Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 20

The small household at Gower Street was in turmoil, a state which neatly mirrored Bree’s own state of mind. She had spent two days attempting to put her thoughts and emotions into some kind of sensible state and was aware of failing miserably.

Rosa was managing her work at the Mermaid magnificently, which had the effect of making Bree feel that her own nose was thoroughly out of joint. In this, at least, she understood her own feelings. She had believed herself indispensable and had found that she was not, a discovery that was a salutary lesson.

And she was not yet comfortable with her newly acquired leisure and her status as a slightly shady member of the ton. If truth be told, she found most of the parties dull, shopping soon palled and she had found no close friends amongst her new acquaintances other than Lady Lucas and Mr Latymer.

Bree grimaced, knowing that her long habit of reticence and self-sufficiency was holding her back from making new friends. In time, no doubt, she would learn to confide and share.

But what did she feel about Max? No. She stopped that line of thought and corrected herself. She knew exactly what she thought of the Earl of Penrith: she was in love with him, fool that she was.

What does he think about me? Now that was the real question. Goodness knows, was the honest reply. Lust? Friendship? Mild liking? But what explained the fact that he would drop everything to travel in thoroughgoing discomfort on the roof of a stage just in order to keep an eye on her? Or that he would kiss her very comprehensively in the course of an evening, and then subject her to a dull afternoon call and formal invitations to what should be a very informal event?

The spare coach, gleaming from top rail to wheel hubs, stood outside, causing a minor traffic jam in Gower Street and enormous entertainment for every street urchin for blocks around. The chestnuts were, indeed, champing at the bit, and she had a nasty feeling she was going to receive confirmation of the generally held belief that horses of that colour were flighty and unreliable.

William Huggins, an enormous nosegay stuck in the buttonhole of his many-caped greatcoat, sat on the box. He was good-naturedly flicking away urchins with his whip, making them shriek with delight as the whip-point snapped just behind their skinny buttocks without making more than a great deal of noise.

Their most experienced groom was up behind, the yard of tin polished until it gleamed, and the domestic staff were packing the last items into not one, but two, bulging picnic hampers.

‘Raised pork pie, gooseberry tart, a pound of butter—don’t squash that!—the ham’s in that cloth …’ Cook scurried about, checking things off her list while Piers supervised the stowing of a keg of ale, a half-dozen bottles of wine and jugs of Cook’s celebrated ginger ale and lemonade.

The arrival of Brice Latymer’s drag, all gleaming dark blue lacquer, brass rails and with a team of handsome greys, put the finishing touch to the chaos in the street. Bree was aware of her neighbours’ curtains twitching, the heads of curious staff poking up out of service areas and even one or two front doors opening surreptitiously.

‘I had better go with Mr Latymer,’ Bree said to Piers. ‘At least that will help unblock the street. Now, you know where we are all meeting up in Green Park?’ She tipped back her head to look up at Huggins. ‘You understand? You yield the ribbons to whichever of the Whips they decide, and you take over his drag unless he has brought a second driver, in which case you sit up behind with Pratt.’

‘Aye, Miss Bree, whatever you say, though it’s much against my better judgement. I just hope they can all drive as well as his lordship.’ His lordship was, no doubt, Lord Penrith.

‘I don’t think anyone can match him—except you, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘But they are all very good drivers. And you’ll let Piers take the ribbons as well.’

‘Aye, Miss Bree.’ The coachman jerked his head towards Latymer’s drag. ‘That one know what he’s doing?’

‘I hope so, Bill.’ Bree grinned, relaxing into familiar banter with her oldest friend. ‘He’d better, starting off right under your nose!’

Max circled his drag in behind the array already drawn up just inside the park. There were ten, twelve when Latymer and the stage joined them. He had drawn up a list of drivers to take turns with the stage and had extracted the sworn word of all of them not to race—or face his wrath.

Now as they gossiped and joked, tossing friendly insult from box to box, he thought about the letter he had just received from Ryder.

It seems more than probable that all of those responsible for producing your art work perished in an epidemic of smallpox, which ravished Winchester seven years ago, the enquiry agent had written. I am in the process of checking all the parish registers in the city—it may be that this will lead directly to the fate of the article in question.

In other words, Drusilla probably perished with her family. It would explain the total silence. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of that horrible disease, struggling, yet again, with the knowledge that his own easy release from this coil meant the confirmation of his wife’s death.

A rise in the volume of noise around him jerked Max back to the present. Latymer’s drag, dashing behind its match greys, came through the gates to join them, and, behind it, the Cheltenham Challenge, driven with an emphatic flourish by a burly coachman he recognised, entered the park to a long blast on the horn.

To a man the Whips applauded and the coachman, every inch the showman, took a bow. Max grinned, his dark mood forgotten, and waved to Piers, perched up on the box, serious in his many-caped greatcoat. He waved back, suddenly looking more fourteen than seventeen.

Then he saw Bree looking out of the window of Latymer’s drag and it was as though something had sucked the air out of his lungs. ‘Sir? My lord?’ Gregg, who had remained silent beside him throughout his brooding abstraction on Drusilla, sounded mildly agitated.

‘What?’ Max pulled himself together and looked at his team, who were sidling uneasily. His right hand had clamped down on the reins, quite unnecessarily. He lifted it off, steadied them with his voice. ‘Sorry, Gregg, I wasn’t concentrating.’

‘Not to be wondered at, my lord,’ the groom remarked with the familiarity of a man who had known his employer since he was learning to ride. ‘The young lady makes a right lovely picture in that blue garment. A pelisse, is it? Goes a treat with Mr Latymer’s paintwork.’

‘Mind your tongue,’ Max snapped, caught himself, and added ruefully, ‘She does, doesn’t she?’

‘Are we expecting an announcement in that direction, my lord?’

Gregg was one of the servants who knew about Drusilla. ‘Possibly. It is not something I would wish talked about.’

‘Certainly not, my lord. Do you think I’m a pickthank, to be gossiping about your business all over?’

‘No, but take care, all the same. There’s a lady’s reputation to consider.’

‘Aye, my lord. We’ll be off then.’

Viscount Lansdowne had drawn first drive with the stage and changed places with William Huggins, who was grinning like a youngster at the prospect of driving the viscount’s blacks. Piers stayed up on the stage. Max could see him earnestly explaining the foibles of the team to Lansdowne. A likeable lad that, he would enjoy having him as a brother-in-law. He caught himself up; it was too soon to think like that, far too soon to be able to make any commitment to Bree.

Bree leaned back in the comfort of the drag and listened with half an ear to Rosa’s enthusiastic comments on the vehicle. Other than the space taken up by Mr Latymer’s contribution to the communal picnic, they had the interior to themselves.

‘It is so lavish,’ Rosa commented, running a palm over the well-stuffed, tightly buttoned cushions. ‘This is best serge, and I am sure he has had it dyed to match the livery.’ She began to rummage about, playing with all the fittings. ‘Look at these door pockets, and what are those cords in the ceiling?’

‘For gentlemen’s hats.’ Bree roused herself from gazing at the landscape in a sort of daydream. ‘The brims fit under the parallel cords and the hat hangs down.’

The drag lurched and she peered out of the window with more attention. ‘Mr Latymer is not as smooth a driver as his lordship.’

‘Which lordship?’ Rosa kept her face straight, but Bree sensed she was being teased.

‘Lord Penrith. I have not driven in a four in hand with any of the other gentlemen.’

‘Of course. Silly me.’

Bree narrowed her eyes at her companion’s teasing, but made no comment. From wanting nothing more than to discuss Max Dysart the other afternoon, she felt she could hardly bear to mention his name, such was her state of unsettling preoccupation with him.

The stops to enable the various gentlemen to take over the stage made the journey to Greenwich longer than it would normally be, but finally they arrived at the sloping parkland with the Observatory perched above them and the palace below.

Bree and Rosa allowed themselves to be handed out of the drag and on to the close-cropped turf, smiling in delight at the view that spread out before them over the Thames. Servants clustered round, lifting out the picnic hampers from the various vehicles and carrying them off to the spot where the meal was to be taken.

The drivers set down their passengers and then moved the drags on to various patches of flatter ground. The grooms began to unharness the horses and lead them off under the shade of the trees where an impromptu horse-line had been set up with hay nets and water buckets.

‘It is all very well organised, Mr Latymer,’ Bree commented as he led her and Rosa over to a spot where they could watch without being caught up in the bustle.

‘We usually bring the same grooms, and the servants come on ahead with rugs and cloths and so forth. Everyone knows the routine.’ They watched in companionable silence while the last hampers were lifted out and carried away to the picnic area. ‘There now, nothing left to do but enjoy ourselves,’ Latymer observed.

‘I see we are not the only lady passengers,’ Rosa commented. ‘Look, Miss Mallory, there are the Collins sisters, and is that Lady Harrison I can see over by the oak tree?’

‘Do you mind if we stroll over and greet our acquaintances, Mr Latymer?’

‘Not at all, Miss Mallory. Perhaps you will give me the pleasure of pointing out some of the landmarks to you after luncheon.’

With that agreed, the ladies made their way down the slope to join the small group who were finding cushions and rugs and making themselves comfortable.

‘Miss Mallory, do join us!’ The three Collins sisters waved and Bree strolled across, leaving Rosa chatting to Lady Harrison, her daughter and her companion.

‘The gentlemen have all deserted us.’ Miss Collins, the eldest of the three and a pretty red head, laughed. ‘They always do, of course. I do not know why I am surprised. They would like us to think they are engaged in earnest discussion of matters of substance, but we know they are only talking about horses and prize fights.’

Bree found a cushion and settled down between Miss Jane and Miss Catherine. ‘You came with your brother?’ She followed their gestures to where the men stood round the stagecoach, all in vigorous discussion with William Huggins. ‘Oh dear, do you think they will spare us any of their attention with such a distraction?’

‘Well …’ Miss Collins pouted comically ‘… I am used to being cut out by that spiteful cat Augusta Harrison, but I’ve never been ignored for a red-faced man with three chins before!’

‘Ah, but that red-faced man is Bonebreaker Bill,’ Bree explained. ‘It is not every day you have the opportunity to talk to a legend.’

‘And he works for you?’ Miss Jane asked.

‘For my brother,’ Bree said firmly. ‘Oh, look, the gentlemen are coming to join us at last.’

They were straggling down the hill, still intent in discussion of the stagecoach, as was obvious from their hand gestures. Bree watched and waited. Max was heading directly for them. She caught his eye, smiled and felt the curve of her lips freeze as he nodded pleasantly and went to sit on the rug next to Lady Harrison.

‘Humph,’ Miss Catherine observed inelegantly. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Do you think Lord Penrith is having an affair with Lady Harrison? They do say her husband’s hardly ever at home.’

‘Why ever should you imagine such a thing?’ Bree demanded. She knew why she felt so snappish, but what she did not know was why she had so confidently expected Max to come to her side. As though we belong together.

‘Well, they do say that his heart was broken, years ago, which is why he has never married. So I expect he has lots of lovers.’

‘Really?’ That was what Lady Georgy had said. Bree knew she should not be gossiping, not about such a subject. It was like sucking a sore tooth: painful but irresistible. ‘What happened, to break his heart?’

‘No one knows, or at least, if they do, they are not telling unmarried girls. It is very mysterious. But he is so eligible and you would think he’d want to marry for an heir, wouldn’t you? So there must be something in it.’

‘Nevill Harlow’s his heir, isn’t he?’ Miss Collins turned large green eyes towards Nevill, who was sprawled inelegantly under the shade of a lime tree in earnest discussion with Piers. ‘I did think he was rather young, but if he’s going to be an earl one day, perhaps he’s more interesting than I thought.’

‘I am sure Lord Penrith will marry sooner or later,’ Bree said, squashing the subject. ‘Look, they have finished setting out the picnic. What a wonderful spread.’

The young ladies got up and strolled over to admire the combined contents of all the hampers. Footmen were setting out piles of cushions and rugs under trees and a trestle table had been set up for the drinks.

‘Allow me to find you a comfortable cushion and fetch you a plate, Miss Mallory.’ It was Max, with his disconcerting habit of appearing at her elbow when she least expected him.

‘Thank you, my lord. I must confess to being very sharp-set. Do you always feast so lavishly?’ She sank down on to the cushion Max found for her and looked up at him, narrowing her eyes against the sunlight that filtered through the branches.

‘The picnics are generally excellent,’ he admitted. ‘Although it can vary—they are best when we have several ladies with us. When we eat at inns it is usually good. Now, what would you like?’

For you to sit down next to me and tell me how you feel about me, and not sit and flirt with Lady Harrison, that is what I would like. ‘Oh, anything—a nice mixture of what is there. Surprise me if you can,’ she said lightly as other ladies were escorted to the surrounding seats and they were no longer alone.

Bree was completely inexperienced with the rituals of courtship, and half the time she was convinced that Max felt nothing for her than friendship. Then he would say something, or she would catch his eyes on her, and a strange shiver of awareness would pass through her as though they had exchanged a thought, or an emotion. Did he feel it too? Or was she just fooling herself that there could be anything between an earl and the daughter of a yeoman?

Or was he working up to making an improper proposal? She did hope not. Strangely, despite the fact that in her heart of hearts she knew they had no future as man and wife, and despite feeling certain that she was in love with him, Bree felt not the slightest fear that she would succumb to such temptation if it were offered.

The memory of Max’s kisses were like some tale she had read over and over—utterly familiar, imprinted on her memory, but unreal all the same. Her body still stirred when she thought of them, but she was confident that this physical temptation could be resisted, if it ever came again. It could lead nowhere and she was not such a fool as to throw her hat over the windmill for a few moments of passion. She knew that, for her, a loving marriage was the only relationship she would accept.

‘Miss Mallory?’ He was back, a plate in each hand and one of the footmen behind him holding glasses. Bree smiled her thanks and accepted her plate, expecting Max to sit beside her. But he handed the second plate to the person at her side. ‘Lady Harrison. I hope you both have a pleasant meal.’

Bree stared after his broad back as it retreated down the slope to the next group of diners. ‘Oh.’

She had not realised she had spoken aloud until Lady Harrison remarked, ‘Did you expect Lord Penrith to join us?’

‘No. No, of course not.’ Protesting too much … ‘Why should he?’ That was not much better, implying there would be no reason why he would wish to take luncheon with Lady Harrison.

‘Penrith is not much given to the company of young ladies,’ the older woman observed, with a sideways smile at Bree’s carefully blank face. ‘He takes great care not to entangle himself.’

‘Very wise, I am sure,’ Bree responded sweetly. ‘After all, I am certain he can find plenty of married ladies to entertain him. Shocking, of course, but such is society, I gather.’

Lady Harrison’s expression acquired a touch of acid. ‘That is a bold observation for a young lady in the marriage mart to be making about her elders.’

‘But I am not on the catch for a husband,’ Bree corrected politely. ‘I have no expectation of making a match, so I find myself freer to call a spade a b—’ she caught herself just in time ‘—a shovel.’ She forked up a little kedgeree with composure. ‘This is truly excellent.’ But her eyes rested on the familiar head below her.

Bree passed the rest of the meal in silence. Lady Harrison, affronted, turned her shoulder, and Rosa had become absorbed into a group a little farther along. She had scanned the area before she sat down, had seen Bree in apparently harmonious conversation with Lady Harrison, waved and left her to it.

This gave Bree ample opportunity to review her own sharp tongue and lack of discretion, the unreliability of certain gentlemen and the folly of love. It could not be said to improve her digestion.

‘Miss Mallory, might I suggest a short stroll before dessert?’ It was Mr Latymer. She was so glad to see him that she scrambled to her feet with unladylike speed.

‘Yes, I should like that, thank you.’

‘There is a most excellent vantage point, just around here.’ Brice Latymer waved a languid hand towards a stand of trees. ‘The views to the river are delightful.’

Bree cast a look down the slope to where Rosa sat, deep in conversation. She should not really go wandering off alone with a man, but this was Mr Latymer, for goodness’ sake, and surely it was not much different from driving alone with a gentleman in the park, an unexceptional activity.

The clump of trees was thicker, and larger, than she had imagined. And there was no view, merely a glade opening up. She turned, puzzled, and suddenly apprehensive.

‘Miss Mallory.’ Mr Latymer took her hand, making her jump. ‘Bree. You cannot be unaware of my feelings for you.’

‘Mr Latymer!’ Bree tried to tug her hand free and found it held tight. In fact, the movement brought her closer to him. How had she ever thought his gaze friendly and bland? It was hot, fierce and, she groped wildly for a word, greedy. ‘Mr Latymer, please let me go. I have no idea what you are referring to.’

‘Do not be so coy. Marry me.’

‘No! I mean, I am conscious of the honour you do me, sir, but I do not feel that we should suit.’ There, that was what one said, was it not? Now he will let go, bow and remove himself.

But Brice Latymer had not read the same stories that Bree had, or if he had, he showed no inclination to follow the script. He pulled her hard against him, bent his head and took her mouth. Instinctively Bree tried to scream and found that all she had done was to open her lips to him and to his tongue. It was every bit as horrible as she had imagined, before her experience with Max had shown her how pleasurable kissing could be. It obviously depended totally on the man doing the kissing.

‘Stop it!’ She managed to wrench her mouth free, only to be jerked back and held against his body, which was hard, hot and very obviously aroused. ‘I do not wish to marry you, sir! Let me go!’

‘Tease,’ he said breathlessly. ‘You know you want it, want me. You’ve given me enough encouragement, damn it.’ She tried to push him away, but for all her strong wrists she found she was helpless. ‘Marry me. I know about horses, I’ll help the business, I’m not too proud to marry trade.’

‘No!’ This time there were no polite words to soften her refusal. ‘Let me go!’

‘Not until you’re ruined.’ He was panting with the effort to hold her, but for all her struggles he was still too much for her. ‘Another ten minutes in here and you’ll have to marry me, Bree Mallory, whether you want to or not.’