Joan Smith Read online

  “Or against it. You are behind on your snooping. Get into the scriptorium and read chapter eighteen at the next opportunity.”

  “Her readers will never believe it,” he said, but really he was more interested in the jump and was soon back at it. “Did Diablo shy off at all, show any disinclination to taking the booth?”

  “Not a bit of it. He has been wanting to do it for an age, I am convinced. He simply gobbled it up.”

  “You are a lighter load than I. I wonder...”

  “He could carry you over easily.”

  “I believe the toolshed at home is as high, and certainly a foot wider. He took that without flinching. When do I try it?”

  “Choose your day, and I shall be there to terrorize him for you when you land on the other side.”

  “I am sorry. It was a damned idiotic thing to do, but really, it took me by surprise, and when I recognized you, I was afraid you’d break your head wide open. I hoped I would get back before you tackled it. I thought you would have more organization—men to clear the road, and preferably a doctor standing by.”

  “Good God, it was only a jump, not a duel!”

  “It’s a duel now. You are not going to outdo me.”

  “Rubbish. I am undertaking arrangements to jump Nancy over St. Paul’s. But first I must find Auntie. She will be worried.”

  “Not she.”

  Before many minutes, she came bustling in to the parlor, not at all worried, but only peeved that I had forgotten her. She was afraid I might forget those unforgettable sensations before she committed them to paper. Knowing she would be eaten up with questions that could only be posed in private, I suggested we leave at once.

  “Right, and I shall ride Diablo,” Welland declared with an irate look.

  “Go ahead, I have tamed him for you. You should not have any trouble.”

  Auntie drove home in her carriage, while we went in advance on our mounts, discussing the morning’s events. It was clear from his questions that Welland intended to repeat my act. It galled him that I had done what he hesitated to. “Just do it,” I advised nonchalantly, making little of it. “I shan’t wait so long next time. It is the anticipation that is misery, not the doing.” He didn’t say a word.

  “There, you see, it is not so very huge after all,” I mentioned, as we approached the booth.

  “See if there’s anyone approaching on the other side,” he ordered, in his customary brusque manner.

  I was delighted to comply on this occasion, for I had some hopes Diablo would be tired enough to balk at it a second time. There was no one coming. I rode up on the hillside to get a good view, to describe the sight for Aunt Loo. It was beautiful. I wish I were a painter, to have caught forever the graceful flowing form of steed and rider, sailing over the roof, with the tall willows swaying so peacefully behind. Diablo’s mane stood straight up, while his tail was flat out behind him. Auntie would like to have these details. Welland’s landing was rougher than my own, but I would not tell him so. I did not wish to spoil his moment of pure pleasure.

  “Now that is what I call living,” was his simple statement when it was over. “I am sorry I waited so long.”

  Diablo whinnied in agreement, with one of his peculiarly human sounds.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I made my account to Aunt Loo as soon as we got home, omitting nothing of either actual jumping or observations of Welland’s repetition. “I wish he had waited till I got up to you. Why did you not ask him to, Valerie? You knew I wished most particularly to see it. I was not in position in time to see you go over either. Fancy Welland being so dashing! The tail straight behind, did you say?”

  “Straight as a ruler, and the mane standing up.”

  “That does not sound convincing about the mane. Are you sure it was not flying out behind, like the tail, whipping Gloria in the face, and causing her to loosen her grip?”

  “Straight up. Gloria did not loosen her grip.”

  “You were not frightened at all, you say, when you actually left the ground?”

  “I was exultant, Auntie. It was pure bliss. Like being kissed by someone very special.”

  “Gloria would not know that before the last chapter, my dear! Though there is no reason she could not think of the jump when he kisses her at the end. No, I don’t like it. She should not be thinking of a horse when her hero holds her in his embrace. She ought to be thinking of stars and flowers and eternity, feeling just a little vaporish, but not falling into hysterics. That would not do. The sense of inevitability will be her saving. She will know this has been her fate all along.”

  “Her hero would give her a good shaking, or a slap to smarten her up if she went off into hysterics.”

  “Oh, no! FitzClement would never shake her, and never, never strike a lady! My readers would not like it. The villain might be allowed to do so; not the hero. Not in anything but a fast French novel. We have our standards to maintain, Valerie. I cannot think you are reading as many gothic novels as you should be.”

  I promised to do better, and escaped out into the hallway, thence to my room to be quizzed by Pinny as to why I had sent Napier to her.

  “I disapprove of the lackadaisical way you are managing your young man, Pinny. You must make a push if you hope for an offer before he leaves. He shan’t stay long, you know.”

  “That’s true, miss. He says Mr. Sinclair has promised they won’t be here but another week at the outside. He has to get back home to get ready for his wedding himself.”

  “That soon! He did not say so!”

  “Happen you should be making a bit of a push yourself, miss,” Pinny said, with a frightened glance at her temerity. I glared. “Just joking, miss. I know you don’t really care for him, but Napier, he says Mr. Sinclair is always singing your praises. He thinks his master has feelings for you, miss, but we know he’s engaged, so there’s nothing to be done in that quarter. Will you be changing out of your habit now, miss?”

  “Yes. I must wash up. I’ll have the white spencer and yellow skirt.”

  “I’ve been aching to see them on you, miss. Are you going visiting, that you’re wearing that special outfit?”

  “It is not a special outfit,” I objected, though I like it better than most of my gowns. The spencer fit closely, looking well with the bouffant skirt. It was not in the latest fashion, but what enhanced the appearance was preferable to the latest fad. Romantic was the word Mama used when I had it made up. It seemed a proper outfit in which to go courting Miss Milne’s fiancé. I had not realized time was pushing so hard at my back. Only a week in which to steal him from her. I hadn’t a moment to lose.

  As soon as lunch was over, I had the whisky harnessed up to go down to the gatehouse. Auntie, having missed her morning writing session, was to lock herself into the scriptorium to put Gloria through her paces at the tollbooth. I met Welland on the road, coming up to call on me. I had been too quick to go after him. I would have preferred to let him come calling, but was by no means sure he would do it, so pretended instead I was just going for a jog down the road in the whisky.

  “Too bad you have changed out of your habit. I was looking forward to a good ride this afternoon,” he said.

  There is not much I prefer to riding, but it is not the best means of advancing a romance. You have to wait till you find some secluded spot to dismount, and there is no saying one would be found in this territory that was still not too well known to me.

  “Give Diablo a rest. He’s earned it. I’ll take you for a spin in the whisky instead.”

  “I’ll accept your offer, before you talk me into driving my grays.”

  “What a splendid idea, Welland!” I said at once. “Why did I not think of that?” Had my mind not been full of other more intriguing things, I would have done so.

  “After the tongue-lashing I have just given my groom, I would be ashamed to let you drive them out of the stable, though I make no doubt you could handle them with one hand.”

  He was sore
ly mistaken here. I had little experience handling the ribbons. The sole extravagance allowed me at home was my mount. I did not possess a phaeton, or anything of the sort. My experience was limited to the few times I had conned gentlemen into letting me drive their rigs.

  “Let’s walk instead,” I suggested. “I’ll leave the whisky at your stable, and we’ll go for a stroll through the park.”

  When he accepted this tedious pastime with great alacrity, I felt Miss Milne was in some danger of losing her beau. When he took a firm grip on my elbow as we strolled off to the west, I began to hope a week would be sufficient to detach him from her completely. The initial talk was not romantic, but then we did not have to rush things that much.

  “Did you find out if Hill ever proposed to your aunt?” he asked, pretending not to notice that his hand had slid down from my elbow to grab my fingers. Holding hands is much more satisfying than having the elbow taken. His grip too was firm, as though he did not mean to let me slip away.

  “He has offered. I wouldn’t be much surprised if she takes him up on it.”

  He nodded, then asked, “How about the folks from Suffolk? Anything there? Did she tell you anything about the other Lady Sinclair—Alice Sedgely?”

  “I have the whole history at my fingertips,” I said. As we walked on, my eyes peeled for a private spot to stop, I recounted my aunt’s Bath tale, including such items as Mr. Arundel, the Princess Frederica, and America. “It is only what is to be expected, of course, when a marriage of convenience is arranged for a couple.”

  There was a nervous increase of pressure on my fingers. “Let’s keep this impersonal, shall we?” he asked.

  “What do you mean? Welland, you cannot think I meant you!” I said, batting my lashes shamelessly.

  “I don’t think for one minute you mean anybody else. The fact is, I have been considering what you said about my marriage to Mary. A gentleman cannot call off without good reason, but as the whole affair was St. Regis’s doing in the first place, I have written asking him if it might be possible to work something out. Find someone else for Mary, I mean. Her heart will not be broken. She likes me, was agreeable to the match, but not—well, not in love, as you novel-reading ladies would say.”

  “I don’t read as many novels as I should,” I answered, weighing his statement, and deciding to take offense at his half-hearted attempt at disengaging himself. “As to seeking St. Regis’s permission to lead your own life, it is disgusting. You’re not a child.”

  “I am not independent either.”

  “We have already had this discussion, have we not?” I asked sharply, snatching back my hand, or trying to. He not only maintained his grip, but tightened it, which was about the most satisfactory thing he had done thus far.

  “Yes, the night I kissed you.”

  “Why do you raise the specter of that piece of poor behavior at this time?” I asked, my heart thumping.

  “Because I feel a repetition of it coming on.”

  “Don’t think I am going to sneak behind bushes and doors to dally with you, Welland. That is not the way I carry on. Either your intentions toward me are honorable, or your conduct is unforgivable.”

  “You knew all along I was engaged. It didn’t bother you before.”

  “Yes, it did bother me. Engagements have been broken before. This would not be the first time.”

  He emitted a weary sigh. His fingers released mine and fell to his sides. His damned shoulders were drooping again. They had been much straighter when he was courting me. “I must wait and see what St. Regis has to say in answer to my letter.”

  “I pity poor Mary Milne is all I can say. She’s not marrying a man; she’s marrying a—a—a puppet, who allows himself to be danced at his cousin’s whim.”

  “He’s not really ...”

  “Don’t say another word in his defense. He is an interfering nipcheese, and a woman to boot, arranging matches like a bored spinster. I suppose he will order your jackets and linens and china for you as well.”

  “This discussion has become not only pointless but demeaning to us both. Though before we part, I really must thank you for your blatant efforts to steal another lady’s fiancé. I am flattered.”

  “You should be!”

  “I am. You could steal a much wealthier gentleman, if you had your wits about you.”

  “You don’t need those glasses either!” I said angrily, for I was curious to see his eyes, to see if he was at all impressed at my fine rant.

  “Oh, but I do, Valkyrie! I must cast a shade over your vibrant charms, or I shall succumb to temptation again. I adore those spencers, by the by. So much more revealing than the high-waisted gowns the ladies favor this year. It suits you admirably. What is its real color?” he asked, reaching up to lift off his spectacles. He looked at me for about half a minute, the spencer and skirt, that is, nodding his head in approval. Then he looked me in the eye with a laughing spark in his own. “Do I put them back on, or do I kiss you?” was his bold question.

  “Why don’t you run back home and write St. Regis a letter, asking his opinion?” I asked helpfully. Never let it be said I was forward in hounding a man to the altar.

  “I know what he would say,” he replied sardonically, sticking them back on his face, while I tried manfully to hide my rage. “Do you really think I ought to shake free of him?”

  “Only if you are interested in growing up, Welland.”

  “I am not sure I’d ever be up to your weight. I ain’t a thoroughbred Arab, you know.”

  “No, I am convinced there is a strain of mule in there somewhere.”

  “Mules do not breed; they are sterile. Fancy a horse woman like you not knowing that.”

  “A slip of the lip. I meant jackass, of course.”

  He made a convulsive movement toward me. I thought I had goaded him into action at last, but he pulled himself back, straightened his shoulders, and suggested we return to the stable, to let me continue my drive alone, since I would not like to have so asinine a companion cluttering up the whisky.

  “An excellent idea,” I agreed, stiff with anger.

  There was no hand-holding on the return route. We strode briskly, not saying a word. I climbed unassisted into the gig and left, more or less forced to take a drive. In about two minutes he shot past me in his curricle, going fifteen or sixteen mites an hour. He pretended not to notice me. I turned around at the first farm I came to and went home, in a thoroughly wretched temper.

  I was a pattern-card of civility at Welland’s dinner party that evening. Dr. Hill came to call for my aunt. I went with Pierre, who had returned from the cockfight just in time to change for the evening. “How was the sport?” I asked him.

  “Very much fine sport. Excellent.”

  “I am glad you enjoyed it,” I said, wondering where he had actually gone. Had he been at a cockfight, he would have had more to say. I concluded he had spent his day chasing some girl or other, but his first speech to Sinclair, said while still at the front door of the gatehouse, caused me to wonder.

  “I do every things like you tell me,” Pierre assured him. “Spoke at the ...”

  “Good. We’ll discuss it later, Peter,” Welland said. “Come in and take off your wrap, Valerie.”

  I bowed coolly, said good-evening, and sailed past on Pierre’s arm. I allowed Peter to help me off with my pelisse, made no objection when he reached up to nuzzle my neck, and only set him down when he followed that up with an arm around my waist. I refused to enter the saloon actually in his arms. Pierre was still at my elbow when I stopped to adjust my hair in the mirror. I caught Welland out in the act of frowning at us, saw him reflected in the mirror, I mean. He turned quickly away, pretending to be interested in something else.

  I had some hopes Pierre’s attentions might goad my lagging suitor into a fit of jealousy. I am sorry to relate it was not the case. Welland elected to sit with Aunt Loo and Dr. Hill. The subject, when I managed to lend an ear, was archaeology again. The interval w
as put to use by me ferreting out where Pierre had actually spent his day. “Was this your first cockfight?” I began.

  “I never seed ...” he answered quite spontaneously, then with a guilty glance to his cousin, he changed his tack. “The cockfights is not to talk to the ladies about. Very much blood and gory.”

  “You would not have liked that. I wager you did not stay longer than half an hour. Come now, confess you were out chasing the girls.”

  “Mom is the word. I can keeping the good secrets. I don’t tell you who I am speaking at.”

  “Now you are making me jealous, Peter. Who was she, eh?”

  “No ladies are doctors,” he pointed out. “The ladies’ places is in their house.”

  “Doctors” brought to mind Dr. Hill, which soon brought to mind the sanatorium he had been at, which had another doctor in charge. “You went to Southampton with Dr. Hill, did you?”

  He closed his lips hard, blew out his cheeks, turned scarlet, and glared at me. “Please not to be saying nothing. It is the most great secret.”

  His antics brought Welland darting to us. “Pierre was just telling me that he was at the sanatorium, speaking to the doctor there,” I mentioned casually, though a little note of triumph intruded. “I understand now how it came you were returning from the west, when you were supposedly headed to Winchester. Sorry to have interfered with your plans, Welland. And if you don’t tell me everything this very instant, I shall ask Hill what is going on.”

  He wanted to murder me. “We’ll speak of it later. Don’t say a word.”

  He was saved by the dinner bell. I entered the dining room wedged between my two guardians. “If I feel so much as a toe molesting me under the table, the offender will get my soup poured over his head,” I warned. The two gentlemen exchanged offended glances, escorting me to the table in silence, where they took not the least heed of my warning. I tucked my feet safely under my chair, from which safe point it would take a contortionist to get at them. I enjoyed a lovely dinner.

  The subject of Suffolk arose while we ate. Welland, in his own way, made the opportunity. “So your father is off to Suffolk, is he, Valerie?” he asked, with a demanding look at me.