Miss Richardson Comes Of Age (Zebra Regency Romance) Read online

  “You have a lovely property here,” Harriet said. “I am quite anxious to see more of it.”

  “Thank you, my lady. It shows to great advantage in this season.”

  “I would venture a guess that that tree-lined drive is fairly spectacular in autumn,” Annabelle said.

  He gave her an appreciative smile. “Yes, it is. Mind you, it is lovely in spring, too, when the leaves are just turning from gold to green. And there is a kind of stark beauty to them in winter. I shall be ever grateful to my great-grandfather for planting those trees!”

  He ushered them into a generous entrance hall. Rather than the cold marble one found in so many entranceways, this one welcomed arrivals warmly with carved wood paneling and a slate floor. As they were shown to their rooms, Annabelle noted—and thoroughly approved—a generous use of wood throughout.

  “His lordship chose this chamber for you, miss.” The housekeeper, a Mrs. Petry, gave Annabelle a speculative look as she opened the door.

  “How very nice,” Annabelle murmured, dismissing the woman’s comment as polite chitchat. He had to assign each guest some room, after all.

  Hers was a charming bedchamber on the second floor, decorated in blues, greens, and a soft yellow. She was delighted to find a dressing room that connected to a very modern bath. A bouquet of yellow roses sat on a table near the window.

  When she had freshened up, she found a maid posted in the hall to show her down to the main drawing room on the floor below. There she found Celia and Letty and their husbands as well as two other couples. Annabelle recognized the gentlemen as members of Parliament.

  Luke approached. “Welcome to Rolsbury Manor, Annabelle. May I get you something to eat or drink?” He gestured to a table laden with what appeared to be an elaborate tea. “We shall have a proper supper later, but we did not want our guests starving on their arrival.”

  “I see little danger of that.” She looked around, but no, Thorne was not in attendance. She surmised that he might be receiving other guests.

  Celia and Letty gave her quick hugs in greeting. “Had you any idea this would be so very grand?” Celia bubbled.

  “I knew,” Letty said airily. “I was here once as a child. Rolsbury’s father was one of my father’s friends.”

  “Is it as you remembered?” Celia asked.

  “Not really. Everything seems refurbished. But tastefully so.”

  “Have you noticed?” Celia asked. “There are flowers everywhere! I love it.”

  “I certainly did not remember those under the previous earl,” Letty said, “though I think the rose gardens here have always claimed a marked degree of fame.”

  “Maybe the Manor has a new housekeeper,” Annabelle said.

  “Hmm. I do not think that to be the case,” Letty said absently.

  “Well. We know it has a new earl,” Celia declared.

  Just then their host entered, accompanied by Charles and Helen Rhys. They were obviously not brand-new arrivals. Helen looked quite at home hanging on Thorne’s arm, Annabelle noted with what could only be a twinge of sheer jealousy.

  “Helen and Charles arrived yesterday.” Celia confirmed Annabelle’s observation. “They all knew each other in Belgium, you know.”

  “Yes,” Letty said softly. “I think she had a schoolgirl’s infatuation for Major Wainwright.”

  “Well, it appears to have blossomed into a genuine tendre for his lordship,” Celia quipped, again confirming Annabelle’s thoughts.

  Annabelle recalled seeing the Rhys brother and sister at ton affairs. Now that she thought of it, yes, Thorne had seemed especially friendly with them on occasion. Was he paying suit to the sister? And if he were, of what concern could that possibly be to Annabelle Richardson? Immediately, she wondered if he had kissed Helen Rhys with the same fervor he had shown in the garden at the Finchley ball.

  By early evening all the guests had arrived and it was a lively group that collected in the music room after a hearty supper. Several ladies showed off their skills and the company was generally pleased. This was not an area in which Annabelle excelled. She loved music, but had always felt all thumbs at any instrument. Tonight she felt her inadequacy acutely.

  Helen Rhys enlisted Thorne’s aid in turning her pages, but from the way she kept casting him coy glances, Annabelle surmised she knew the piece by heart and needed no aid at all. Then she mentally shook herself for her pettiness.

  “She plays so beautifully,” one of the matrons sitting with Aunt Gertrude gushed as Miss Rhys performed.

  “The two of them make a very attractive picture there,” observed Lady Conwick, who had been introduced as Thorne’s aunt and his hostess.

  Annabelle had to agree sourly that they did. His dark good looks provided startling contrast to Helen’s fragile silvery-blond beauty.

  Later in the evening, Thorne announced that he had made mounts available for those of his guests who would care to ride but had not brought their own cattle.

  As a small child, Annabelle had been given a pony by her doting papa. When both her parents were lost at sea, Annabelle’s riding days had abruptly ended. She spent the next six years confined to a girls’ boarding school with very few riding opportunities. Only when she came under the guardianship of Marcus and Harriet had she taken up riding again. She had done so with gusto. Even in the city she rode in the early mornings three or four times a week. Thus, she welcomed Thorne’s offer.

  She arose early the next morning, donned her riding habit, and made her way to the stables. A groom welcomed her at the stable door with some surprise.

  “We didn’t expect any o’ his lordship’s guests quite so early, miss.”

  “Oh? Well, I should like to go riding, but I do not wish to inconvenience anyone. If you’d rather I came back later . . .”

  “No. No. ‘Tain’t no inconvenience. We’ll get ye a mount right quick-like. Luckily, they’ve been fed already and we was just groomin’ them.”

  Annabelle smiled at the man. “As I am the first, have I a choice?”

  “Well, I s’pose ye do at that. Never ye fret, miss. We’ll get ye a fine mount.”

  She waited patiently despite her eagerness to be off. In a few minutes the groom returned, leading a small, roan-colored mare who appeared to be quite docile. The animal stood quietly at the mounting steps.

  “Is this the horse you have for me? ” she asked.

  “Yes, miss. Penney’s a sweet thing. No trouble at all.”

  “I am quite sure she would be a most proper mount for a child. But I had in mind something taller and with more spirit,” she said firmly. She thought she heard a chuckle from beyond the stable door.

  The groom gave her a doubtful look that clearly measured her petite stature. “Be ye sure now, miss? Penney’s easy ta handle . . .”

  “I am quite sure.”

  The groom led Penney back into the stable and returned shortly with another mare, a taller dappled gray whose pricked ears and alert eyes exhibited more interest in her surroundings.

  “This’n we calls Jessie.” The groom’s voice held a note of warning. “I have ta tell ye, though, that’s short for Jezebel—an’ with reason! ”

  Annabelle approached the horse, who seemed wary. She extended her hand to the horse’s muzzle to allow the animal to smell her, then patted the mare’s neck. “Oh, I think Jessie and I will be able to come to terms with each other.”

  “Yes, miss. Well, if you will hold on for a few more minutes, I’ll jus’ saddle another mount for meself. His lordship don’t want no ladies goin’ off by theirselves.”

  “Well, if he insists . . .” Annabelle was prepared to honor the rules of the house.

  “He does,” called a voice from within the stable. “That’s all right, Tom. I shall accompany Miss Richardson this morning.” Thorne Wainwright led a magnificent black gelding from the stable.

  “Have you been in there the whole time?” she asked, indignant.

  He grinned at her. “That I have. Interesti
ng exchange, that was.”

  “Well! You might have said something earlier.”

  “I might have,” he agreed calmly, holding both horses as she climbed the mounting steps and settled herself in the sidesaddle. Then he swung himself onto the black and they were off.

  Annabelle was busy for a few minutes in a struggle of wills with Jessie, but eventually the mare seemed to recognize that she had met her match and settled into an even gait. Annabelle was very conscious of Thorne watching from behind, ready to come to her rescue if necessary. She felt mildly triumphant when it clearly was not necessary.

  “Well done, Annabelle.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Hmm.” He made a mockery of pretending to think. “Correct me if I am mistaken, but I seem to recall that we agreed on ‘Thorne’ and ‘Annabelle’ as forms of address. Have I done something to lose that privilege?”

  Annabelle swallowed and tried to think. She could not very well scream Yes! you insensitive dolt, you attacked me in my most vulnerable spot! Instead, she said as casually as she could, “Why, so we did, Thorne.” She met his gaze only briefly, then said, “What say we see what these splendid animals can do?”

  “What have you in mind?”

  “A race.”

  “I never race without a wager,” he said.

  She laughed. “For what stakes? Shall I offer you my firstborn son if I lose?”

  “Hmm. That would be tempting.” She felt herself blush at his wicked grin. “No. Nothing so drastic. The winner will determine the forfeit.”

  “Jessie and I will need a head start.”

  “Fair enough. We shall race to the edge of that copse of trees on the hill there.” He pointed some distance away. “There is a marvelous view from up there. And you may have a lead as far as that old elm in the middle of the field.” He pointed again.

  The mare was game, but even with a lead, she was no match for the black. Thorne turned in the saddle to await Annabelle’s arrival. He dismounted somewhat awkwardly and reached to help her dismount. She slid into his arms cautiously, afraid of unbalancing him.

  “I promise not to fall,” he said.

  “Oh, well—if you promise . . .” She laughed nervously.

  He set her on her feet and released her. Did he do so reluctantly? she wondered. She stepped back and put her hands on her hips.

  “Well? You won. What is the forfeit to be?”

  He grinned and gazed at her mouth. She felt herself holding her breath.

  “I am sorely tempted to demand a kiss,” he said. “But that would be far too dangerous. So I will settle for a smile and your promise to ride out with me again.”

  She smiled broadly, masking her disappointment at his not opting for the kiss. “Done!”

  He took her elbow. “Now, come. I want to show you the most spectacular view for miles around.”

  They walked only a short distance until Annabelle found herself standing on the edge of a cliff. Below, a blue ribbon of water wound its way through gloriously changing shades of green as fields and forests blended.

  “Oh! It is spectacular,” she breathed, trying to take it all in at once. She spotted a structure of some sort across the way, a mass of gray stone demanding the eye of the viewer. “ ‘I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thought . . .’ ” she murmured as she gazed out at this scene.

  He looked at her in amazement. “My sentiments exactly. This scene always puts me in mind of Wordworth’s lines, too—for, as he said, ‘Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.’ ”

  Shaken by their shared emotions, she held his gaze for a long moment, then looked away. “Well,” she said brightly, “I know that is not Tintern Abbey, but what is it?”

  “It is what remains of an abbey, though. Destroyed by Henry VIII, who then gave over these lands to the first Earl of Rolsbury.”

  “How interesting. May we visit it during our stay?”

  “We have planned just such an outing—complete with a picnic. That was Luke’s idea. Luke’s plans for any outing nearly always involve food somehow.” He ended with a chuckle. They turned back to the horses, but Annabelle was not quite ready to give up the mood of the moment. When he had handed her up into her saddle, she looked down at him, holding his gaze.

  “Thank you, Thorne, for sharing this special place with me.”

  He merely nodded and turned to his own mount.

  Ten

  Thorne cursed himself as they returned to the stable and he escorted her back to the house. He had no business welcoming time alone with the woman his brother wished to court. And he intended to repeat his transgression! By now more of his guests were stirring and he was sidetracked into telling other riders about likely trails they could take. For some reason, he told none of them of the view from the cliff.

  By the time he had changed from his riding clothes and reported to the dining room for breakfast, Annabelle was already there—after all, she had not been detained in giving directions to others.

  His Aunt Dorothy announced a planned outing for the ladies—a visit to Lincoln and its splendid cathedral which was but an hour away by coach. The cathedral, accounted one of England’s most spectacular—along with shopping opportunities offered by the town itself—would keep the ladies of the party occupied for the day.

  Luke had taken the gentlemen off to a pugilistic contest down near the town of Stamford. Thorne planned to use the absence of guests for a few hours as an opportunity to catch up on estate business. In the afternoon, he had already spent over an hour wrestling with a pile of paperwork and was congratulating himself on his progress when there was a knock on the library door.

  “Come,” he called, expecting a footman or his butler.

  To his surprise, Helen Rhys entered the room. He rose to greet her, but stood behind the desk.

  “I hope I am not disturbing you,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  “Not at all,” he lied. “You did not care to accompany the other ladies?”

  “No. I was suffering a beastly headache earlier. Besides, I have seen quite enough moldy old churches in Belgium and elsewhere to last me a lifetime.”

  “I see. I understand there was to be some shopping—and a luncheon was bespoke at a hotel there.”

  “Oh, I would have enjoyed that, I am sure. But my head, you know.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic motion. “I thought a book might help me pass the time.”

  He gestured to the book-lined room. “Help yourself. Our collection boasts quite a variety. Or did you have something specific in mind?”

  “Oh, no. Just something to entertain me until the others return.”

  Thorne thought this was a subtle hint that, as host, he should entertain her. Perhaps she would select a book and be on her way. He came from behind the desk and casually opened the door she had closed. He nodded approvingly at a footman in the hallway.

  Noticing a frown flit across her pretty face as he left the door open, he smiled inwardly. I was born sometime prior to yesterday, my dear, he thought. Aloud, he said, “May I help you find something?”

  “Oh, would you, please?”

  “What would you find most entertaining?”

  She gave him an arch look and laughed softly. “That is a leading question, is it not?”

  “To read,” he said firmly.

  “Oh, I am not sure. Allow me to browse for a moment.”

  He watched silently for several minutes as she pulled first one book and then another from the shelves. It struck him that the books she chose all seemed to require great stretching and turning that showed her considerable charms to great advantage.

  “Oh, Thorne,” she said prettily, “could you get that one for me?” She pointed to a shelf above her head.

  “This one?” He started to remove a book bound in green leather.

  “No. No.” She moved closer to him and he caught a strong whiff of an exotic perfume. “That red one.” She turne
d so her breast touched his arm and gazed at him invitingly.

  Do not even think of it, Rolsbury, he told himself. He quickly put the book between them. “Here you go.” He looked at the title. “Songs of Innocence?”

  “I thought the title looked intriguing.”

  “I think you will find Mr. Blake somewhat deceptive. The poems are far more serious than their titles suggest.”

  “Well, I shall just sit here and read a bit of his work to see if I want this. You will not mind, will you?”

  “No, of course not,” he lied again. He returned to his desk and attempted to get back into estate business. However, he was very aware of her. Not only did her perfume now permeate the entire room, but she kept shifting noisily on the settee. Occasionally she sighed loudly or murmured incoherently. He tried to ignore her presence.

  “Oh, listen to this, Thorne!” She read him a passage dealing with mercy, pity, peace, and love. “Is that not a perfect statement about love?”

  “Well, yes . . . but the poem is really about God’s image being in all mankind.”

  “It is?” She looked at the poem again. “Yes, I can see that now. How very clever of you to see that on only the lines I read.”

  “I am quite familiar with Blake’s work.”

  “Of course. Silly me.”

  She went back to her fidgety perusal of the book.

  Thorne sat wondering if Annabelle were familiar with Blake. Would she be able to bandy quotes from Blake, too? Then he gave himself a mental shake.

  He was glad when a few minutes later he heard the carriages return with the other ladies. As the women were enjoying refreshments of tea or lemonade, the gentlemen, too, returned and Thorne felt relieved. He marveled at how much easier it sometimes was to entertain many than to entertain one.

  Annabelle had noticed the absence of Miss Rhys on their outing to Lincoln. Miss Rhys’s friend, a Mrs. Sawyer, had explained that “poor Helen had a dreadful headache.” However, on the ladies’ return to Rolsbury Manor, there was Miss Rhys looking very chipper on the arm of their host. Later, Helen Rhys had let fall the information that she and Rolsbury had spent the afternoon reading poetry.