Chapter 9

Lord Standen had obviously put a great deal of effort into planning his house party. During the first few days his guests discovered that there were a great many activities in which they could participate, each according to his interests. Yet no one felt as if his life had been organized for him. Each was free to be alone or do nothing if he so chose.

Sylvia had been introduced to Lady Standen in the dining room before dinner on the first evening. The meeting was not such a terrible ordeal, after all. Lady Standen was easily pleased with anyone who would lend a sympathetic ear to her complaints about her health, and Sylvia listened most patiently both before dinner was announced and during the meal itself, when she was seated to the right of her future mother-in-law. Sylvia was a kindhearted girl at all times, but on this occasion her sympathetic manner was largely aroused by awe. The older woman was a wilting creature who nevertheless commanded attention.

Lady Standen appeared to approve of her son's choice, remarking loudly to Sir Rowland Axby in the drawing room afterward that she was a "pretty-behaved gel." Sylvia had escaped to the pianoforte, which she played only indifferently. Nigel followed her there and stood behind her stool, turning the pages of the music. After a while, she stopped playing and turned on her stool to talk to him. Poor Sylvia, Rosalind thought. She had been observing her cousin all evening and guessed that she did not feel entirely comfortable. Standen might have stayed with her and helped her feel at home. But his impeccable good manners had led him to mix with all his guests in order to ensure their comfort.

For the next few days, in fact, Sylvia found that she spent more time with her friends, Susan and Lady Theresa, and with Nigel than she did with her betrothed. He had some estate business to attend to; he had to take his male guests and the more energetic ladies on long rides; he had to spend some time with his mother, whom he rarely saw. Always she seemed to be excluded, whether by her own choice or by his, or even by mere chance, she could not be sure.

With her friends she walked the grounds or sat on the terrace exchanging on dits from town or discussing fashions. With them, she discussed her trousseau. With Nigel she played cards and talked about her future husband and home. One afternoon he took her in the gig to visit some of the tenants, with whom she discovered he was on excellent terms. He showed her the schoolhouse, which had been built only three years before at his suggestion. He, in fact, had been the first instructor when he finished at university, but his brother had replaced him with a hired teacher, feeling that it was beneath the dignity of a Broome to teach the children of tenants.

But Nigel still took a lively interest in the school, which now boasted almost all the boys of the estate as pupils. "I dream of extending the building," he told Sylvia, "here on the east, with a schoolroom for girls. Most people think I am absurd. George is quite unconvinced. But I believe that girls can be taught to read and write just like boys, and perhaps they could have some instruction in sewing and drawing and such. What do you think?"

Sylvia's eyes shone. "What a splendid idea, Nigel," she said, gazing at him in admiration. "But could their mothers spare them from home?"

"That is the main problem," he admitted. "But I had much the same objection to taking the boys into the school at first. Somehow their fathers managed to do without them. I believe that the mothers would too. And think of the advantages, Sylvia. When they are at home, the girls will be able to read to their mothers, to mention just one thing."

"You will do it too. I know you will," Sylvia said fervently. "And will you teach them yourself, Nigel?"

"I think not," he said. "There are any number of ladies who would be thankful for the employment. No, what I really want to do, Sylvia, is to start a school in London for destitute boys. Educate them and train them enough that they can gain employment as clerks or grooms or footmen, perhaps."

He helped Sylvia back into her seat in the gig and drove slowly back to the house, expounding to her the dreams and theories that were dearest to his heart.

Rosalind meanwhile was enjoying herself vastly. The excellence of Lord Standen's stables had not been exaggerated. For the first time since she had left Raymore Manor, she could ride again. On the morning of the first day she went with Lord Standen himself, his sister and brother-in-law, Sir Rowland and Sir Bernard on a partial tour of the estate. She was mounted on a quiet mare that was not quite up to her skills, but she would not complain. Just the feeling of being high in the saddle again, fresh air and countryside all around her, the distinctive smell of horse teasing her nostrils, exhilarated her. She felt comfortable in a new riding habit of wine-red velvet, its wide skirt and fitted jacket neady fashioned yet not too revealing of her full figure, the jaunty little hat with its curled feather perched precariously on her dark hair. Nothing could quite dampen her joy, even the fact that her mount could not keep up with the others or the fact that she had to converse most of the way with Sir Rowland, who gallantly matched his horse's pace to hers and kept her company.

During the afternoon, when most of the guests were relaxing quietly about the house and gardens, Rosalind again rode out, this time with only Sir Bernard for company. She persuaded the groom to saddle a glossy black stallion for her.

"Are you sure you can handle him?" Sir Bernard asked doubtfully. "Highwaymen I may be able to take in my stride, but I am not quite sure that I relish the prospect of having to rescue a damsel from a runaway horse."

"Me neither," Rosalind replied with an arch glance as she put her foot in the groom's locked hands and mounted lightly to the sidesaddle. "Are you sure you can handle your mount, Bernard?" She laughed gaily, turned the horse's head for the exit from the cobbled stable yard, and trotted him down the worn pathway that led to the open fields beyond the house.

For the next half-hour she was completely happy, completely in tune with the animal beneath her. It was perhaps only on horseback that Rosalind ever felt complete. There she could be the equal of anyone in grace and skill. Her deformity mattered not at all. She trotted and galloped the stallion and finally could no longer resist the temptation to ride straight for a hedge. Bernard rode at her side the whole time, not speaking, seeming to recognize her need for silent enjoyment. When he had followed her over the hedge, though, he did catch up to her and pulled his horse close alongside.

"By Jove, Rosalind, you are a neck-or-nothing person," he commented amiably. "Is a poor fearful mortal allowed a rest without losing you entirely?"

She flashed him a smile and skillfully slowed her horse to a walk. "I think the horses probably need a rest," she agreed. "Let us lead them to the water over there." She pointed with her whip to a stream on their left.

They led the horses to a clump of trees close to the banks of the stream. Sir Bernard dismounted and turned to lift down Rosalind.

"You look remarkably fetching today," he said, easing her down so that her body slid the length of his. "Very Italian."

"Hm," she said, turning away to tether her horse to a tree.

He grinned. "Come and sit over here," he said, moving across to a patch of grass that faced the stream and was shaded from the rays of the sun. Rosalind, having been complimented herself, noticed how handsome he looked, his tall, athletic figure accentuated by the black coat, cream breeches, and black top boots that he wore. He tossed his top hat onto the ground and stretched out a hand to help Rosalind to a seating position. He sat down beside her.

"You may not be able to dance in public," he said, "but you are one of the best riders I have ever seen, Rosalind, and that includes both sexes."

"Thank you," she said. "My father forced me to ride again after my accident, although I can remember being terrified. I believe he realized that I would need at least one method of moving around in which I might be uninhibited."

"Then he was a wise man," he said, circling her wrist with two fingers and then clasping her hand in his.

"This is a lovely estate, is it not?" she said lamely, feeling suddenly uneasy in his presence.

"Yes," he said, laughing, "and so are you. You do not realize that you are beautiful, do you, Rosalind?"

She blushed and laughed in embarrassment. "You do not need to say that, Bernard," she said. "I should prefer that you did not flatter me."

He reached across and took her chin in his hand. "I shall convince you in time," he said softly, and brought his lips down to hers.

Rosalind continued to sit clasping her knees. It was pleasant. She was determined to believe that he really did wish to marry her. She was going to enjoy his company this week and allow herself to fall all the way in love with him.

"Mmm," he said, his mouth moving to her ear, "perhaps this time we will not be interrupted by his damned lordship." He put one arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. The other hand began to undo the buttons of her velvet jacket to reveal the pink silk blouse beneath. Rosalind was so surprised that she did nothing. She continued to clasp her knees with her arms.

"Rosalind," he said, "are you untouched?"

"Untouched?" she asked, the blood beginning to throb at her temples.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked.

Her eyes widened and she could feel her cheeks flush uncomfortably. "Of course," she whispered.

He laughed in amusement. "There is no 'of course' about it. Do you realize how many of the sweet young things who grace the ballrooms with their maidenly pastel shades have lovers, and how many of the very proper matrons at the sidelines also deceive their husbands?"

Rosalind hugged her knees closer. "I think we should be starting back, Bernard," she said. "This is a highly improper conversation."

He chuckled and brought his free hand up under her chin again. "I am sorry, dear," he said. "I merely wished to know how free I could be with you in the coming days. When we return to London, of course, your freedom will be curtailed again, and when I take you to visit my family during the summer, the proprieties must be observed. But here we can begin to get to know each other better."

Rosalind swallowed painfully against his hand. "We should not be alone, Bernard," she said.

For answer he smiled and lowered his head to hers again. Rosalind was forced to put an arm around his neck when she felt herself losing balance. A moment later she felt the grass against her back and head and Bernard's mouth was more urgent on hers, his tongue trying to force her teeth apart. She gasped and squirmed when she felt his hands slide across the silk covering her breasts.

"You are lovely," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing down into her face. He regarded her for a moment and a smile crinkled his eyes. "You are also very frightened, are you not?"

She tried to smile and did not quite succeed. "I just do not think that we should be doing this," she said.

"There is no need to feel guilty," he assured her. "You are going to be my wife very soon."

She smiled with more success this time. It was true, she did feel guilty, though she did not know why. They were betrothed, after all. "Maybe so," she said, "but I am not your wife yet, Bernard, and I should feel a great deal safer right now on the back of that horse over there."

He grinned. "You may be an innocent, love," he said, getting nimbly to his feet and brushing the grass off the sleeves of his coat, "but you have certainly perfected the art of the tease. Just wait until our wedding night, my girl. I shall have my revenge." He reached down to pull her to her feet and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Rosalind limped without further delay to her horse and mounted into the saddle before Sir Bernard could come to offer his assistance.


***

It was on the night of the same day that Sylvia went to bed in tears. She had entered the dining room that evening on the arm of Lord Standen in a much more cheerful frame of mind than on the previous day. She had enjoyed her outing with Nigel, had spent a comfortable hour with her betrothed in the afternoon inspecting the orchards and flower gardens, and had taken tea with his mother in the latter's private apartments. Her future mother-in-law had treated her with flatteringly kind condescension. Sylvia was prepared to enjoy dinner and the company of her friends. She looked dazzlingly lovely in a primrose-yellow satin gown, gold embroidery sparkling at its neckline and hem. A golden ribbon was threaded through her silver-blond hair.