Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations - Sarah Mallory - Страница 14
ОглавлениеPhyllida had still not made up her mind about Richard Arrandale by the time they rode to Farleigh the following Monday. Her groom Parfett brought the horses around from the livery stables, warning that they were very lively since they had not been ridden for some time. Phyllida was soon in control of Sultan, her own rangy chestnut gelding, but she watched anxiously as Ellen’s spirited grey mare pranced and sidestepped playfully.
‘No need to worry about Miss Ellen,’ said Parfett, observing Phyllida’s frown. ‘You know there wasn’t a horse in her father’s stable she couldn’t master. She’s at home to a peg.’
As if to prove him correct, the mare quickly grew quiet under Ellen’s confident handling and they set off to meet up with the rest of the party at Laura Place, where they found the Wakefields already mounted and waiting for them.
‘Our little riding party has grown to nine, Lady Phyllida,’ Lady Wakefield greeted her with a cheerful smile. She waved her hand towards the pretty brunette talking with Julia and Adrian. ‘Mrs Desborough has allowed Penelope to join us, and Mr Henry Fullingham came up to me just yesterday and begged to be allowed to join us. Here he comes now, with Mr Arrandale.’
Phyllida looked back to see the two gentlemen approaching. Surely it was not merely her fancy that of the two men, Richard had the advantage? It was not only his superior height, nor the way his blue riding coat moulded to his form. He looked relaxed and at home in the saddle, completely in control of the powerful black hunter he was riding. She thought it could not be a livery-stable horse, and this was soon confirmed when Mr Arrandale rode up to Lady Wakefield as the party prepared to set off.
‘I do not know the country,’ he said. ‘Will we be able to give the horses their heads? I was going to hire a hack, but in the end I sent for my hunter. He has been eating his head off at Brookthorn Manor and could do with the exercise.’
‘There are a couple of places one can gallop, although Wakefield and I will not do so,’ replied the lady. ‘And I should warn you that Miss Desborough and Julia are rather nervous riders, so I pray you will not encourage them to join you.’
Phyllida knew Ellen was anything but nervous and would undoubtedly wish to gallop across the country with the gentlemen. She made up her mind that if Lord and Lady Wakefield would not accompany them, then it would be up to her to do so. She patted Sultan’s glossy neck, reflecting that neither she nor her mount would consider it a penance to career across the countryside.
They rode out of Bath at a sedate pace. Mr Fullingham and Mr Arrandale both looked as if they would like to ride with Ellen but she remained happily between Phyllida and Penelope Desborough. Phyllida considered the picture they must make. Penelope’s plum-coloured habit was sober enough, but Ellen’s sky-blue velvet with its matching hat was quite eye-catching, and there was no doubt that the colour accentuated her flawless complexion and shining curls. Phyllida thought her own dove-grey habit must look very dull by comparison and was obliged to stifle a pang of regret. She felt a little envious, then scolded herself for such nonsense. As a girl she would never have been confident enough to choose bright colours, even if Mama had allowed it. She glanced again at her kerseymere skirts. She was out of mourning now, there was no reason why she shouldn’t order a new riding habit. Something a little more...showy.
What on earth am I thinking? I am Ellen’s chaperon. I do not wish to draw attention to myself.
But at that moment her gaze fell upon Richard Arrandale and she knew that she was not being quite honest. Phyllida glanced again at her stepdaughter. Ellen was looking particularly lovely today, her eyes sparkling, her countenance so animated that Phyllida thought no man would be able to resist the attraction. She would have to keep her under close scrutiny. She passed the gentlemen in the party under quick review. Lord Wakefield and his son posed no threat, she decided, but Messrs Fullingham and Arrandale were a different matter. They were both fashionable men with considerable address and Phyllida had no intention of allowing either of them to spend time alone with Ellen.
* * *
This was not a problem until they reached the first stretch of open ground where Lord Wakefield indicated it would be safe to gallop.
‘Our route lies along the road here,’ explained Lady Wakefield, ‘so those of us who do not wish to race may walk on at a respectable pace. The rest of you may gallop over to that copse yonder and back again.’
‘But there will be no racing,’ Lord Wakefield reminded them.
‘Actually I think I will remain on the road,’ said his son, drawing closer to Penelope Desborough.
Lord Wakefield turned his attention to the other two gentlemen. ‘We have a long way to go,’ he barked. ‘I do not want to be turning back because one of you young dogs has broken his neck.’
He frowned so direfully at Mr Fullingham that the young man flushed.
‘No, no, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.’ His glance flickered towards Ellen who was trotting up. ‘Especially when we will have ladies with us.’
‘Oh, do not hold back for me, I want no special treatment,’ replied Ellen, laughing.
‘Your stepmama may not agree with you,’ said Lord Wakefield.
Ellen looked around, her brows rising when she saw Phyllida approaching. ‘Oh, are you coming with us Philly?’
The surprise in her tone irked Phyllida and roused a tiny spurt of rebellion.
‘Coming with you?’ She kicked her horse on. ‘Catch me if you can!’
Sultan was fresh and leapt forward without a second bidding. Phyllida heard the cry of delight from Ellen and a startled call from Lady Wakefield for her to take care but she ignored them both. She felt suddenly, gloriously free as the gelding flew across the turf. She glanced behind. Three riders were following, Ellen’s grey mare galloping beside Mr Fullingham’s bay but in front of them and closing fast upon her was Richard Arrandale on the black hunter. Phyllida turned back, crouching lower over Sultan’s neck, urging the horse on. She could hear the hunter thundering up behind her. The copse was approaching all too quickly, but she did not want to rein in Sultan. Her only relief during her year of mourning and self-imposed exile at Tatham Park had been her early morning gallops. She had missed them when she had come to Bath and now she wanted the feeling of excitement to go on for ever.
‘Don’t pull up,’ Richard shouted. ‘We’ll go on to the barn yonder!’
It was madness. She was setting a poor example to Ellen, but with the wind in her face and the exhilaration of the ride firing her blood, Phyllida could not resist prolonging the race. She touched her whip to Sultan’s flank and they shot past the copse and on towards the barn in the distance. Above the thud of Sultan’s hoofs she was aware of the hunter closing up. The black nose was at her shoulder. She pushed Sultan on, urging him to make one last effort and they thundered past the barn neck and neck.
The horses slowed and Phyllida straightened in the saddle, unable to hold back a laugh of sheer delight.
‘Impressive, Lady Phyllida.’ Richard had brought his hunter alongside and was grinning at her. ‘And unexpected.’
She met his eyes, still exhilarated by the race. The glowing, soaring elation intensified when she saw the admiration in his glance. She could not stop smiling at him. They were very close, his muscled thigh encased in tight buckskin was so near that she might reach out to touch it. Phyllida was startled to realise how much she wanted to do so. How much she wanted him.
The urge to smile disappeared. In a panic she dragged her gaze away and stared determinedly between Sultan’s ears.
She said remorsefully, ‘It was very bad of me. Lord Wakefield expressly forbade us to race. And then to extend it here, out of sight of the road.’ The pleasure of the moment had subsided and she bit her lip, suddenly mortified at her lack of decorum.
‘Console yourself with the fact that the others did not follow us,’ said Richard. ‘They are obediently waiting at the copse even now. Shall we go back?’
‘I suppose we must.’
His look was searching as they turned about and Phyllida realised she had sounded quite regretful. Heavens, she hoped he did not misunderstand her and think she wanted to keep him by her side. She rushed into an explanation.
‘It is a long time since Sultan has raced against another horse. When Sir Evelyn died the family thought it would be best to sell all the horses except Sultan and Ellen’s mare.’
‘Surely that was your decision?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
And it had been her decision, but she could acknowledge now the pressure that had been brought to bear, while she was still coming to terms with her loss. It was not just from Sir Evelyn’s family, but her own, too. She had been brought up to believe that a man must be head of the family and his word was law, that she should always bow to his will, but marriage had changed her. She had enjoyed being mistress of her own house and had grown more confident under Sir Evelyn’s benevolent protection. He had encouraged her to think for herself.
Her parents had died by the time Phyllida became a widow, but her family had descended upon her, discussing with Sir Evelyn’s relatives what would be best for her and it had taken all her newfound strength to stand out against them. Thank goodness she had not allowed them to persuade her to give up Sultan, or to sell Tatham Park.
* * *
Richard was silent, watching the play of emotion on Lady Phyllida’s countenance. The excited glow died from her eyes and her cheeks lost their hectic flush. He thought there was a shadow of sadness about her. She was thinking back to her dead husband, perhaps. Did she miss him? Had she loved him?
Richard shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the thought. A sudden and unfamiliar feeling swept through him. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. To make her happy.
* * *
The others were waiting for them at the copse, keeping their horses in the shade of the trees. As Phyllida and Richard approached Ellen called out, ‘Philly, are you all right? When I saw you racing on I wanted to follow but Mr Fullingham thought we should wait here, since this is where we agreed to stop.’
‘We were afraid Sultan had bolted with you,’ added Mr Fullingham.
‘No such thing,’ said Richard. ‘We were enjoying the race and decided to go on.’ He glanced at Phyllida. ‘It was my fault, and I beg your pardon.’
‘I knew you were in no danger, Philly,’ said Ellen comfortably. ‘You were always a clipping rider, I had forgotten just how good you are!’
Phyllida chuckled and shook her head. ‘It was most irresponsible of me, but I cannot deny that I enjoyed it.’
Ellen looked back towards the road. ‘I think we should be getting back to the others. I am not sure how much they will have seen...’
‘Not the race to the barn,’ said Richard. ‘That would have been screened by the copse.’
Ellen giggled. ‘Then we shall not tell them how reprehensibly you both behaved.’
‘Thank you,’ said Phyllida meekly.
‘And it has done you good, Philly,’ Ellen continued. ‘I have never seen you looking better.’
Richard grinned. He had to agree, Lady Phyllida was looking radiant. She had surprised him and he thought that perhaps she was not such a mouse after all. He fell in with the others, but as he did so he caught Henry Fullingham’s eye and the fellow winked at him. Richard’s jaw tightened and he cursed inwardly. By allowing himself to gallop off with the widow he had left the field free for Fullingham to advance his cause with Ellen Tatham. And if that smug expression was anything to go by, he had taken full advantage of it.
* * *
Richard hoped for an opportunity to draw Ellen away as they continued towards Farleigh but she fell in beside her stepmother. Phyllida’s unexpected escapade had clearly impressed her and the two ladies rode together, laughing and chattering. Watching them, and listening to them reminisce about past rides and excursions, Richard was again struck by Phyllida’s youthfulness. She could only have been about Ellen’s age when Sir Evelyn had married her. She and Ellen were obviously good friends and he wondered if that had been a comfort to the young bride in the early days of her marriage.
* * *
The question was still in his head when he finally managed to ride beside Ellen, and instead of taking the opportunity to engage her in a gentle flirtation he remarked that she appeared to be on very good terms with her stepmother.
‘Yes. Philly has always been much more like an older sister than a mama to me.’
She turned her head and regarded him for a moment with unwonted seriousness. ‘I would do nothing to hurt her, Mr Arrandale.’
‘I am sure you would not.’ He added, surprising himself, ‘I hope that will always be the case, because it might well prevent you from getting into any serious scrapes.’
She thought about this for a moment.
‘Sometimes I think I am much more worldly-wise than Philly. In fact, I have decided to promote her happiness.’
His lips twitched. ‘And how do you propose to do that, Miss Tatham?’
The solemn look fled and she shook her head, eyes gleaming with mischief.
‘I shall not tell you. It is always best to play one’s cards close to one’s chest, is it not?’
He frowned. ‘Now where did you learn that expression?’
‘From my teacher, Mrs Ackroyd. She explained to us about games of chance. Cards, and dice and the like.’
‘Ah, I did not think you would have heard Lady Phyllida say such a thing.’
‘Goodness, no. Sometimes I think Philly needs me to look after her, not the other way round.’
Before he could respond, a call from Lord Wakefield informed them that they had reached Farleigh and the party reorganised itself to ride up the drive to the house. They were met at the door by the housekeeper, who confirmed that the family were not at home but that refreshments were waiting for them, if they would care to step inside for a little while before they inspected what was left of the castle and the chapel.
Phyllida moved closer to Ellen. She had observed her talking to Richard during the ride, seen the looks, brimful with laughter, that Ellen had thrown at him and she had been conscious of a strong feeling of desolation. It had formed itself into a hard, unhappy knot deep inside. Phyllida wanted to snatch Ellen away but that would do no good at all. She was Ellen’s chaperon, not her gaoler, and would never prevent her merely talking to a gentleman. So she entered the house beside Lady Wakefield and left the younger ones to chatter together while they enjoyed the cold collation that had been set out for their delectation.
* * *
Afterwards, when they went off to look at the ruins of the castle, she made no attempt to keep Ellen at her side, but watched her scamper off with the other girls. Adrian, Mr Fullingham and Richard Arrandale accompanied the group to help them over the uneven ground while Phyllida followed a short distance behind with Lord Wakefield and his lady.
‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Lady Wakefield when the breeze brought snatches of the young people’s conversation floating back to them, ‘Adrian is recounting the castle’s gruesome history. Should we tell him to stop? I would not wish him to give the girls nightmares.’
‘Do not silence him on Ellen’s account,’ replied Phyllida, thinking of the copy of The Monk currently secreted in her stepdaughter’s bedchamber, ‘She will enjoy the horrid stories immensely.’
‘As will Julia and Penelope,’ added Lord Wakefield, with a complacent chuckle. ‘Do not worry, ladies, the children will not come to any harm here.’
Phyllida wondered if that were true, but she soon saw that the young ladies were much more interested in clambering over the ruins and listening to Adrian Wakefield’s blood-curdling tales than in dalliance with any of the gentlemen.
* * *
There was little to see of the castle except the gatehouse and what remained of the thick walls. The rest was merely piles of rubble, much of it overgrown, but this did not prevent the younger members of the party from scrambling around like excited children.
‘Which is what they are,’ remarked Lady Wakefield, watching them with smiling indulgence. ‘The girls are barely out of the schoolroom and Adrian is only a couple of years their senior. I wish I had their energy! The ride and then the refreshments have left me feeling quite languid, so Wakefield and I are going to find a convenient stone block to sit upon, Lady Phyllida, if you would like to stay with us?’
Phyllida declined gracefully. She was not at all fatigued by the ride and glad to have some time to herself. She wandered off, enjoying the solitude. She loved Ellen dearly, but having responsibility for such a pretty girl, and an heiress at that, was proving more arduous than she had thought. Having spent the past year living on her own at Tatham Park she had thought having Ellen to live with her would provide her with the companionship she had lacked since Sir Evelyn’s death, and it did, but Phyllida knew now that it was not enough. Ellen was not a kindred spirit, they could not converse upon equal terms, because Phyllida could never forget that Ellen was her responsibility.
She did not regret taking Ellen to live with her and she would devote herself now to looking after her. But later, when Ellen was married and she could look to her own happiness, what then? Perhaps she should marry again. Sir Evelyn had proved himself a kind and considerate husband but Phyllida knew that only the deepest love would make her give up her independence now, and ladies who had reached the advanced age of four-and-twenty did not readily fall in love, did they? The question hovered and impatiently she closed her mind to it. The future must look after itself. She was comfortably situated and had sufficient funds to do whatever she wished.
Such as wandering around ruined castles all alone?
Yes, she told herself firmly, and set off to prove it was possible.
* * *
The area adjoining the gatehouse was now a farmyard so Phyllida made her way in the opposite direction, where trees and bushes obscured what was left of the thick curtain wall. Stones from the ancient building were scattered around, making the ground uneven and she gathered up her voluminous skirts to avoid snagging them on the rampant vegetation.
‘Exploring, Lady Phyllida?’
Richard Arrandale was coming towards her. She quickly dropped her skirts, but not before she was sure he had glimpsed her stockings and half-boots.
And what of it? No doubt he has seen scores of ladies’ ankles in his career.
She told him, ‘I wanted, if I could, to discover something of the size of the castle.’
‘It is quite extensive. Here, take my hand and let me help you over these stones. We may find the path a little easier further on.’
‘Perhaps I should be getting back. Ellen—’
‘Miss Tatham is safely under the eye of the Wakefields,’ he replied. ‘And Fullingham has taken himself off to smoke a cigar.’ He said solemnly, ‘You are at liberty to enjoy yourself, Lady Phyllida.’
Tentatively she put out her hand. As his fingers closed around her glove she felt his thumb moving over the soft leather. The slow sensual strokes made her want to purr and she had to struggle to ignore it. He led her on through the ruins, pointing out portions of carved stone amongst the rubble and the outline of walls that were now no more than ridges in the ground.
‘You are very well informed, Mr Arrandale.’ She cast a suspicious look up at him. ‘When Lady Wakefield told you of this excursion you gave the impression you had not been here before.’
‘Did I?’
She stopped. His expression was innocent enough but there was laughter in his eyes. She said severely, ‘You know very well you did.’
He laughed.
‘Very well, I admit it. My great-aunt brought me here several times when I was younger. I explored the ruins then.’
‘Oh? Did all your family visit here?’
‘Good God, no. My father would have thought this place beneath him. He and my mother were too busy enjoying themselves in town to bother with their children.’
She tried to ignore the bitterness in his response.
‘Did your brother come here too?’
‘No. By the time I visited here Wolf was at Oxford, causing mayhem.’
‘Ah.’ She smiled. ‘The Scandalous Arrandales.’
‘Quite. However, unlike me, he wasn’t sent down. He saved his disgrace for something far more serious.’
He looked so grim that she could not prevent herself from squeezing his hand.
‘I am very sorry.’
‘You need not be.’
He spoke roughly and she knew he wanted to pull away from her. It was an almost imperceptible movement but she was aware of it and immediately she released him. He took a couple of paces towards one of the low stretches of wall rising up through the grass and rested one booted foot upon the stones.
He said with feigned carelessness, ‘It gives one a certain...standing, don’t you know, to have a murderer for a brother. I attracted all the choicest spirits at Oxford, most of ’em older, all of them ripe for mischief. I did not last a year before they kicked me out.’
‘Why, what did you do?’ The question was voiced before she could prevent it.
‘Gambling, drinking. Women. Then I moved on to London, where I found even more of the same pleasures to be enjoyed.’ His mouth twisted. ‘After all, I had to maintain the family reputation. Although I stopped short of murder.’
Her heart went out to him.
‘I do not believe the Arrandales are as black as they are painted. As for your brother—it was a long time ago but I know the whispers, the rumours, continue.’ She tried to smile. ‘They are probably much worse than what actually happened.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Would you like to tell me?’
She spoke the words softly and wondered if he had heard them for he ignored her, idly swiping at a thistle with his riding crop. Phyllida waited and eventually her patient silence was rewarded.
‘I am no better informed than you about how my sister-in-law died. I was spending that winter with my great-aunt at Shrewton and my parents decided it would be best if I remained in ignorance of what had happened. Of course that state of affairs could not last, Sophia’s acquaintances soon informed her of the situation and she took me back to Arrandale but by then it was too late. Florence, my sister-in-law, had been dead three months and my brother was gone.’
He turned and began to stroll on. She fell in beside him.
‘How did she die?’
‘Fell down the stairs. Florence was pregnant at the time and the fall brought on the birth. The child survived but Florence died that night. Everyone thought Wolf had killed her. Oh, the death was recorded as an accident, my father saw to that. After all he’d had plenty of practice covering up his own transgressions.’ His lip curled. ‘I come from a family of wrongdoers, Lady Phyllida. My family history is littered with murder, abduction and thievery, the stories of Farleigh Castle pale in comparison. Wolf was merely following the family tradition.’
She shook her head, but did not contradict him, merely asked what had happened to his brother.
‘My father sent Wolf abroad immediately after the tragedy. Then Florence’s parents demanded the return of a diamond necklace. It was a family treasure, apparently, to be passed to the heir, in this case Florence’s twin, but she had borrowed it for her wedding and had kept it to wear on grand occasions. Only it wasn’t there. It would seem that Wolf took it to pay his way abroad.’
‘And do you believe that?’
His scornful glance scorched her.
‘Does it matter what I believe? My father refused to talk of it. I was sent back to Shrewton Lodge with a tutor to finish my schooling, then I was packed off to Oxford and by the following spring my parents were dead. Officially it was scarlet fever, there had been a particularly bad outbreak at Arrandale, but I think it was more likely the shame of it all that overcame them, at least for my mother.’
‘Or the heartbreak,’ she murmured sadly, thinking of how the tragedy must have ripped apart the family. ‘What happened to the baby?’
‘It was a girl. When my parents died she was sent to live with a distant cousin, the Earl of Davenport.’ A wry smile broke through for a moment. ‘Another Arrandale, but James is as sober as the rest of us are dissolute and he was thought the best guardian for the girl. He has a daughter of the same age, so it was deemed the best thing to do with the child.’
‘And Wolfgang? Where is your brother now?’
He spread his hands. ‘We never heard from him again. I made enquiries, hired men to search for him, sent letters.’ A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘It may be that he did not want to be found. Or he may well have been drowned on the crossing to France, there were some exceptionally vicious storms that winter.’
‘How sad, that he never had a chance to explain himself.’
Richard stopped.
‘I desperately want him to be innocent,’ he burst out. ‘Wolf is seven years my senior and I always looked up to him. Oh, I know he was hot tempered and rash, but he was never unkind, not intentionally. And I really cannot believe—’
He broke off. Phyllida saw the muscle working in his cheek. He was wrestling with profound grief and she wanted only to comfort him.
‘You really should believe he is innocent, Mr Arrandale, until it is proven otherwise.’
He did not answer. He did not appear to have heard her but remained staring at nothing, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Unhappiness wrapped about him like a cloak and there was nothing she could do to relieve it. A small cloud momentarily blocked out the sun and Phyllida shivered. The faint movement recalled his wandering attention. He was once again his usual, urbane self.
‘You have not yet seen the chapel, Lady Phyllida. Perhaps we should go back there now, if you have seen enough?’
He extended his arm.
‘Yes, please.’ She slipped her hand on to his sleeve. ‘These broken walls have lost their charm for me.’
* * *
As they made their way back across the ruins she noted that Lord and Lady Wakefield were still sitting on their stone seat. Ellen, Penelope and the two younger Wakefields were exploring what was left of the gatehouse. She eased her conscience with the thought that she was keeping Richard Arrandale away from Ellen. Wasn’t she?
* * *
The little chapel was built within the curtain wall of the castle and had been restored sufficiently for visitors to go inside. Richard stood back for Phyllida to pass before him into the narrow building. Odd that he had told her about Wolf. He had never said as much to anyone before. After all, what was the point? Everyone believed Wolf was guilty, he was just another in the long line of scandalous Arrandales. So why had he spoken so freely to Phyllida? Was it because she had seemed genuinely interested, prepared to think something other than the worst of an Arrandale?
Richard followed her into the centre of the chapel. Her soft boots made no sound on the stone flags, her skirts floated out as she moved, a silent figure in pale grey. She looked so ethereal that he could not help himself. He reached out and touched her shoulder. She turned and he found himself subjected to her enquiring gaze.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I needed to reassure myself that you were real.’
‘Of course I am real.’ Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘Did you think me a ghost?’
‘No, an angel.’
An angel sent to redeem him.
She was surprised into a laugh. The warm, delicious sound echoed around them, breaking the sepulchral calm of the stone building. Quickly she put a hand over her mouth but her eyes still gleamed with merriment, green as emeralds. His blood quickened. She no longer looked ethereal, she was a living, breathing woman and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
He was aware of the change immediately and he knew she had read his thoughts. Her eyes were no longer alight with laughter but something else, an instinctive response to him. He felt the connection, the sizzle of excitement that held them immobile. They were less than an arm’s length apart, beneath her mannish jacket and white shirt her breast rose and fell as she took a deep, ragged breath. When she lowered her hand he reached for it, felt the quiver of excitement as their fingers touched, not in the least dulled by the soft kid of their gloves. They were caught in a bubble that tightened around them, moving them slowly but inexorably together.
The air shimmered with anticipation. He saw the tip of her tongue flicker nervously over her lips, as if she knew that they would kiss, that it was inevitable and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Looking into her eyes, he saw a shy smile there and he knew with startling clarity that she did not wish to prevent it. He was holding her hand, drawing her closer. They were breast to breast, he had only to lower his head now for the sweetness of a first kiss from those full, inviting lips.
* * *
Laughter, the chatter of familiar voices intruded upon the silence, breaking the spell. Phyllida jumped back, shaken. She felt very much as she did when she dreamed of falling and awoke with a start. What was she doing, standing so close to this man, wanting him to kiss her? She forced herself to turn away, to face the door where the Wakefields now appeared, the others crowding in behind them. Thankfully they all stopped in the doorway, blinking as their eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and that gave her the opportunity to recover herself and school her face into a semblance of calm.
‘Why, Lady Phyllida, you are here before us. We thought you were still wandering through the ruins.’
She forced herself to acknowledge Lady Wakefield’s cheerful greeting, to smile and make a suitable reply. The moment was gone, the small chapel was now full of people and noise. Phyllida linked her arm with Ellen’s and accompanied her around the small church, admiring the ancient tomb and the arched window with its elegant tracery. She did not look back at Richard. She could hear his voice, cool and steady with just a hint of amusement, but in her mind’s eye she recalled his face when they had stood alone in the chapel. The blaze of passion that had set her heart racing and then something quite different when they were interrupted. The look of shock, of horror, at what had almost occurred.
* * *
They did not tarry in the chapel and soon the party made its way back to the stables to collect the horses. Henry Fullingham was waiting for them, sitting on a mounting block and chatting with Parfett and Lady Wakefield’s groom. Phyllida blinked. She had not even noticed he was not with the others. To be honest she had noticed very little since that moment alone with Richard in the chapel. She heard Lady Wakefield murmur to her husband as they followed Phyllida into the stable yard.
‘If you were to ask me, Mr Fullingham is not at all interested in the romantic ruins.’
‘I quite agree, my dear,’ chuckled Lord Wakefield. ‘He lounged off in a sulk when it was clear the girls preferred Adrian’s ghoulish tales to his flirting. And look now, if he was hoping to help any young lady on to her horse he is foiled again, for the grooms are there before him!’
Lady Wakefield turned to Phyllida, saying as they watched the younger ones mounting up, ‘Well, ma’am, are you glad you came?’
‘I have enjoyed it very much, ma’am. I am grateful to you for arranging it.’
‘Thanks, too, should go to Lady Hune for her introduction,’ put in Lord Wakefield. ‘Without it I doubt our reception would have been quite so hospitable. The refreshments were truly exceptional. Pray, Mr Arrandale, tell Lady Hune we are obliged to her, when you get back to Royal Crescent.’
Phyllida had been lost in her own thoughts and had not realised Richard was so close. He had filled her thoughts and now the unexpected sight of him at her shoulder caught her unawares. The erratic beat of her heart disturbed her breathing. She was obliged to concentrate very hard to prevent herself from simpering and blushing like a schoolgirl when he asked if he might help her into the saddle.
She accepted in as dignified a manner as she could manage, trying not to think how strong he must be to throw her up so effortlessly. She forced herself to appear calm and unruffled while he checked the girth and adjusted her stirrup but her nerves were still on edge. She could not prevent her thoughts from racing ahead. What if he helped her down when they reached Charles Street? She would slide into his arms. They would envelop her, of course, and hold her close while he smiled down at her. His eyes would be gleaming with tender amusement and that would draw from her an answering smile before he bent his head and...and...
‘We must behave ourselves on the return journey, Lady Phyllida.’
Richard’s quiet words made her jump guiltily. He was standing beside Sultan, one hand resting on the gelding’s neck and only inches from her knee. She looked down at him, dazed, and saw just such laughter in his eyes as she had imagined. It stirred something deep inside her, something that disturbed and excited her in equal measure.
From across the yard Ellen called out with mock severity, ‘Indeed you must, Stepmama. Such a bad example you would be setting us!’
Phyllida was at a loss to answer her. She knew Ellen was referring to the madcap race across the turf, but she was aware that in the chapel she had come perilously close to being discovered locked in an embrace with Richard Arrandale. The look of smiling understanding in that gentleman’s eyes compounded her confusion. There was such warmth, such friendship in his glance that she could not resist smiling back at him, but as they set off on the long ride back she regained command of her senses and forced herself to face the depressing reality of the situation. Richard Arrandale had no interest in her, he was merely trying to put her at her ease in order to advance his pursuit of Ellen.
