Toblethorpe Manor (29 page)

“I have plenty of friends with hunting boxes in Leicestershire, but nary a one with a chef like Alphonse,” laughed his lordship. “Nor one who has such charming guests. I hope we are friends, Miss Stuart. Will you not call me Harry?”

“If you wish. And you may call me Rosalind. After all, though we are newly acquainted, you have known Charles forever.”

“And he is a major, while I am a mere captain. Shall I dare address the cousin of a superior officer by her Christian name?”

“Yes, for Charles is only a reservist now, and any corporal of the Regular Army may lord it over him.”

“They would not dare, Rosalind. Certainly I should not!”

Rosalind blushed a little to hear him use her name, then remembered that this was her last fling. She had no intention of committing any improprieties, but she did not think allowing an old friend of her cousin to call her by her given name could be considered fast, merely a little forward perhaps.

“Should we not turn back, Harry?” she asked tentatively. “The party that went to Leicester must be returned by now and I should like to know what play they have found.”

“By all means. Let me tell you the plot I have worked out whereby you shall play the heroine and I the hero.”

“I have never acted in my life!” she exclaimed, but he overrode her protests, and all the way back to the house he whispered conspiratorially in her ear.

The delegation had found a melodrama with no less than five parts for the ladies and the same number for the gentlemen. As Harry had foreseen, there immediately arose an argument over who should play which part. All the ladies wanted to be the heroine, and none of the gentlemen wanted to be the hero, pronouncing him a regular slow-top. Rosalind and Harry watched in amusement, Lord Denham in disgust, as the squabble descended to the nursery level among the younger ladies present. At last Harry stepped forward.

“If none of you fellows will take the part,” he said in tones of great self-sacrifice, “I feel it my duty, as your host’s brother, to rescue the project by offering myself to play Sir Roderick. And pray note, young ladies, how unrewarding is the part of Patience Allgood. I find she has not a word to say until page thirty, while Lady Toplofty, the maid and the other two females never close their mouths. They offer far more scope for a display of talent.”

He was heartily seconded by an assortment of young men anxious to see their sisters cease quarreling. Fortunately, there were precisely four aspiring actresses who quickly agreed on which role was whose. The remaining male parts were divided among those gentlemen least reluctant to make a cake of themselves. Finally, only the heroine was unchosen. Rosalind listened in amazed admiration as, without once mentioning her name, Harry persuaded the others that only she was suitable for the part. She accepted gracefully, her eyes laughing at Harry.

“Indeed,” she declared, “I should hesitate to presume myself capable of taking any part less dull. I hope I shall prove adequate to this.”

“You see,” said a grinning Harry to her later, “was it not exactly as I predicted? These affairs are always the same, and I’d
wager the plays are all written by the same hack with just such a party in mind. I must beg your pardon for insinuating that Patience Allgood could be played only by a lady of mature years who would not object to so uninteresting a part. You being the only unmarried lady over twenty it seemed the best way to direct them towards you.”

“I felt I must be positively in my dotage,” she replied. “Surely one of the married ladies might have liked the role.”

“Ah, but I do not want a married lady for my heroine,” pointed out Harry with a glint in his eye that made her blush. “If you are in your dotage now, I very much wish I could have seen you in your youth.”

“I suppose that is a compliment?” inquired Rosalind. “A more involved one I have yet to hear. Come, we should be reading over our parts. Charles says you will be hunting tomorrow, so there will be no opportunity then.”

All the gentlemen and most of the ladies followed the hunt the next day. Rosalind walked in the shrubbery for an hour with Emma Denison, and then she inquired of the butler whether there was a pianoforte in the house, as there was none in any of the rooms she had seen.

“Yes indeed, miss,” replied the butler. “There is an Instrument in the Long Gallery. None of the Family being musically inclined, as you might say, nor yet most of our usual Guests, the Instrument was put there out of the way. However, I have made it my Business to see that the Instrument has been kept in order, and I venture to say that I think you will find the Instrument quite Adequate, miss, quite Adequate. If you will follow me, miss, I shall lead you to the Instrument.”

The Long Gallery was a pleasant room on a sunny morning, with a long wall of windows facing east. Rosalind could see that at other times it would be extremely difficult to heat, and was not surprised that it was not in general use at this season. The Instrument proved to be in excellent condition, and she enjoyed several hours browsing through the collection of faded sheet music she found in the piano stool. She promised herself that the following day she would play the Beethoven she had brought with her. When Charles was in town in July, he had found her a whole book of sonatas by the great man.

The first part of the afternoon passed in reading and conversation with Emma, Lady Catherine and two or three other nonhunters. Towards four o’clock, feeling restless, Rosalind proposed a walk. None of the others showed the slightest inclination to leave their comfortable chairs by the cosy fire, so she decided to go alone. Lady Catherine assured her that she need not take a groom or her maid as long as she did not leave the park. Wrapping up warmly, she set off by herself.

She walked briskly, and hoping to catch sight of the hunt, which must surely soon be returning, she went rather farther than she had intended. When she turned back the sun was already low in the western sky, and the autumn trees blazed in its red light. She was barely half a mile from the house when she heard cantering hooves behind her and looked round.

Coming toward her across the level turf was a tall rider on a horse that glowed richly chestnut in the long rays of the setting sun. They seemed to be appearing straight out of her favorite dream, the prince on the charger who would sweep her off her feet and carry her to a glorious future. She caught her breath.

The rider did not gallop on, seizing her on his way. Instead, he pulled up beside her and dismounted. He looked at her with a question in his eyes, which was reflected in hers. She felt strangely sure she knew this man, though she did not recognize him, and she was startled when he said abruptly, “Miss Stuart.” There was a note in his voice that sounded to Rosalind like mingled disappointment and relief.

“Do…do I know you, sir?” she asked, looking up into his dark face.

“No, no. I…Charles has described you to me, that is how I recognized you. I am Richard Carstairs, his future brother-in-law.” He still had a questioning look.

“Lucy’s brother!” exclaimed Rosalind, reassured. “Are Lady Annabel and Lucy—Miss Carstairs—arrived then?”

“They are to spend the night in Nottingham and come on in the morning. I rode ahead.” To see you, he ached to say.

“They will be here early, then. Lord Denham did not expect you all till tomorrow evening. Charles will be so happy; he has missed Miss Carstairs dreadfully. I long to meet her.”

“And she you. Are you out here quite alone, Miss Stuart? It is growing dark.”

“I did not mean to go so far,” she confessed. The sun had disappeared beyond the woods and the air was suddenly chill. She shivered.

Without thinking, Richard dropped Flame’s bridle, took off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. She looked at him in surprise.

“Thank you,” she murmured after a moment.

Richard had caught her expression and felt himself flush. He had not realized how hard it would be to treat her as a stranger. “Come,” he said roughly, “I will walk with you.”

He took up the reins, and Flame followed them as they headed toward the house. They had covered half the distance when Rosalind stumbled on some obstacle invisible in the dusk.

Immediately Richard’s steadying hand was on her elbow. “Are you hurt?” he asked. She shook her head. “Take my arm. It is too dark to see where we are walking.”

She obeyed, and the light pressure of her hand filled him with memories. Rosalind had none, yet though she could no longer distinguish his face, she sensed his emotion and wondered. They went on in silence and soon reached the house.

Chapter 18

“Rosalind!” cried Lord Harry as she entered the hall. “We were on the point of launching a search party.”

“Oh dear!” Rosalind gazed with dismayed embarrassment at the agitated crowd. “I never thought that I had been gone long enough to worry anyone. But you will forgive me when you hear that I have brought an addition to our party. Mr. Carstairs has arrived. He has just taken his horse round to the stables.”

Charles was beside her, his worried eyes searching her face. “Are you all right, Ros?” he asked anxiously. “How did you come across Richard?”

Thinking he was concerned about her long absence, Rosalind explained that she had met Mr. Carstairs in the park and had been delayed in conversation, or she would have returned before dark. Charles noted with relief that she did not appear at all unwell.

Lord Denham had managed to shepherd his guests into the drawing room. His brother joined the cousins.

“Much ado about nothing,” he commented jauntily. “We all came home an hour ago, and my aunt would have it that you had gone to meet us. As we had none of us seen you, she decided to have the vapors, and everyone has been running around clucking since, driving poor Tony to distraction.”

“I must go to Lady Catherine at once!” declared Rosalind. “And then I shall apologize to Lord Denham. Indeed, I did not mean to cause such an upset.”

“Harry exaggerates,” reassured Charles. “It is but half an hour since we all returned. Lady Catherine has clucked once or twice, Tony merely looks slightly harassed, and the rest are thoroughly enjoying what little excitement they can derive from your belated appearance. I am sure that Richard’s arrival will drive all else from everyone’s minds.”

“Harry, you odious wretch!” Rosalind complained as Richard came through the door.

Charles’s prophecy seemed to be entirely accurate. Mr. Carstairs was warmly welcomed, questioned about his family’s whereabouts, introduced to those few he had not previously met, and told of the forthcoming performance. Miss Stuart missed most of this, as Lady Catherine had sent her up to her chamber to rest before changing for dinner.

At last all dispersed to their rooms, leaving Lord Denham, Harry, Charles and Richard standing before the drawing room fire.

“She didn’t know you, then,” said Charles to Richard. “I saw no signs of pain or distress, so all may be well. It seems that Dr. Knighton was right, that time was the key.”

Richard had intercepted the laughing glance between Rosalind and Harry as he had entered the house and could not agree that all was well. “It is more difficult than I expected to act as a stranger,” he admitted soberly. “I find I must constantly guard my tongue.”

“I have several times near come to grief,” agreed Lord Denham, “and I did not know ‘Miss Fell’ half so well as you.”

“Not I,” asserted Harry. “I find no difficulty in treating an exceptionally delightful female as she deserves.”

“So I have noticed,” said his brother dryly, and Richard gave him a black look. Charles was rather amused. As far as he was concerned, both gentlemen were equally eligible, and so was Mr. Heathercot, who would wed his cousin if neither came up to scratch, or both were rejected. He looked forward to an enjoyable two weeks, reunited at last with his Lucy, and entertained by Richard and Harry fighting over Rosalind.

The evening that followed fulfilled his expectations. Lord Denham had seated Richard and Rosalind together at dinner and placed his brother at the far end of the table, but an adroit maneuver by Harry put him just where he wanted to be. Charles, seated opposite the three, had a perfect view. Rosalind correctly divided her time and attention between the two gentlemen. Harry was his usual charming self, while Richard, never at ease in a large company, managed to converse only in commonplaces with Rosalind and completely ignored the unfortunate damsel on his left.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies after passing the port and brandy and discussing the day’s hunting, Sir Peter Allington managed to seat himself on the chair beside Rosalind.  He was speedily ousted thence by Lord Harry, who claimed he had to study the melodrama with her.

Richard watched moodily from a distance, quite unconsoled by the fact that Miss Stuart frequently glanced at him. He saw no warmth in her green eyes, only puzzlement. In her presence, all the plans he had worked out for wooing her seemed cloud castles. Unless he could speak to her alone, he could not even attempt to carry them out.

At last, unable to bear watching her laughing with Harry, he approached. “Miss Stuart,” he ventured, “Charles has told me that you are a superb pianist. Might I have the pleasure of hearing you play? I expect you have discovered that Tony keeps his pianoforte hidden away. None of the Grahams are at all musical.”

If he had expected thus to oust his rival, he missed his mark. Harry managed to convert his proposal into a general scheme, and quite half the company followed as Richard and Rosalind led the way to the Long Gallery. As they went, she described how the butler had presented the Instrument to her, and he laughed. His face was transformed, and Rosalind felt her heart jump at the sight. How strange, she thought. Why should such a little thing affect her so?

At least three other young ladies were anxious to display their talents. Rosalind was inclined to let them perform before her, but Harry would not permit it. He opened the pianoforte while she and Richard sorted through the music. Richard found her Beethoven, which she had left there.

“Will you play some of this, Miss Stuart?” he started, then paused and looked at their companions. “No, not now. Perhaps you would play it for me, say, sometime tomorrow?”