of course, not. But His Grace was getting along in years, as you must know, and his habits were already fixed."

"I understood that he seldom traveled. I only saw him in London a few times, and never in the Lords."

"No, he did not care for society. He had a tight circle of friends whom he did visit, and we had a few card parties of our own. He was quite fond of whist."

At William's appalled expression, Mattie took herself up short.

"You must not think that I yearned for more," she said, unsettled by his evident interest. "I found I did not care for London myself, and I had my gardening."

"Yes." William's look became teasing. "The consuming passion we two share."

Mattie felt her lips pulling up at the corners. It was going to be very difficult to suppress Lord Westbury's impudence, if he could not regret it himself.

She was so engaged by their conversation, she scarcely noticed what was going on in front of her until Gerald called back to them, "I say, Will! Your Grace! See what Lady Pam can do."

Mattie was surprised to note that an easy camaraderie had already sprung up between the two young people. Pamela was no more used to driving with gentlemen than Mattie was, but she was used to horses, and this shared interest had given her something to talk about. She and Gerald had been chattering like two cooks over a stew.

Once Gerald had their attention, he gave Pamela the word to begin. She attempted William's trick with the whip, and managed to step up the horses' pace without making them spring.

At Mattie's side, William gave another despairing sigh. "Bested first by my brother, and then by my pupil. This has been a very trying day."

Mattie had to laugh. She knew he had meant to impress Pamela with his driving skill. As ignorant as she was, she knew at least that much about gentlemen. But for all his efforts, Pammy seemed to prefer Gerald as her teacher.

"You should never have brought your brother along," she told William pityingly. "Though I must say, I am glad you did. He is a delightful boy, and so good with horses."

William winced. "I can see that my reputation has suffered a blow. On a future lesson, I shall have to issue Gerald a challenge."

"Future lesson?" The butterflies in her stomach resumed their fluttering. "Are there to be more?"

William looked surprised. "You didn't think that Lady Pamela could learn how to drive in just one, did you? I am sorry if you did, but this is only the first of many. Even as capable as she is, she must have more if she is to be trusted with her own carriage."

"But do ladies ever drive themselves?"

"In London it is all the rage. She will be going to London, will she not, in the near future?"

"Yes." Mattie nodded, trying to hide her misery at the thought. Her ignorance of ladies' driving habits was as great as it was on any other matter of style. How would she ever manage to stage Pammy's presentation ball?

"Have I said something to distress you, Mattie?"

She shook her head at William's kind tone. "No, of course not. I simply had not thought so far ahead."

Realizing that this might be a good opportunity to remind him of Pammy's age, she added, "Thoughts of Pamela's London days are quite premature."

"Are they?" William allowed his dubious tone to speak for him. "She must have begun to think of it, nevertheless."

"I do not think so." Mattie drew herself up. It was time to recall her purpose in accompanying them. "I see no point in filling her head with matters she is too young to consider. There will be time and enough for London when she is grown."

She turned and made a discreet sign behind Gerald's back, before confiding to William in a whisper, "You must have noticed how much the child she is. She is younger than your brother, after all."

"But girls tend to marry so much younger than boys. You did so yourself."

A fear for Pamela stung her like a whip to her heart. "Yes, but that was extraordinary. If I had not been His Grace's ward, I am certain I never should have married him."

William's quick frown, his eyes softening with concern, awoke her to what she had said, and she hastened to amend it. "What . . . I meant, of course, was that I probably would not have met him."

"Ahhhh. Is that what you meant."

William's tone was rhetorical, but even so, Mattie had to fight the urge to explain herself further.

Feeling vulnerable, whether on Pammy's account or her own, she decided that it was time to call a halt to today's lesson. She suggested a return to the house, and was relieved when William did not protest. He seemed so confident, so flexible, as if no matter what twists came his way, he would be assured of winning.

Perhaps that was what flustered her about him, Mattie decided. That, and not really knowing what he was thinking.  A secret gleam often seemed to lurk in his eyes. His smile was so unrevealing. At times, she thought he was laughing at her, but perhaps he was only amused by something else.

Gerald and Pamela had been talking animatedly while Gerald negotiated the gate, but now he called back, "I say, Will. Lady Pam has had the capital notion of setting up a breeding stud. Could we take her to visit Haverhill's stables?"

"Might I go, Mattie?" Pamela asked.

Mattie heard the eagerness in her child's voice, and fear gripped her again. Had Pammy already fallen prey to William's charms?

"We could discuss it," Mattie said, hoping to delay her decision.

But William, turning to her with a questioning look, made this impossible. "I should be most happy to conduct Lady Pamela to Lord Haverhill's estate. If she is seriously giving thought to setting up her stud, she would benefit greatly by seeing it. Haverhill might be willing to part with one of his stud's offspring, and she could do much worse."

When he saw her reluctance, he added, "Gerald will go with us, of course. I don't suppose we could prevent him in any way short of shackling him to the barn."

Before Mattie could say anything to discourage him, Gerald embarked on a description of the stud's bloodlines, in which the names Eclipse, Herod and the Darley Arabian figured prominently. "You absolutely must see it, Lady Pam."

Mattie could easily imagine the light that must be shining in Pamela's eyes. She could hear the excitement in her daughter's voice all too clearly.

As anxious as she was about her daughter's heart, Mattie could do nothing to prevent this particular event. Her very hesitation had as good as committed them.

"Certainly, she may go," Mattie said, but then she turned to face William and hoped she looked firm. "But if she goes, then, necessarily, so must I."

"I would not have it any other way," William replied, and she could almost believe the note of sincerity in his voice, which was absurd. He was lounging back against the bench, looking for all the world like the cat who'd got the cream.

"Pammy is far too young to be undertaking such a project, and far, far too young to go on outings without me."

"As you say, Mattie." William smiled, and the power of his dark eyes fell upon her.

Lord have mercy on my poor baby, Mattie thought.

Chapter Five

As anxious as she had been about the outing, Mattie was almost sorry to see it end. She had never felt so stimulated, and she began to think that taking the air in an open carriage must be as efficacious as the medical men always said it was.

Before the gentlemen departed, Lord Westbury named a prospective date for the trip to Haverhill Grange, saying that he would call to confirm it within the sennight. Reflecting on the potential danger to her daughter's heart, Mattie saw in this provision an opportunity to put him off.

Upon their return, as soon as Pamela had run up to her room to change, Mattie spoke to Barlow. In as discreet a manner as she could manage, she gave him to understand that Pamela must never receive Lord Westbury alone.

"I perfectly understand, Your Grace. You may trust me to see that the gentleman in question does nothing to disturb your serenity."

"Thank you, Barlow," Mattie responded, while conceding to herself that William already had. "I think he will soon take the hint. Don't you?"

"One can always hope, Your Grace." Barlow's lugubrious tone discouraged her from believing anything of the kind.  "Although— if you will forgive the presumption— I have noticed that his mother, Lady Westbury, is surprisingly impervious to the discreet inflections one tries to use to achieve such discouragement."

"Well, we shall hope that her son is less so."

"As you say, Your Grace."

Mattie watched him amble off, feeling that her daughter was under siege, and that she herself was the only able-bodied soldier left to defend her.

Mattie's worry was justified only a few days later when, once again, William appeared in her garden. As on the first occasion, Mattie was wearing one of her outmoded gowns.

Turner's speed with a needle had been seriously curtailed by the rheumatism in her joints, and none of the gowns Mattie had ordered were ready yet. This muslin had been dug from the very bottom of her bureau, but it was the only suitable clothing she could find. Its skirt was shorter than was fashionable, and it revealed a hint of calf above her stout boots.

William, polite as he was, gave no sign of noticing her outlandish garb, but Mattie was certain he must be comparing her to the ladies he knew in London.

"Good morning, Duchess," he said, sweeping off his beaver. "I thought I might find you here. It is a glorious day for gardening, is it not?"

"So glorious, in fact, that I am astonished to see you here when you might be busy with your own projects." The tartness of her own reply surprised her, but it simply was not fair for him to catch her at a disadvantage again.

"Oh, you needn't fear for my projects. I was up with the larks."

Not waiting to be invited, he stretched himself out on the ground to watch her as he had done before.

"I tried the house, naturally, but your man informed me that neither you nor Lady Pamela was at home."

Mattie stabbed the earth with her spade. William was proving to be every bit as arrogant as his mother.

"I am afraid that he did so under my instructions," she informed him.