Читать книгу Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 10

Chapter Five

Christy frowned at her reflection. The riding habit was slightly too large, but the wretched thing was almost flattering. She had an observable figure. Most of her gowns deliberately disguised that. Wearing gowns in any way related to one’s shape was, in the crudely expressed opinion of her former employer, ‘asking for it’. Too-large gowns—which were easier to button up unassisted— the caps, and the spectacles all helped. Not that the spectacles were mere disguise—she would trip over her own feet without them.

No one looked beyond a dull, shapeless gown, the cap and spectacles. They saw only the dowdy paid companion or governess. It was safer that way.

Only she had the uncomfortable sensation that, like his lordship, Lady Braybrook saw Christy, not Miss Daventry. She had been right about the habit suiting Christy. The deep blue gave a little colour to her cheeks, although that might be the country air. She fingered the braid up the front of the habit. It was beautiful, so elegant. She had never worn such clothes in her life. Perhaps it didn’t matter. She was still the companion- governess. Borrowed plumage did not make fine birds, she told herself as she went downstairs.

‘There you are!’

Lissy and Matthew were waiting in the hall, which Christy had learnt was the Great Hall. Apparently Amberley was very old indeed and the Trenthams had been here for ever.

‘You do look nice,’ said Lissy, and Christy bit her lip not to smile at the new hint of patronage. ‘The horses have been brought around. We have Mama’s old hack for you. He’s terribly quiet.’

‘Not a slug, though,’ put in Matthew. ‘You could have ridden another horse, but Julian said it was better to be safe than sorry. He said he didn’t want to bury you.’ Not a hint of patronage there.

‘An unwelcome expense, no doubt,’ said Christy.

Matthew grinned. ‘He didn’t put it quite like that.’ The grin turned impish. ‘It was more the inconvenience.’

Christy peered over the top of her spectacles at him, in a manner she had found to be very effective with youngsters. They never seemed to realise it was a bluff; that without looking through the lenses she could see very little.

Even so, she could see Matthew’s grin; and those blue eyes, very like his brother’s, continued to twinkle.

‘Julian’s outside, with the horses and Emma and Davy,’ said Lissy, cheerfully. Not at all as though this were the brother she had described as a tyrant the previous evening.

No doubt he meant to see them off, thought Christy, wishing she had not agreed to this ride. No doubt she would make a complete fool of herself. Wasn’t one meant to learn to ride as a child? Probably little Davy was more accomplished than she would ever be.

Sure enough, when Lissy and Matthew took her out on to the front steps, Davy was already mounted on a chestnut pony with a pretty head and lively eye. Emma was mounted on a bay. His lordship stood close by, holding the reins of a tall black horse, and a lead rein attached to the bridle of a sleepy-looking dappled grey. Not a horse, really. More a large pony.

Grooms held two other horses. Mentally counting, and looking at the quality of the black horse, Christy came to a dead halt at the top of the steps as an appalling realisation struck her. She had assumed a groom would accompany the riding party and attend to her instruction. Apparently not. His lordship was dressed for riding. Which meant…she gulped…he was planning to teach her to ride.

Schooling herself to reveal nothing, she met his lordship’s limpid gaze. And saw the glimmer of unholy amusement.

Drat him!

He knew, to a nicety, just how embarrassing she would find this and he was enjoying it!

His greeting confirmed it. ‘Miss Daventry—I’m sure you understand that I prefer to ensure your safety myself.’

She smiled. Sweetly. ‘I am very grateful for your lordship’s condescension.’

His brows snapped together, and his mouth hardened. Then his gaze flickered to Lissy, listening avidly, and he said, ‘Not at all, ma’am. Come and meet Merlin.’

Meet Merlin. As though the creature were of some account to him, like his dog. Christy watched, fascinated, as Lord Braybrook petted the old horse…something told her Merlin was no longer in the first flush of youth. His lordship’s hands were gentle, rubbing the ears, stroking the arched neck. Then something was produced from a pocket and whiffled up out of his hand with an appreciative crunch and snort.

‘Come.’ His lordship spoke abruptly. ‘Hold out your hand. Quite flat and still.’ She obeyed and he placed a sugar lump on her palm. Horrified, she stared at it. Old though he might be, judging by the noise he’d made munching the last lump, Merlin had teeth. Large ones. In perfect working order. But before she could protest, or drop the sugar, soft whiskery lips took the treat with amazing delicacy. The teeth, again, dealt with the offering in a fashion anything but delicate.

A delighted thrill went through Christy. Without thinking she stroked the long nose and found it velvety. Liquid dark eyes blinked at her wisely, and then…that same velvet nose was shoved against her chest and rubbed up and down with great enthusiasm.

Caught unawares, Christy staggered back hard against an immovable wall. A wall with arms that steadied her effortlessly. A shocking warmth stole through her and for one heart- stopping instant she relished the male strength surrounding her. A delight promptly banished by hot embarrassment, but before she could react, strong hands grasped her shoulders and eased her away.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Daventry,’ said his lordship in obvious amusement. ‘Merlin is a gentleman, but he is very fond of sugar. Are you all right?’

‘Perfectly,’ she said, ignoring her racing pulse.

Davy, from his perch on the little chestnut, said in pleased tones, ‘Look, Julian! Merlin has slobbered all over her chest.’

Christy looked down. Sure enough the braided front was a mess. She gulped and met laughing blue eyes that were pointedly not looking at her…chest.

‘Don’t worry, Miss Daventry. I’m sure it will come off.’

‘But, Lady Braybrook won’t like—’

‘Nonsense,’ said Lord Braybrook. ‘She always grumbled about that trick of Merlin’s. He has slobbered on it before. Besides, she gave you the habit. It’s yours now.’

Christy flushed. Besides the habit, Lady Braybrook had given her a number of gowns, saying she never wore them and that they were unsuitable for Lissy. They were even more unsuitable for the governess. Of course, a lady’s maid was given her mistress’s cast-offs, so perhaps it wasn’t too improper.

‘Can we go? Please?’ begged Davy.

Matthew had mounted, and one of the grooms was about to put Lissy up. Christy gulped as the groom linked his hands for Lissy’s booted foot and threw the girl into her saddle. Dear God. If he did that to her, she would go straight over the saddle and land on the ground.

‘Miss Daventry?’

Lord Braybrook’s voice sounded oddly distant.

‘Is there…is there not a mounting block? I don’t think the way Miss Trentham was—’

‘I’ll put you up, Miss Daventry.’

Unresisting, she was led around to the saddle. Balanced against Merlin’s side, clutching the stirrup, she lifted a foot. His hands grasped her waist and lifted her. She gasped, and found herself perched on the saddle. For a moment his hands stayed at her waist, then dropped to her hip, steadying her. That was all. Wasn’t it? Her body hummed, as if…as if he had caressed her. Nonsense! He was making sure she was safely in place. She sat up as straight as possible, and the disturbing hands released her. She sighed in relief, thinking her ordeal over.

Wrong. His lordship was busy arranging her right leg safely over the pommel, long fingers gripping her knee as he pushed it into position. She froze, desperately trying to ignore the intimacy of his touch. Ridiculous. He was merely showing her how to sit. There was nothing intimate about it. Then his hands were on her left ankle as he adjusted her foot in the stirrup. She had to remind herself that she was wearing a boot. That he was not really touching her ankle. More accidental touches as he shortened the stirrup leather. Then he caught her foot again.

‘Keep your heel pushed down, Miss Daventry,’ he instructed, doing it for her. ‘That helps to keep your, er, seat, firmly in the saddle.’

That was a relief to know. She felt like a bug perched up there. Merlin seemed a great deal taller than he had from the ground.

‘Now—your reins.’

Christy looked down at the reins. She had picked them up. She knew that much. But what should she do with them?

His lordship showed her. ‘Just hold them lightly,’ he said, long fingers guiding hers to the right position, and showing her how to shorten the reins. ‘They are not to help you balance. Only to guide him. You must only feel his mouth. A light contact. And keep your thumbs on top.’

Her hands were gloved, but his touch felt just as shockingly intimate as it had on her legs. He stepped back and looked her over. She blushed.

‘Very well. At least you don’t have to be told to keep your back straight,’ he commented. He walked around to his own horse and mounted with fluid grace.

Ridiculous to glow at such off-hand praise. Determinedly she sat even straighter in the saddle.

Merlin snorted and took a couple of steps. Stifling a gasp, as her balance shifted, Christy clutched at the saddle, but Merlin came up against the end of the leading rein and stopped. She straightened at once and glanced across at his lordship, but he seemed not to have noticed.

Any more than he had noticed how scared she was. Stupid. It was years since she had fallen off that horse of Harry’s, and Merlin was much quieter, but still…she forced herself to breathe deeply.

All women had waists, Julian reminded himself. Discovering Miss Daventry’s waist under the slightly-too-large habit might have been a surprise, but not one that should have had his hands lingering, marvelling at the suppleness of the curve, and then drifting to her hip.

With a swift glance at Miss Daventry to assure himself that she was secure in the saddle, he tugged gently at the leading rein and put his own mount into a walk. Miss Daventry’s face blanked as Merlin moved, but she gave no other sign, beyond sitting very straight and still.

He had been trying to believe that Miss Daventry must be as shapeless as her gowns. But she wasn’t. She disguised her body as effectively as she hid her true nature. Under the dowdy clothes she was slender and lissom as a willow. She would be sweet, warm…sweet? Hell’s teeth! If she knew what he was thinking now, and as he settled her in the saddle, she’d be a virago!

Miss Daventry might have an elegant figure and a neatly turned ankle, but she was a bundle of prickles. For which, he admitted, she could not be blamed. A wise woman in her position avoided drawing mens’ attention, unless she wished for a career in the demi-monde. Governesses and companions always held themselves slightly apart.

A lonely existence…

‘Where shall we go,’ asked Lissy, bringing her mare up beside them. ‘Miss Daventry, you choose.’

Julian noted that Miss Daventry looked somewhat startled at being consulted. She demurred.

‘Oh. That’s very kind, Miss Trentham, but I do not know this part of the country at all, so—’

‘I like the river,’ said Davy, hopefully.

Lissy sighed theatrically. ‘Not the river again, Davy!’

‘No, Davy!’ said Emma. ‘Not everyone likes waiting while you watch for trout that never appear.’

Davy scowled.

About to vote for the river and bring down a deluge of fury on his head, Julian was forestalled by Miss Daventry.

‘A river? With trout? Real trout?’

Davy’s scowl vanished as hope rekindled. ‘And salmon. Really big ones,’ he said, dropping his reins to demonstrate. He shot a glare at his sisters as he caught up the reins again. ‘And they do appear. Julian owns them.’ This last with great pride.

Miss Daventry’s mouth barely twitched. ‘Then of all things, that is what I should most like to see,’ she said firmly. ‘I had no idea his lordship was important enough to own fish and make them appear.’

Emma giggled, and Matthew shouted with laughter.

‘There you are, Julian. When do you try holding back the tide?’

‘As I recall,’ said Julian, trying not to laugh, ‘that wasn’t King Canute’s idea! The river then. Come along all of you.’

They rode towards the river, all thought of quarrelling forgotten.

He had to hand it to Miss Daventry. She had averted a quarrel very neatly. Lissy was far too well brought-up to argue with her. He was amused to see that Lissy’s attitude to Miss Daventry was just what he had hoped it would be. Sympathetic affection laced with pity. Which should be enough to have Lissy entertaining second thoughts about her infatuation for the dashing Mr Daventry. In his experience pity was a death knell to passion.

As for Miss Daventry, he listened with deepening respect as she took shameless advantage of Davy’s momentary gratitude.

‘Davy, what is the French word—’ beyond a faint smile she ignored a groan ‘—for “fish”?’

His littlest brother stared, and wrinkled his brow. ‘Pou… poussin?’

‘Nearly,’ said Miss Daventry. ‘That is a chicken, but it does sound similar. Poisson.’

They rode on towards the river and Julian listened in utter disbelief as Miss Daventry proceeded effortlessly to enlarge not only Davy’s French vocabulary, but Matthew, Emma and Lissy’s as well.

Talking about fish.

By the time they reached the woods, Christy felt a great deal safer on horseback. Lord Braybrook had insisted on keeping to a walk, but now permitted the younger members of the party to ride ahead.

‘Very neat, Miss Daventry,’ he said, as the youngsters raced off whooping. ‘I had no idea Davy knew that much French.’

She smiled. ‘You are paying me handsomely, my lord. I should use my time to the best advantage.’

‘There is that,’ he said. ‘Sit up straight, Miss Daventry. We’ll essay a trot.’

Before she could utter a word of protest, he had urged his mount to a trot. Trotting, she discovered, was a great deal harder than walking. Merlin bounced, and so did she. His lordship, she observed, riding astride, was able to rise and fall to the rhythm. In a side saddle she had no such option.

She gritted her teeth, sat up even straighter and tightened her right leg around the pommel. As far as she could see, she was going to earn every last penny of her one hundred pounds per annum.

They had not gone far before the younger members of the party were well out of sight around a bend in the woodland ride. The sound of pounding hooves and faint laughter floated back. Breathless from the bouncing, Christy managed to say, ‘Should we not catch them up, my lord?’

He flicked her a glance. ‘You’d break your neck at that hell- for-leather pace.’ He frowned. ‘If you wish to stop bouncing, sit straighter and keep your heel down. It will keep your…seat in the saddle.’

Her…seat was already so sore that the last thing Christy wanted was to have it in closer contact with the saddle, but she obeyed, and, sure enough, she bounced less. Whether or not she was any more comfortable was a moot point.

‘I cannot but think that Miss Trentham will find riding with me in attendance somewhat boring, my lord,’ she said a few moments later.

‘Probably,’ he said.

She flushed, suddenly aware that he too must be finding the restricted pace a bore. ‘I am sure if you wish to catch up with the children, that I will be perfectly safe. Merlin seems very quiet.’

His brow rose. ‘Certainly not, Miss Daventry. Whatever my shortcomings, I have a little more consideration than that.’

Christy subsided. Surreptitiously she patted Merlin’s neck, finding it warm and silken. Despite still feeling like a bug perched on top of him, she found that she rather liked Merlin. She liked the friendly way he occasionally swung his head and blew at Lord Braybrook’s mount. And once or twice lipped at Lord Braybrook’s breeches. At least, she assumed he was only using his lips.

It would be nice to ride him again.

She flinched away from the thought. Becoming fond of Merlin would be as foolish as becoming fond of Lady Braybrook’s cat. Or feeling herself to be part of the family. This was not her place. The landing—that was her place; no matter how kind and considerate the family might be, she was not one of them. She would do far better to take her cue from his lordship’s hauteur and remember that she was not riding for her own pleasure. That was incidental. His lordship had insisted because it made her more useful to him.