The Reckoning (31 page)

‘
I'll try not to let you down, sir,' Thomas said in a subdued
voice. He dared not look at his mother.

‘
You won't,' Danby said quietly. This thoughtful boy with
Lucy's face and Weston's eyes was everything he'd have
wanted in a child. He had loved Lucy all his life, and if he
couldn't have a child of his own out of her, he'd settle for
Weston's boy. He had liked and admired Weston, and he
owed him a great debt: if Weston hadn't died at Trafalgar, he
would have been the one to win Lucy when her widowhood
left her free. Danby wouldn't have stood a chance while
Weston lived; the least he could do was to take care of his son.

‘
Then it's agreed,' Lucy said. 'We'll announce it at dinner
tomorrow, and Beguid shall draw up the papers at once. And
as soon as it's all settled, we'll have a grand party to celebrate.
Oh, I am so glad you thought of it, Danby! It's the best thing
that's ever happened!’

She looked from her husband to her son with a glorious
smile of satisfaction, and all the softness of fulfilled love; and
they both thought she had never looked more beautiful.

*

Rosamund and Marcus, dressed for riding, clattered down the
wide oak staircase. It led to what had been the entrance hall
of the original, Tudor building, but since the entire house had
been turned around by the eighteenth-century additions, the
Oak Hall with its broad panelling and exquisite lacework
carving was now at the back, and merely a convenient short
cut to the stableyard.

‘
So what do you think of this scheme of your step-papa's,
to adopt Tom Weston?' Marcus asked her.

‘
I think it's splendid — don't you? And it will make every
thing much easier for us all.' She glanced at him. 'I suppose
you must know that he's Mama's son?'

‘
I imagine that's the best-known secret in London,' Marcus
said with a smile.

‘
Hmph. Well, she and the Captain did live together quite
openly, so I suppose everyone guesses. However, I call
Tommy a regular little trump, and I think it's first-rate.'

‘
It will certainly —' They went out into the courtyard, and
Marcus stopped dead at the sight of the two horses waiting for
them, being held by a pair of grooms. 'I say, Rosy, that's
Magnus Apollo, isn't it?'

‘
Of course,' Rosamund said, gathering up the fullness of
her skirt and stepping up onto the mounting-block.

‘
But you can't mean to ride him, surely?' Marcus said in
alarm. Rosamund was taller than her mother, but Magnus
still made her look slight and fragile. 'Does your mother
know?’

She laughed at that. 'Of course she does, simpleton. Do you
think I'd dare take him otherwise? Mother trusts me with
him.' She put her foot in the stirrup and stepped up, and the
big bay waltzed forward and back against the groom's
restraining hand as her weight came onto the saddle.

‘But he's too big and strong for you,' Marcus objected.

‘
Pho! Don't talk nonsense,' she said as she settled her
skirts. ‘Do you think Mother would let me ride him if there
were the least danger? Hurry up, Marcus, do, or I'll go
without you.’

He hurried, swinging himself up onto the decent-looking
hack which had been provided for him, as he had no horses of
his own to bring. Her last answer hadn't reassured him at all,
since he knew that Lady Theakston trusted Rosamund not to
hurt her horse, rather than not to hurt herself. But he was
beginning to learn that there was no future in arguing with
Rosamund; and he had graduated in holding his tongue from
the very best of schools — his mother's.

They trotted out of the yard into the park. As soon as they got onto the turf, Magnus wanted to gallop, and began to fly-
buck and canter on the spot. Rosamund held him, not in the
least perturbed by his antics; but Marcus watched him flexing
his jaw against the curb, and knew that she controlled him
only because he was willing to be controlled. He was a big,
strong horse, and if he decided to defy her, she would not
have the strength to hold him — it was as simple as that.

After a few minutes he settled down into a high, springy
trot which broke into a canter every few paces, but which was
obviously more comfortable to sit than the fast trot Marcus's
mount was forced to adopt in order to keep up. It made it
difficult to hold a conversation: he was aware that no man
looked his best posting along at double time like a monkey on
a stick. He wished he had suggested a walk instead of a ride;
but a walk would not have carried them so certainly away from everyone else and into privacy.

‘
Is your mother really going to hold a point-to-point?' he
asked after a moment, looking for a neutral subject.

‘
Of course. She wants Aylesbury to have a chance to shine,
and though he's very shy with people, he isn't at all a bad
rider. What do you think of his new horse?'

‘
A very useful type,' Marcus said. 'And I should think it'll do well over country — nice quarters.' He smiled at her with
some relief. 'I didn't understand that the point-to-point was
for Aylesbury's sake. I was afraid — but of course, he wouldn't
stand a chance of winning if your mother rode against him.'

‘
Oh, Mother will ride, all right,' Rosamund said casually,
shattering his hopes. 'She's been longing to race Magnus ever
since she got him, though of course she wouldn't do it in
public. But here on our own land, against only family and
close friends, Papa Danby says it will be quite all right.’

Marcus looked grave. 'Is that the advice he's given her? I
can hardly believe it. Surely Lord Theakston doesn't believe
that sort of thing is acceptable?’

Rosamund looked at him in surprise. 'Now what? What are
you talking about, Marcus? Who is there to object?’

‘
Well, my mother says —’

Rosamund's expression soured. 'Oh, your mother! I might
have guessed. What precisely is her objection, pray?’

‘
It isn't only her opinion, you know,' he said defensively.

‘There will be plenty of people who will say it's
mauvais ton.'

‘
Well we don't care for them, do we?' Rosamund said unkindly. 'We Morland women have always done pretty
much as we please, and I believe we can be trusted to draw
the line between what's proper and what isn't for ourselves –
don't you?’

He read between her lines with alarm. 'You don't mean –
oh Rosy, you aren't going to ride in this race yourself?'

‘
Of course I am. Mother's going to let me have Hotspur for
the day, and I shall give a good account of myself, I promise you.'

‘Oh Rosy, please, please don't! It's bad enough –’

He cut himself off abruptly, and her brows snapped
together. 'What's bad enough?’

He looked as though he wished he'd bitten out his tongue
before starting this. 'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

‘
No, come on, out with it. What has your mother been
saying about me now? Don't you think I've noticed her frosty looks? She was almost shattering glasses with them at dinner last night. You'd better tell, Marcus, and get it over with. I've
a right to know, haven't I?'

‘
She said –' He swallowed nervously. 'She was unhappy to
learn that you had dined alone at an inn with a man of unsavoury reputation. Now I told her it was all nonsense,' he went
on hastily, 'and that you'd never do such a thing in a thou
sand years –'

‘I certainly wouldn't!' Rosamund had begun to laugh.

‘
And I said she shouldn't listen to gossip, but she said she
had it from an impeccable source, and – oh Rosy, please don't
laugh!'

‘
I can't help it,' she said. 'Marcus, you're such a fool! Why
don't you tell her to mind her knitting? Or alternatively, tell
me that you can no longer associate with a woman of
impaired reputation? But do one thing or the other! If you go
on straddling two horses like this, you'll give yourself nothing
but pain.'

‘It isn't true, then?'

‘That's for you to decide. You miss the point.’

She closed her lips firmly, and they rode on in silence for a
while, Rosamund still struggling with amusement, though
there was a hint of hurt in it; Marcus struggling with far
weightier adjustments.
’Rosamund, I do love you very much,' he began at last.

‘You've a curious way of showing it.'

‘
What do you mean?'

‘You're strangely willing to believe the worst of me, on the flimsiest of evidence.'

‘
But I'm not! I didn't! I told Mama –!'

‘
I'm not interested in her opinion, Marcus. I don't behave
as I do in order to please her or offend her; and I wish you
would decide for yourself what
you
mind, and stick to that.
And now I'm going to have a gallop, because otherwise I think
I may very well say something I shall regret.'

‘But Rosamund –!’

She was gone. She had no need to spur Magnus on, only to
yield with her hands, and he sprang away like a stag. Marcus
was half-thrilled, half-appalled by the animal's speed. His
own mount was jogging and tugging, not wanting to be left
behind, and he let it go, and leaning forward urged it on in pursuit. There wasn't the slightest chance of drawing level
with Magnus Apollo, but he felt he must at least keep the big
horse in sight.

They galloped across open parkland, and after the first
mad dash, Magnus settled into a ground-eating hunting stride
which left Marcus's horse gradually further behind. Marcus
kept his eyes fixed on the slim, straight back ahead of him, still anxious, though glad to see how secure she looked in the saddle.

Now they came to widely scattered trees, and beyond them was the reflected shine of the river which divided Wolvercote
Park from Pixey Mead. Rosamund turned Magnus southward
to gallop parallel with the river, and Marcus took the oppor
tunity to cut a corner and catch up with her a little. After a
little less than half a mile they began to run out of parkland
as they came up to the mill. Marcus thought Rosamund
would turn again to continue round the perimeter of the park,
but instead she drove straight on, plainly heading for the open
spaces of the common beyond the mill.