Hello! I'm back from the Gulf Coast, and the chapter is finally up. Better late than never, I hope. At least while traveling I had the opportunity to see a very beautiful portrait by Joshua Reynolds that gave me ideas about some of my female characters (Mrs. Richard Crofts, 1775). You might want to check out my homepage, under "My Fanfiction," and then go to the teaser page for Tavington's Heiress. I have a picture of Jane, a sample dinner course, and a portrait of Letty in full fig. And now, here is
Chapter 34: Fox's Earth
The chaise jolted over a stretch of rough road. The women in the coach bumped against one another like ninepins on a green. Moll chuckled as Pullen's satin pincushion went flying, and then bounced twice.
"You're a hard-working girl, I give you that," she told the lady's maid, "but I reckon you should put it aside until we get wherever it is we're going."
Pullen scowled and retrieved her prized possession. "I'll never get this done in time." She settled back to her appliqué work with a determined air, working with impressive speed and precision.
"Don't worry so, Pullen," Jane said, cuddling the baby. "If the dress isn't done, it isn't done. The Earl and his family must accept us as we are."
"I hope so," Letty whispered to the window.
Jane wheedled a smile out of her sister, and handed William Francis back into Moll's strong arms. Letty might be uneasy about this journey to Colneford Castle, but Jane welcomed it as a blessed escape from her odious mother-in-law. Lord Colchester might not be mightily impressed by his nephew's choice of wife, but he was polite to Jane and quite doted on the baby.
On the night of the dinner party, Tavington had told her that his uncle had proposed a hunt on his estate. There would be a hunt ball the night before, and then the hunt proper, which Jane could see her husband was looking forward to like a boy at Christmas. Sir John had been persuaded to fall in with the scheme, and the two men were riding ahead of the coach even now.
The plan had required the delivery of their new coach, and Tavington's acquisition of a team of four and a competent coachman. Tavington had achieved all that within a few days, notified his uncle, and the game was afoot. Lord Colchester made a point of including his sister in the invitation. Considerable drama ensued. Lady Cecily told them she was feeling too ill for such a journey. It was too hot: it would be her death. She would catch a chill in the bad night air. She had affairs in town that could not be put off. In short, it was inconvenient, and she did not wish to come.
Her refusal, though it pleased Jane no end, unfortunately resulted in Caroline and Penelope being left behind. Their mother did not forbid them to go, but instead lamented in the bitterest words the cruelty of ungrateful children, who would abandon their mother to an empty and cheerless house. Her daughters were too tenderhearted to withstand this kind of manipulation. Lord Colchester was disappointed, but understood it all perfectly well. What he said in the privacy of his own study at Colchester House never reached Jane's ears, but she had no trouble imagining his reaction.
Lady Cecily had had plenty to say about the venture herself. She pointed out how it would interfere with Miss Rutledge's progress in music. She wondered aloud what kind of mother would subject an infant to an exhausting journey. Jane responded with forced calm, pointing out in her turn that if a voyage all the way from America had not injured William Francis, a few hours in a coach to Essex was unlikely to do him significant harm. She did not attempt to be conciliatory. If Lady Cecily had any genuine concern for her grandson, she could have shown it by actually taking a look at him once or twice. She was so curt, in fact, that William had looked up in surprise from his place at the dinner table. Jane did not feel like being conciliatory toward him, either. She had seen little enough of him since the night of the dinner party.
She had cares enough of her own. She had gone with Letty to the dressmaker Lucy Protheroe had told her of—the one who did good work far more cheaply than the supercilious Madame Margot. Two new day dresses were ordered and delivered at the last moment to be packed for the visit to the castle. They would hardly be enough. Squeezing what she could out of the last of her clothing money, Jane had bought a bale of creamy raw silk and an assortment of ribbons, braids, and lace. Pullen was tasked with making simple, elegant gowns: one to be trimmed in pink for Jane, and the other with Letty's favorite French blue. In the days before departing, she had completed Jane's dress, and was now putting the final touches on Letty's. It would be ready in a day or two, just as it was needed. White was not the best color for either of them, but it was fashionable and the silk had been a bargain. Quite a bit of the silk was left over, and would be useful for all sorts of projects.
It was a pleasant thought, and she stretched contentedly, happy to be spending a few days in the country. Glancing over, she noticed that Letty was still pensively gazing out the window.
Letty was plainly not as enthusiastic about their trip as Jane. While she had submitted to the change in plans without complaint, she had sighed when Lady Cecily had talked about the suspension of her music lessons. Letty was so happy in London that any change seemed disappointing. She sighed again, and murmured, "Lord Fanshawe planned to invite us all to dine with him. He wants me to see his art treasures."
"How nice," Jane managed lamely, quite taken aback. Letty as a connoisseur of art seemed so unlikely a development that she felt the brief suspicion of an intrigue. No. It could not be. Lord Fanshawe was an old man. He simply wanted to share his collection with his guests. "No doubt he will invite us on our return. It sounds very—educational."
"Yes. He thinks I should know about painting and sculpture and such. It all sounds so pretty, to hear him tell it. And there are exhibitions all the time of the good painters."
"The Colonel will be sitting for Sir Joshua Reynolds then, too. Perhaps we can visit while he works."
"Oh, yes!" Letty responded, eyes shining. "Lord Fanshawe says that he always keeps some of his best work on display there."
Moll listened to the exchange, somewhat bemused. Letty's interest in pictures seemed odd to her, too. Of course, Letty had always liked pretty things—couldn't get enough them, in fact. Pretty clothes, jewelry, flowers—and now she had found all sorts of new gewgaws to admire. Everybody had their own way of being happy; and sometimes being happy was just a matter of making up your mind to be happy. If painted pictures made Letty cheerful, Moll would not despise her for it.
Mrs. Tavington's pleasure in getting out to the country made more sense to her. A lot of that, surely, was getting away from her high-and-mightyness, Lady Cecily Tavington. Moll was feeling happy herself, but only part of that was getting away from the smoke and noise of the town. After all, she might not be so pleased herself, if Tom had not been borrowed from the old lady's household to act as footman on this little jaunt. He was traveling at his post on the back of the coach at this very moment, ready to jump down and look after them at a moment's notice. It was a comforting thing, to have an able-bodied man with them in addition to Bob Scoggins, the new coachman. Not that Scoggins didn't seem a decent man. But he was not as handsome as Tom. Not the least little bit.
Down in the servants' hall, Moll had been warned that there might be trouble on the way. There were no rebels and no rogue militiamen plundering the countryside, but there were plenty of bandits and robbers—"highwaymen"—they called them, always looking for easy prey on the busy London roads. After due consideration, she had insisted on taking her musket. Mrs. Tavington had agreed that was a sound plan, and had herself packed her little pistol in its fancy box under her seat. It was always better to be safe than sorry.
But as she scanned the passing green countryside, Moll thought they had little to worry about today. The Colonel and his brother were up ahead on horseback. Sir John's fast curricle was being driven by his valet, with the Colonel's valet riding with him. They had Scoggins driving the chaise, and Tom keeping on eye on the road to either side. Most of these highwaymen worked alone or in pairs. A good-sized party like theirs, led by gentlemen, should be safe enough.
Little Will was asleep again, blue-veined eyelids shut. Moll tenderly set him down into his travelling basket. The coach hit another bump, and Moll jostled Pullen, who lost her pincushion again. The pale-faced maid reached for it, looking put upon, but saying nothing. Moll hoped she would have a chance to talk to her during their stay in the country. She was not quite sure what to make of Margaret Pullen. Tom told her that the girl had been in a place called the Magdalen, where harlots went when they wanted to be reformed. She looked nothing like any harlot Moll had ever met, and Moll had met quite a few in her army days. Tom said the place was not a prison, because the girls had to want to be there. Maybe she had been betrayed by a false lover. That happened often enough, and Moll was not one to cast the first stone. It was a puzzle though, and Moll liked to solve puzzles.
Into the silence, Moll asked, "Whereabouts is this Wargrave that the Colonel talks about?"
Jane shook her head. "I wish I had a map. It must be nearby. The Colonel told me it is ten miles south of Colneford Castle, so I suppose we will be passing by soon. I don't know which road leads to it though. I wish the Colonel would show us."
"Maybe we'll go there," Letty said, rousing from her reverie. "I heard the Colonel and Sir John talking about it."
"More likely it will be just the Colonel and his brother," Jane answered. "That's probably why they brought the curricle. The two of them will drive at incredible speed, terrifying all the livestock in the county."
"A right neat little carriage," Moll agreed, wishing she could drive it herself, imagining the wind rushing past…
-----
Kitty. Tavington found it hard to think of anything else, astride his splendid new hunter, on the way to Colneford Castle. Kitty, Kitty, was the rhythm his horse's hooves beat out on the hard and dusty road. A rising tide of excitement quickened his heartbeat. He had not seen her in a week, but would be with her in less than hour.
The hunt, his uncle, the visit to Wargrave: all very nice in their way. Nothing, however, could compare with his ardent wish to see Kitty, Lady Sattersby again. Simply being in her presence brought a glow of happiness, and he could tell it was the same for her.
Lovely Kitty, married to that pitiful weed Sattersby, The fool plainly felt nothing for her, and could not begin to appreciate her. It was not only her beauty—though she was divinely beautiful. Tavington was lost momentarily in consideration of her skin, radiant as mother-of-pearl, her delicate, noble features, her bewitching, dimpled smile, and above all, her beautiful grey eyes, alight with wit and intelligence and deep feeling.
Yes, there was far more to her than her lovely looks. Kitty was a keen observer of human nature, and had plenty to say about the follies of the fashionable circles she inhabited. She was well-read, and a visit to Colchester House had always featured a digression into books. She knew everybody: she had ties to that group of clever women called the Blue Stockings; she knew Doctor Johnson, who had stayed as a guest of her father for months at a time; she was related to most of the aristocracy of England, Scotland, and Ireland.
She was entertaining: elegantly and generously so. A cup of tea with Kitty could never be dull. If conversation flagged—which it never did—Kitty could find some new and interesting topic. Or she would go over to her golden harp, playing like—as his uncle said—an angel. Sattersby simply did not know how lucky he was.
Kitty would be hunting with them, too. Her delight in the prospect of a hunt was equal to Tavington's own. Uncle Colchester vouched for her horsemanship. It would be a long and exciting day in the saddle, and he had promised his uncle particularly to look out for her. A splendid rider she might be, but she was still a lady, and in need of protection. Tavington smiled, feeling very honored at being entrusted with someone so precious. Unconsciously, he spurred his horse on, impatient to be there.
That next rise was familiar. Tavington looked over at his brother, the smile still on his lips. John grinned back and reined in his horse a little. Another bend in the road beyond those elms would reveal the way to the castle. John glanced back and called to his brother. "Not too fast, Will! We don't want to lose the rest of our party. They're falling behind."
Tavington shrugged. "Pratt knows the way." Grudgingly, he slowed his horse to ride beside John. It would be rude to go off and leave the women and servants behind. He must not be so obvious about his feelings for Kitty. Sattersby might ignore her, but he would not ignore any slight to his honor. It would be selfish and wrong to cause her embarrassment. Tavington was rather dazed by the intensity of his feelings. He had never been so taken with a woman. He felt consumed, confused, and exhilarated. The touch of Kitty's fingers on his as she handed him a teacup thrilled him in a new, unexpected way.
Am I in love? I must be. And with Kitty! A thousand pities we did not meet even a year ago! Everything would have been different.
The shadows among the elms were cool and pleasant. The two men made certain that both carriages had made the correct turn and then stopped, allowing them to catch them up completely. Tavington saw that his brother was looking at him, brows raised, expecting him to do something.
Oh.
Turning his mount's head, he rode back to the waiting chaise. "This is the turn-off to Colneford Castle, ladies," he explained. All the women sat up and looked about with great interest. "From now on, it is my uncle's property on both sides of the road. In another half-mile the castle will be visible. There is an excellent prospect through the trees to the right over a small lake. I believe you will find it quite attractive."
Without waiting for a reply, he trotted back to join his brother, and the two of them led the procession along tree-lined lanes to the stone bulk of the ancient castle.
Not one of the women in the coach was silent at the sight. A squeal, a gasp, an exclamation, an inarticulate "My stars!"
Then: "A castle! A real castle!"
"Oh, look at the tops of the towers!"
"Looks right gloomy!"
Jane snorted, secretly agreeing with Moll. It was vast and grey and very, very stony. Hardly her idea of a home. And yet, as they drove under a stone archway engraved with the Mortimer coat of arms, there was the Earl and his family, coming out to greet them, all smiles and kind words. And not just the family—
"Oh! Mr. Bellini! How delightful!"
Their Italian friend swooped down on them, rumbling a laugh at their happy surprise.
"It is all the Lady Cecily's doing, though she would be angry to acknowledge it. She complained so much about you, Miss Rutledge, missing your lessons, that the good Lord Colchester invited me to come and spend the time with you. While the others ride after foxes, we can continue with our music!"
Letty was delighted. "Oh, how kind, how very kind of the Earl!"
"And how kind of you, Signor," Jane added, "to join us. It is such an imposition!"
"Not at all, dear young ladies," they were assured. "A visit to a country estate—living at the expense of the Lord Colchester the entire time—the company of charming ladies. How can I complain?" More seriously, he murmured, "I will certainly earn my keep, of course. I am expected to provide some entertainment at the ball and after dinner on other nights. But you ladies will help me, I know!"
"Oh, of course!" Jane cried. "We shall be only too happy!"
Letty agreed. "What fun we shall have!"
-----
Two days later, Jane was still blessing Bellini's arrival. The visit would have been rather unsatisfactory without him, she decided. Oh, she and Letty had gone for some pleasant walks, and they did enjoy seeing a genuine castle (though they were disappointed to discover that the old dungeons had been transformed into an extensive wine cellar). William, however, had spent nearly the entire time so far on horseback, riding about the estate with his brother, his uncle, and the rest of his relations.
The carriage trip had caused a recurrence of Jane's old nightmares about the day of Biddy's death. When she awakened from them, she found herself confused and shivering in a strange room. The castle, taken as a whole, was more picturesque than comfortable. Stone walls might not a prison make, but they did make for a chilly and unwelcoming bedchamber.
And a lonely one. William was lodged at some distance, and had not visited her since they arrived. Jane bit her lip with vexation, trying not to give in to jealousy.
He was so blatantly enamored of Lady Sattersby. And she was so blatantly enamored of William. They were always seated near one another at meals, and would gaze silently into each other's eyes, with faint and (in Jane's opinion) rather silly smiles on their lips. Everyone else seemed oblivious.
Not everyone. Letty had noticed, and at first had stared, shocked and blushing, at such a display. Afterwards, she had avoided Jane, obviously not knowing what to say. Jane tracked her down to her bedchamber and had talked it out with her.
"He behaves—like he is in love with Lady Sattersby!" Letty blurted out, red with shame. "It is so wrong! How can he insult you like that?"
Jane hardly knew, herself. It hurt quite horribly, but Jane had learned not to let people know how much they hurt her, because often it seemed to be an invitation to hurt her even more. She was very angry with William, but gave a little false laugh, and told Letty, "I don't think he's aware of how obvious he is. He's not hurting me deliberately. It is just a ridiculous infatuation. I hope Lord Sattersby does not take offense. There could be trouble."
"And Lady Sattersby! It's so immodest! Don't aristocrats care about such things? You never saw people act like that at home!"
It was a fair enough observation. Jane considered it. It was true. She had never witnessed openly adulterous behavior at a dining table in South Carolina. But perhaps, she reflected sourly, that was because the planters were using their slaves as concubines, and so could appear blameless in polite society.
At any rate, it was all very strange to her, and very painful. Perhaps she was supposed to ignore such breaches of honor and fidelity—or find a lover of her own. The thought was repellent. All she knew was that it was impossible to like Lady Sattersby, though the young woman was always very civil to her. Somehow the civility was even more galling—it seemed that Lady Sattersby saw nothing wrong with her behavior, and could not imagine anyone else thinking it wrong, either.
-----
Preparing for the ball that Wednesday gave them all welcome occupation. A ball is a ball is a ball, after all, Jane decided. The Earl wanted to present his heroic nephew to his friends. Jane would certainly dance and Letty would certainly dance at least as often. Mr. Bellini would sing, Letty would sing, and then they would sing a duet. Jane was asked to accompany them and had practiced with great pleasure. She felt a little nervous at performing for such a crowd, but it was more a pleasant excitement than real fear. Pullen outdid herself preparing them. Jane felt she looked as well as she ever had. It was remarkable what a skilled hand could do with cosmetics.
Dinner was served a little earlier than usual, and there were additions to the table: friends of the Earl who would be staying overnight. Then they all gathered in the great hall, where the dancing would be held, waiting for the rest of the guests. Jane saw her husband, talking softly with Lady Sattersby. They had sat together again at dinner, and were as inseparable as ever. Jane glared at them, willing her husband to look in her direction. He saw her looking and smiled briefly at her. Jane did not smile back. He seemed somewhat surprised and continued his conversation with his fair companion.
The ball commenced. Jane found herself singled out by Lord Colchester to open the dancing, with her husband following them with Lady Sattersby. It took all of Jane's manners to smile and take the Earl's arm, for she felt he could have let her know his plans, or at least make a show of asking her to dance. Apparently it had all been settled by the earl, his daughter-in-law, and Tavington himself. Letty was being partnered by Lord Sattersby, and the rest of the dancers were soon in motion.
Some conversation was necessary. "A splendid ball, my lord. I am sure my husband is very obliged to you for with your generous hospitality."
Lord Colchester beamed approvingly. "Only too happy to do something for the boy. Always been fond of him."
"He has often spoken of your kindness to him."
It was enough. Jane concentrated on dancing her best and keeping a smile fixed on her face. Dancing with the Earl of Colchester was rather like dancing with a good-humored bear. Her smile did not budge even when the first four dancers clasped hands across, and Jane saw her husband completely enraptured by his partner. As they moved through the figures, Jane could not manage to find a word to say to William, afraid that if she let herself say anything, she would begin shouting.
The earl was speaking again. "Looking forward to your entertainment tonight. Bellini says you'll play for him. Very nice of you. Glad you have something to entertain you. Too bad you don't ride."
"Actually, my lord," Jane replied sweetly, "I do ride. It has been some time, of course." A very long time, really. Papa had never so much as given her a pony. She had ridden with Ralph, though, nearly every day in the spring before he left for England, when she spent two months with his family. Her host did not need to know that, of course.
"Really!" The earl was taken aback and nearly missed a step. "I had no idea, Mrs. Tavington! We must get you mounted!"
"No, no! I would not dream of putting you to the trouble. Besides, my sister does not ride, and it would be selfish to desert her for an entire day. Another time, perhaps." She smiled again, a smile of angelic resignation. Let him think me neglected. I am, if not because of that. Letty was a good excuse, too. Jane did not flatter herself that her rusty horsemanship was up to a day's hunt over rough, unfamiliar ground. A few miles amble on a docile beast was about as much as her current skills would permit. But the earl did not need to know that, either. When William had so happily bought himself a hunter, Jane had not demanded a horse for herself, thinking it an unnecessary expenditure. She had not even said anything about liking to ride, not wanting to make William feel badly for indulging himself. Now, however, she decided that she been wrong not to assert herself more.
And so the ball went on and on. Jane was shown every proper attention, and danced with Lord Sattersby, who had little to say for himself, and then with Lord Trumfleet, who had rather too much. It was all about gambling and horses and people completely unknown to her, so Jane fell back on her usual conversational aids of "Really?" "Good Heavens!" and the ever-popular "Oh, do tell me more!"
It was time to see to William Francis. Jane had scheduled and arranged her evening carefully around his needs. If she nursed him now, she would have plenty of time to be back for the music, which was going to be the high point of her evening. She turned back to take another look at Letty, who appeared to be enjoying herself as well. She was much in demand as a partner, and Jane suspected that after supper and the musical entertainment, she would be even more so.
Jane was not entirely correct. Oh, Letty found the ball pleasant enough, but was really looking forward to singing. Mr. Bellini had taught her a beautiful duet and she loved to sing with him. In fact, singing with Mr. Bellini while her sister played was definitely among the most wonderful experiences she had known. It was such fun to make music with other people. She liked playing the spinet and the harp, but singing with another person, or even singing while someone played was better. She was dressed in the wonderful gown Lady Cecily had conceived, and she knew every eye would be upon her. Somehow, when she was singing, the prospect was far from dreadful.
-----
"What a lovely girl," Kitty, Lady Sattersby observed to Tavington, sitting beside him at the supper table.
He gave her a knowing look. "Lovely, indeed."
She laughed, and batted at him playfully with her fan. "Your sister, Miss Rutledge. I find her delightful, and am so looking forward to tonight's entertainment."
"I daresay," he answered carelessly. "Mrs. Tavington and her sister spend a great deal of time together at their music. They are very fond of one another, and quite good at keeping themselves amused."
Kitty frowned slightly at this remark, which was not consistent with what Lady Cecily had said about relations between the two ladies. Yet there they were, further down the table, sitting together and chatting in a very affectionate way. Her dear father-in-law had warned her that his sister's pronouncements were not to be trusted. She dismissed the contradiction from her mind with Tavington's next words.
"I very much regret that you are not to play tonight."
She laughed again. "One must not demand more than one's fair share of attention," she pointed out. "I hope never to see people rolling their eyes as I sit down to my instrument!" She shrugged. "Besides, my lord father-in-law has engaged Signor Bellini for the duration, and it is best to let a professional arrange things as he thinks best."
"All the better to enjoy your conversation," Tavington teased.
She tapped him again, thinking that he was quite the handsomest and most exciting man she had ever met. "And we have the hunt tomorrow," she reminded him, her own pleasure and excitement evident. "After our last dance I intend to retire and get at least a few hours sleep before embarking on our adventure. It must seem very tame to you after your wartime experiences."
"Not at all," he assured her. "A vigorous hunt is one of the best ways to keep a cavalryman in training. Even in America we resorted to the exercise whenever possible. It is equally good for men and horses."
"And for ladies, too!" she declared. "I love nothing so well as a good, hard ride." Realizing what she had said, she flushed deeply, and looked at her plate.
Tavington fought back the sudden surge of desire, looking at the beautiful young woman beside him, watching the pulsing of a blue vein in the graceful neck. He longed to stroke the velvety skin of her cheek, wanting to feel the warmth, the heat of her blood answering his. His own blood roared in his ears, distancing him from everyone else in the room. After a long moment, she looked back at him: a look of such unhappiness and longing that his heart nearly broke for her. Kitty was unhappy, very unhappy in her marriage. He knew it would be so, for who could possibly love Sattersby? No doubt it had seemed a good match at the time, and now the poor girl was trapped. His hand touched hers, hidden by the table.
He said, "My uncle had charged me with your protection tomorrow. I told him that I held it an honor."
She whispered, "I put myself entirely in your hands."
They were being summoned to the drawing room for the musical entertainment. Tavington offered Kitty his arm, and they followed the talking, laughing throng, feeling themselves to be blissfully alone together in spirit. They found seats together at the back of the room, just touching. Neither heard much of the music. It was simply part of the outside world that meant nothing to them. In a distant way, they heard Jane play, brightly, quickly: a stream of notes that concealed how hard their hearts were beating. Letty sang, and sang well, and Bellini delighted his audience with his glorious bass voice.
"Arise, arise, ye subterranean winds…"
Kitty shivered slightly. Tavington wished he could pull her close to warm her. He wished he could stand beside her, the way that Letty and Bellini were standing together, singing as one. Automatically, Tavington and Kitty applauded. Automatically, they smiled in agreement with the admiring remarks of the people nearest them. It all seemed very far away. It was torture to sit side by side, unable to express what they felt. At last, the music and the exclamations were over, and the guests were ushered back into the great hall for the resumption of the dancing.
"I am engaged for the next four," Kitty told him regretfully.
"I, too," he replied. "But soon--" He smiled, and she smiled, and then her latest partner came to claim her. Tavington imagined calling the impudent fellow out. His blood was up: he felt ready for anything. He did not feel like dancing, but like fighting. With a great effort, he pulled himself together and went to skulk along the wall, forgetting that he had promised to dance this one with his wife.
Jane saw him, across the room, his face sullen. She had been smiling, listening to any number of kind compliments to her music. Her smile faded, and then she conscientiously pasted it back on her face. So her husband was out of humor. She had no idea why. He had seemed happy enough, sitting and supping with Lady Sattersby, fawning over her in quite a disgusting way. Oh, so the lady was dancing with another. What a pity. With her pleasure turning to ashes, Jane forced another smile, and decided it would profit neither of them for her to seek him out and demand her dance. She decided to have another look at William Francis and then take herself to her bed. It was clear she would not be missed.
-----
-----
Just after dawn, the castle courtyard was all noise and confusion. The hunters were either already on horseback or in the act of mounting. Dogs were baying, wild with excitement, straining at their leashes. The chatter of the guest who were up early to see the hunt off rose up like up like birds on the wing. Servants threaded their away among people, horses, and dogs carrying heavy trays of sherry glasses, as the riders toasted "Today's fox!"
Jane and Letty stood by the door together, smiling and demure in their new white dresses, the very picture of well-bred ladies. Bellini, knowing what was due the Earl as his host and employer, had braved an agonizing hangover and stood with his good friends, Mrs. Tavington and Miss Rutledge. As soon as the riders departed, he planned to return to his bed and sleep through the day.
Tavington was among his family, and gladly admired Bluebell, Kitty's lovely mare. He was in high spirits, which were only slightly dashed when he saw Jane talking with that Italian fellow, and suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to dance with her last night. A small matter. Jane had undoubtedly danced with someone else. He was sure she had had a very good time. Why should she not? Letty shot him a dark, rather hostile look that startled him. Was she angry with him?
But Kitty was smiling at him, looking marvelous in her riding habit. Forgetting everything else, he eased his mount beside hers. They joined the procession, riding out of the courtyard, under the great archway, and then down the lane to follow the hounds.
It did not take long for the pack to catch a scent. Deep, powerful, musical, the baying rose, and the horns were sounded. Without hesitation, the hunt spurred into pursuit. Tavington forgot any cares in the pleasure of feeling a high-fed hunter between his legs. A splendid find: worth every penny—and the beast had cost quite a few. A smooth action—the beast took the jumps like a deer. There's nothing like a hunt, Tavington thought, reveling in the moment. Nothing compares to it except the charge. Suddenly he was powerfully reminded of South Carolina, and the charge at Camden: that brightest moment of his career in America. Thundering down on the enemy, sword in hand.
Well, there was no sword in his hand now: nothing but his riding crop. A pang pulled at his heart, as he thought of Bordon and Wilkins and all his officers and men--dead or wounded, or on garrison duty in Charlestown, or chasing will o' the wisps with Cornwallis. Would he ever feel the same about the Third? How could he? They would never be tested together in the same way, never be sent together through the refiner's fire of battle, never feel themselves keenly alive, and truly men of war.
Those days were over, though, and there were consolations. Kitty galloped beside him, her beautiful face flushed and keen. Prettier than Bordon, certainly, he thought, smiling to himself. A good horse, too. They spread out, the ground quaking under scores of hooves, and they whipped past a little coppice, and then down through the brook, the water splashing up onto their boots. Tavington gave himself up to sensation. Why worry about Bordon? With any luck, he would see the man himself in three months. Perhaps he would witness his friend ordained by the Bishop of London. I'll have a part of the Green Dragoons nearby forever. He smiled again, and spurred past Trumfleet, keeping abreast of Kitty. He must not lose his head. Kitty was his responsibility today. Comrades in arms, of a sort.
The Earl, as Master of the Hunt, was well ahead, with John and Sattersby. Cousin Anne was riding with some other ladies, who appeared to be able to gossip while galloping after a fox. Anne would probably not stay to the end—she rarely did. After an hour or two, she and her friends would return to the house for refreshments, and swagger about in their habits, pretending to be sporting women. Kitty looked to have more spirit, though.
They changed direction, going up north into some rolling hills. Their fox must be a crafty one: perhaps a vixen. They could present a long and satisfying challenge. They went on, and on, and time passed, and the horses slowed. Tavington rode up to hear some other riders wondering if the hounds had lost the scent.
"Oh, I hope not!" cried Kitty, who had overheard. "We have just had a good start!"
"Are you thirsty?" he asked, producing a silver flask. "Don't worry: it's not spirits—just some cold tea. I always have some boiled up for me when I go for a long ride: it's safe to drink and keeps me alert."
Daringly, she took the flask and drank straight from it. "It's sweet."
"The sugar seems to help," he smiled. "I don't know why."
"Perhaps you simply like sweet things."
"Perhaps." He accepted the flask back and took a long swallow.
The dogs set up a baying and the riders began to move again. Kitty remained at his left: keeping her position as if she were a trained dragoon. It was a rare pleasure to ride beside a woman like this. They backtracked to the Home Farm, and then scrambled up Gamecock Hill, and then chased through the Lower Fields, taking the hedges, and low stone walls, one, two, three…
There was a shout. Someone's horse had refused the jump, and the rider was down. Tavington glanced back and saw that some riders had stopped to look after the fellow. He could not make out the man, but Kitty knew him.
"That is Mr. Quillingham, a very great landowner. You were introduced to him last night!" She laughed at him. "Don't you remember?"
"I remember nothing but you!"
"Flatterer!"
There was a stir up ahead. Kitty switched her mare lightly, trying to get past Tavington. In a little grove, the dogs had run the fox to earth and were worrying it among them. There was snarling and eager barking among the dogs, and excited chatter among the riders. One of them jumped down to retrieve the mangled remains, and called his young son, a boy of ten to join him.
"That's Sir Charles Iggulden and his eldest son." Kitty told him. "It's the boy's first real hunt."
Tavington smiled, understanding her. They watched, rather nostalgically, while the father smeared the fox's blood on the child's face. The rosy young boy was beaming with pride and then wrinkling his nose at the blood and then beaming with pride again, and altogether Tavington and Kitty found it an amusing and touching sight. Being 'blooded' was a cherished rite of passage. Tavington would never forget his own first hunt, and their prize, a dry bitch of some seventeen pounds, and how Mamma had said later with all that blood on his face he looked like a Red Indian.
"In a few years," Kitty said softly, "that will be you and your son."
Tavington was touched by the kind thought, and pressed his hand over hers.
As the hunters talked about saving the fox's brush, the dogs picked up a new scent. In no time at all, they were moving back out into the fields, their ranks a little thinner. A few of the riders were already tired, or thinking about a second breakfast, or they were concerned for their horses. Tavington and Kitty crossed the paths of some of these, and gave them smugly ironic salutes. They crossed over the brook again, and rode up to the east, toward an oak hanger before the Earl threw up a hand, and the dogs were called back.
"What's wrong?" Tavington called out.
"Can't go there!" his uncle bellowed back. "It's that brute Craven's property, and the villain has put down mantraps all through the woods to catch poachers. We daren't ride through. We'll send the dogs back over toward Colneford."
Kitty leaned over to tell Tavington the full story. "My lord father-in-law can't bear his new neighbor. He always got on well with old Mr. Craven, but the son inherited a few years ago, and he keeps game instead of hunting. Those mantraps are huge. I heard they found a man dead in one not long ago—his leg was nearly taken off by the trap, and he bled to death before anyone found him. It's shocking I suppose, but it has certainly kept Mr. Craven's pheasants safe for his own shooting. He was invited to the ball all the same, though." She smiled at him again, teasingly. "I don't suppose you remember him either?"
"No," Tavington confessed, unembarrassed.
The change of direction slowed their pace for some time. The dogs barked longingly at Craven's oak hanger, but were dragged away, and snuffled along to little purpose, straying after a rabbit now and then.
Time stretched out, and Tavington and Kitty rode side by side, talking about all sorts of things.
"My uncle is very fond of you," Tavington told her. "He told me bringing you home was the best thing Sattersby has ever done."
"I'm glad his lordship likes me. I can't tell you how I depend upon his friendship." Very dejectedly, she confided, "Bill doesn't care a bit for me. He only married me for my fortune and the estate. He likes Haldon Priory, at least. But he's so cold, so careless. When we are alone together, I feel invisible."
"He's a fool," Tavington said angrily. He had always hated it that he and Sattersby shared a name—both had been christened after Lord Colchester. Bill and Will. It was thought so amusing when we were children. "A damned fool. No surprise, of course. I've known him all our lives, and he's always been a thorn in my side. He goes about with that hang-dog face, when he's one of the luckiest men in the world."
"How strange," she mused. "He is so jealous of you. He thinks you're one of Fortune's Favorites."
"What! I!"
"Oh, yes! He often speaks of you with such resentment. You are handsome, brave, famous! And he can never forget his schooldays, when you were the champion athlete at Eton. Simply seeing you reminds him of how insignificant he was on the playing field."
That was certainly true. Sattersby had been of no use at all to their side. Tavington shrugged. "It is foolish to brood over schooldays. I always envied Sattersby for his kind father and his wealth."
"I certainly thought he was a good catch, when I was trying so desperately to get out of my father's house. He—my father, Lord Crewell, that is--took a young wife a few years ago, and it became rather horrid at home."
Curious. Tavington gave a wry chuckle. "You situation sounds much like my wife's when first we met."
"Really? How surprising. Well, that's one thing about her life that is imperfect. Otherwise, I am shamefully jealous of her."
He smirked. She laughed and shook her head. "And not just because she is married to you, you vain man. She always seems so composed, so in control. She is obviously very clever, and I sometimes feel that she thinks me silly. And I envy her her affectionate sister. Miss Rutledge is lovely and sweet, and she and Mrs. Tavington seem such good friends. How I longed for a sister. I have brothers, but the elder is much older than I, and Arthur is still in school. We were never much to one another… But Mrs. Tavington! I can tell that your own sisters like her as well, and they are all completely congenial and friendly. Bill was greatly impressed by the story of how she came to your rescue." She paused. "And of course she has that beautiful little boy. Her life seems so perfect to me."
Tavington reflected on this, and pointed out that nothing is perfect. "You have done better to have my uncle as a father-in-law, than Jane to have Mamma as a mother-in-law. Mamma is quite rude to her."
"Oh, yes! Dear Lord Colchester! I sometimes think, that even though he so much older, I might have been wiser to—but that is no matter. Your wife seems to deal so well with Lady Cecily's--unreasonableness."
"I assure you that the things Mamma says to her hurt her deeply."
"Well, she is braver than I, or her composure is more practiced. I admire her the more for it."
His uncle's favorite hound, Diamond, gave a deep 'woof!" and darted to the left, with the rest of the pack after him. The riders spurred their horses, glad to see some action again.
The scent of fox was strong: so strong that Tavington thought he hardly needed a dog to follow it. A fox must have its earth nearby. Rocky and pitted, the ground was rough here, and there was a stone wall behind a hedge looming ahead of them. Tavington knew it well, and hoped that Kitty did, too. He felt his horse gather itself, and then was up and over, landing with barely a jar. Beyond was Greengage Cottage, neat and white, its roof primly thatched. It lay near a little grove of beeches, and then there was another hedge.
With a ditch. Kitty's mount managed the hedge well enough, but was unprepared for the sudden drop-off. The mare stumbled, crow-hopped, and stopped suddenly, throwing her rider clean over her head.
"Kitty!"
Tavington pulled his hunter around and leaped from the saddle. Kitty lay motionless on the ground. Her mare stumbled again and went down. For a horrible moment, Tavington feared the horse would roll on the dismounted girl, but he caught at the reins, and avoided the flailing hooves, and soon had the horse up and tied securely to a bush. His own well-mannered mount stood quietly nearby, primly cropping some grass. Certain that the horses would not be trampling anyone, he dashed to Kitty's side, and knelt, fearing the worst.
"Kitty?" He ran gentle, questing hands over her, checking her for injuries. She was not bleeding, thank God. Her eyes blinked open, and she smiled tremulously.
"Oh, dear! I took a tumble after all, just when I thought I was making such a good impression on you. Is Bluebell all right?"
Tavington glanced at the mare, which had assumed the maddeningly innocent air of all horses that have nearly killed their riders. "She seems so—her legs are sound, at least. I am more concerned for you. You must permit me to ascertain if you are all right."
She waved a trembling hand in front of her face. "How stupid you must think me."
Moved to pity by her confusion, Tavington smiled and said, "Think nothing of it. I once took a rather spectacular fall myself. Are you able to move your arms and legs?"
Reassuring wriggling settled the issue. "I'm all right—I think," Kitty told him. "I just feel rather shaken."
"I am concerned that your back may have been injured."
She shook her head, rather carefully. "No. I am only bruised. What are you doing?"
Without another word, Tavington took her up in his arms and carried her into the cool shade of the trees. "You will feel better in the shade," he assured her. Looking at him in delighted wonder, she put her arms about his neck, and kept them there, even after he laid her down in the soft, fresh grass. It was a lonely place, this little mossy hollow, and he felt sheltered from the eyes of the world. A secret place: a mating place. Little shadows swayed about them, softening the light, playing over Kitty's face like a delicate veil.
"Tavington," she whispered, her breath quick and shallow. "I wish—"
He smoothed her rumpled hair back from her brow, "—and so do I. My dear Kitty—" He leaned in, and kissed her softly, relishing her whimper of shock and pleasure. He kissed her again, and a pent-up flood of dark hunger overwhelmed him. They clung together, devouring each other, ravaging each other. Tavington broke the kiss reluctantly, and the two of them looked at each other for a moment, wondering what might happen next. place.
Her eyes seemed the loveliest in the world to him, sparkles dancing over deep water. He kissed her again, very deliberately. "My dearest, loveliest Kitty, I must tell you—I have never felt anything like this—I want—I hardly know how to speak of this. I want you to be mine, but only if this is what you want--"
There was a breathless pause, and then Kitty cried fiercely, "Yes! Oh, yes! Now!"
-----
The elderly tenant of Greengage Cottage was relieved when the hunt passed by. Horns sounded in the distance, and the man stepped outside, hoping that a few of his cabbages had survived. The neat greensward was marred with clods of dirt thrown up by the horses' hooves. He sighed at the remains of his turnip bed. The Earl was a right proper master, and would make good the worst of the damage. Some years, riders knocked on his door to ask for a cup of tea or directions to the house. Now and then, someone was injured and needed a place to shelter until help arrived. No one had bothered him so far.
A nicker of horses from the beech grove made him look round. A lady's mount was tied to a hedge, but a big stallion browsed through the garden, bold as you please. The tenant's first thought was that someone was hurt, and he started forward to see what he could do.
Then he held a man's voice, and then a woman's, murmuring low in tones no one could mistake. He took another step, and peered through the trees.
Surprised, he stepped back. The gentleman did not seem to be needing any help, and the lady was not screaming for rescue. The tenant stopped, watching in admiration and curiosity, for they were a fine-looking couple, to be sure. Thinking more clearly, the man hurried away in embarrassment. No good could come of interrupting the quality at their sports. He wondered what his wife would think of such goings-on, when he told her.
-----
Dinner time saw far fewer guests that the night before. Some had ridden home on their equally weary hunters; some had piled their happy families into their carriages and trundled away. Colneford Castle was left a quieter place by their absence.
Dinner itself was rather a silent affair. Sir John was dozing precariously over his ragout. Lord Sattersby was drinking more than was good for him. The Earl was as pleasant as ever, but the long day's exercise had worn down even his tremendous vitality.
Bellini was enjoying his dinner, free to indulge his appetite without worrying about thickening his voice, since no one was in any condition to demand entertainment. He and Letty were talking about an upcoming concert in which he was to appear. Because of it, he was leaving the following Monday, to Letty and Jane's disappointment, to attend the needed rehearsals.
"I hope that you ladies will be able to attend!" he wheedled, with his charming smile.
"It sounds delightful," Jane agreed, "but I simply don't know. I shall have to ask Colonel Tavington what is planned. The sixth, you say? I would certainly think we would have returned by then. The Colonel said we would be here only a week."
"Oh, I hope we can hear you!" Letty said feelingly. She felt that a little country air went a long way. The hunt had been so noisy and smelly. Letty was afraid of big dogs, from frightening past experience. She had sung at the hunt ball, and been admired; but these people, though pleasant, were not passionate about music and art. She was ready to go back and see Lord Fanshawe's paintings, and to hear concerts and see plays. She wanted her sister to talk to the Colonel and get his agreement.
But Jane was seated too far away to easily speak to her husband. Doing so would require shouting, and Jane was unwilling to make such a pathetic spectacle of herself: the neglected wife who must halloo down the table to catch her husband's attention. They had not spoken in over two days. In fact, other than a handful of words in passing, they had not spoken at all since arriving at the castle. Jane was seething with anger when she allowed herself to think of Tavington.
Lady Sattersby's laugh, high and overexcited, rang above the low buzz of talk. She was telling the Earl of a fall she had taken during the hunt.
"It was near the beech grove, my lord. Bluebell caught her hoof and down we went! I feared I would be crushed!"
Her kind father-in-law was alarmed for her. "My dear girl! You should have told us earlier. Mr. Fikes, the apothecary, was nearby to tend the injured. Perhaps—"
"Oh, no! Fear nothing for me! Colonel Tavington was down beside me in a moment. I should have quite lost without him!" She laughed again, so brightly it set Jane's teeth on edge. "My poor mare wouldn't get up for anything! It took all the Colonel's skill to soothe her."
"Not hurt, was she?"
"Oh, no!" declared Lady Sattersby. "She's wonderfully well. Better than ever, in fact!"
Sir John started out of his doze, and studied the lady. She certainly was even livelier than usual—he thought excessively so. His gaze wandered to his brother and his brother's wife.
Tavington was smirking to himself, a happy, smug, expression, that contrasted with Mrs. Tavington, who looked vexed beyond words. The lady looked up, and Sir John's eyes met hers. She seemed a little flustered at his notice. He gave her a civil nod, and then turned to examining his brother.
Jane thought Sir John looked very grave. He must have noticed the noisy flirtation, even with the amount he had eaten and drunk. She sighed and pushed her food about her plate. It was getting cold. She told a passing servant, "Take it away," in a sharper tone than she generally used.
It was time to nurse her son. She rose, excusing herself to her companions. The Earl noticed her departure, looking up in concern, which was allayed by a word from his older nephew. Jane had decided that she would take care of William Francis now. When she finished, she would go to the drawing room to await the other diners. The gentlemen, no doubt, would linger over their wine, but her husband would certainly join them eventually, if only to speak to his dear Lady Sattersby. As soon as he arrived, Jane decided she would waylay him and discuss their departure. She had no great desire to go back to Mortimer Square, but it was better than watching her husband pay court to another woman.
-----
Moll was ready to leave as well. The nursery at the castle was by no means as comfortable or convenient as that in London. She had hardly seen Tom since they arrived, for the menservants were lodged in another wing, and Tom had been run off his feet in the past few days. The other servants were distant and unhelpful. There was unpleasant gossip, too: the sort that Moll despised, but which in this case was impossible to ignore. The Colonel was making a fool of himself over his cousin's wife. Moll couldn't make head or tail of the situation. Why didn't Lord Sattersby call him out and have it out with him like a man? No man worth his salt would sit there and let some fellow take liberties the way she had heard the Colonel was with that Lady Sattersby. The woman herself must be no better than she should be. A lady!
"Ha!" Moll muttered to herself.
"What was that, Moll?" asked Jane, coming into the dingy nursery under the eaves.
"Just thinking to myself, ma'am. How long are we staying here, anyway?"
Jane looked around the cheerless room. "It's not very nice, is it?" she sighed, and unfastened her dress.
Moll picked up Little Will, now fussing at the prospect of a hearty supper, and helped Jane put him to her breast. She saw no point in beating about the bush.
"No, ma'am. Not a patch on Lady Cecily's house, 'least as far as the nursery's concerned."
"I can't say I've enjoyed my stay either. I'll try to get a word with the Colonel tonight. They're still at dinner. I thought if I came and got the baby settled, I could wait in the drawing room and speak to him there."
Pressing her lips together in disapproval, Moll blurted out, "There's been talk, ma'am."
Jane tilted her head back. Trust Moll to be honest. "I'm sure there has been. About the Colonel and Lady Sattersby, I suppose."
"Yes, ma'am! You oughtn't to let them get away with such goings-on! If Royston had served me so, I'd have punched his face and switched the hussy half-way to Virginia!"
Jane, near tears, laughed instead, a little hysterically. "I'm sure you would!" She grew sad, and rubbed her baby's warm little back for comfort. "I don't think that would work very well for me. For one thing, I'm sure I can't punch as hard as you. It's probably just a flirtation. I don't know that they've done anything truly wicked."
"Hmph!" Moll paced the room, full of indignation. "I'd say carrying on like sweethearts under your nose is wicked enough! The Colonel ought to be ashamed of himself! I'd tell him so myself for a farthing!"
"Please don't," Jane begged, very seriously. "Things could be worse. I don't think the Colonel is one to let any woman tell him what to do in a case like this. I'll have to bear it, and let it all blow over. In a few days, perhaps, we'll be on our way home, and Lady Sattersby will be going west to Dorset, and who knows when we'll see her again!"
"How far is Dorset?"
"I don't know. At least a hundred miles."
Moll nodded in satisfaction. "The farther, the better."
Jane could not disagree.
-----
She played on the big instrument in the drawing room for half an hour before the ladies arrived. Letty came to her side at once, looking very weary. Drawing up a chair, she turned pages, not speaking.
Lady Sattersby and Lady Trumfleet bustled in, whispering excitedly. Lady Sattersby rang for tea, and she and her sister-in-law resumed their secrets. There were a few other female guests who gathered by the fire, exchanging local gossip. Jane played on, though she was terribly tired, and longed for the bed in the big draughty room she had been assigned. She considered asking Letty to sleep there tonight, for she was feeling miserably lonely.
She said to Letty in an undertone, "Would you like to play for awhile?"
"I will if you like, but I am so tired. As soon as Mr. Bellini arrives, I shall say goodnight."
"I, too, as soon as I can ask the Colonel when we are to depart." She found that every drop of allegro had deserted her. Here was a slow and melancholy air that suited her better.
Tavington came soon, arriving with Bellini, rather eager to see the ladies—or at least one special lady. Kitty's eyes met his as soon as he entered the room, and he headed directly to her, only to find his way unexpectedly barred.
Jane had intercepted him, and when he tried to pass with a quick smile and a nod, she touched his arm, and said, quietly but urgently, "If you please, sir, I would speak to you."
Annoyed, he managed another smile that Jane did not bother to return. "Of course, madam. I am quite at your service."
She cocked her head, and her expression was slightly sneering. "It is only to ask how long we are to stay?" Seeing his brows knit in a frown, she pressed on. "Mr. Bellini is singing in a concert on the sixth that Letty and I would particularly enjoy hearing. It was my understanding that your duties did not permit a longer absence anyway."
Kitty was looking a delicious invitation at him. Impatiently, he told Jane, "I had not fixed a day. If you wish to go to this concert, I see no reason why you could not leave—Tuesday."
Jane's brows rose. "You wish us to leave without you?" Her voice darkened, and grew a little rough.
"Yes—why not? John and I still have business at Wargrave that can't be finished until Friday at the latest. You and Letty go on to your concert. I shall join you later at home." Kitty and Sattersby would be leaving on the following Friday. He would have at least that time to be with her. He nodded, satisfied with his plans, and left Jane standing open-mouthed in the middle of the drawing-room.
Note--Thanks to all my reviewers. And 999--I was much flattered by the Edith Wharton reference.
Next—Chapter 35: Flirting with Disaster