Rhonda Woodward Read online

  “No, indeed. He did not even dance with her.”

  Marina was pleased that her sister saw the matter as she did. “It seems she is mooning over a young man who is doing his best to be kind to her.”

  “I think that is quite obvious. Poor girl. But I’m sure she will get over her calf-love soon enough.”

  Marina suppressed a smile at her sister’s suddenly mature and sage manner.

  “For her sake, I hope so.”

  “Well, I do not wish to be mean, but I do not mind saying that she may be pretty, and rich as Methuselah, but her clothes are beyond overelaborate.”

  “Croesus.”

  “What?”

  “Rich as Croesus.”

  “Oh, was he rich, too?”

  Marina gave up, only saying airily, “If Miss Brandon is very lucky, I might put in a good word for her with Mrs. Birtwistle. I won’t make any promises, though, for she is most exclusive.”

  Deirdre giggled at the quip. “Oh, but it is exciting to have so many new people in the neighborhood. I do hope Mr. Penhurst’s guests will stay a good long time. Before they arrived I never knew how utterly bored I’ve been.”

  A burst of laughter escaped Marina at this fervent proclamation. “Do you know, I do not disagree with you?”

  After their very long tramp across the countryside, they returned home in the afternoon, cold, tired, and ready for a cup or two of hot tea.

  “Girls!” Mama waylaid them as they were making their way upstairs to change. “You missed Lady Darley, Lady Meredith, and Mrs. Langford.”

  After exchanging a look with Deirdre, Marina looked over the banister to her mother standing below in the great hall.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, Mama. I’ve no doubt they expressed their compliments over the ball.”

  “Of course. But they came with an invitation as well. They have heard of the old ruin on Aelfric’s Hill and propose a picnic there in two days’ time.”

  “Oh capital,” Deirdre called. “Did they say who else has been invited?”

  “The Willinghams, the Hollings, the Tundales and everyone from Ridgeton Abbey. It promises to be a merry outing. Now, put your cloaks and muffs away and come down to tea.”

  Marina climbed the stairs and thought about the outing. Lady Darley and her brother had the right to invite whomever they pleased, but she was a bit disappointed that Mrs. Birtwistle and Major Fielding were not part of the party.

  Chapter Ten

  Three conveyances left Buck Hill Tuesday next, it having been decided that the Buckleigh residence was the most convenient meeting spot for all the guests, and that way Mr. Penhurst’s cattle wouldn’t have to crisscross the countryside before heading to Aelfric’s Hill.

  From the front steps, Mama waved them away, with calls to enjoy themselves. She had informed them that morning that she was not feeling up to a picnic, but gladly sent off her daughters.

  Lady Darley, Mr. and Mrs. Langford—Marina did not think the portly Mr. Langford liked to ride for it probably aggravated his wheeze—and Lady Meredith rode in the first closed carriage.

  Mrs. Willingham, Mrs. Hollings and Mr. and Mrs. Ralston were in the second coach. Curiously to Marina’s mind, Miss Brandon joined them. When Deirdre told her that there was room for one more to squeeze in, Miss Brandon made a shallow curtsy, sent Marina a nasty look and announced that she preferred the closed carriage.

  This left Marina, along with her sister, Jane Willingham, Lydia Hollings and Phoebe Tundale, to ride in Mr. Penhurst’s open barouche and four.

  That left Sefton, Lord Cortland, Mr. Penhurst, Mr. Fairdale and Henry Willingham to escort the carriages on horseback.

  Despite wearing heavy capes, the girls were snuggled under piles of furs against the chill February day. Marina found it exhilarating despite her anxiety over the outing.

  She’d been fretting over not seeing Lady Darley since the awkwardness concerning Mrs. Birtwistle and hoped that there would be no tension between them today. In the commotion before departing, they had barely had a chance to greet each other but once at the ruin, Marina was determined to be especially courteous to Lady Darley to convey that she had no hard feelings.

  What caused her much more anxiety than any difficulty with Lady Darley was the prospect of being in the same proximity as Sefton and Lord Cortland for a whole afternoon.

  She found it most disconcerting and was keenly aware of Lord Cortland’s assessing and silently amused gaze often upon her, especially when Sefton had solicitously handed her into the carriage.

  As if to vex her even more, the other girls could talk of nothing but Lord Cortland.

  Petite and pertly bold Phoebe Tundale had been staring at Lord Cortland since leaving Buck Hill. “Have you ever seen anyone look better on a horse?”

  “He is utter perfection. I have never seen anyone handle a horse with a surer hand,” Lydia Hollings concurred.

  Marina looked heavenward. This kind of thing had been going on for miles.

  “Do you think it’s true that he was nearly caught dueling?” Phoebe continued with glee. “My mama says that Papa told her it was over a debt of honor.”

  “Oh, I hope it’s true. It’s so dashing and romantic.”

  “Not if you lose an eye.” Marina knew she sounded like a wet blanket, but she didn’t care, this was the silliest conversation she’d ever heard.

  “Don’t think you fool me, Miss Marina,” Lydia said, her eyes alight with laughter. “You have cast your eye in Sefton’s direction more than once.”

  “No, no,” Phoebe interjected. “I used to think it was Henry Willingham who held her heart. But since George Halbury has come back to Parsley Hay, the tide has turned in his direction, I think.”

  This sent them into another round of giggles. Feeling thoroughly annoyed, Marina did not deign to reply.

  “I think Mr. Sefton is just as handsome as Lord Cortland,” Jane Willingham, wedged between Lydia and Deirdre, said with some force. “And he seems much nicer, too. Lord Cortland is so toplofty and so obviously used to more superior company than we have in Parsley Hay that he hardly says a word. Frankly, I feel nervous around him.”

  Marina had always thought Jane had a good deal of sense and this statement confirmed it. She sent an encouraging smile to her friend.

  “But I love that kind of nervousness.” Phoebe giggled. “I am determined that somehow I shall get him to speak with me for five minutes today.”

  “You will not gain his interest, Phoebe,” Lydia Hollings said, dark eyes flashing with mischief. “It seems Lord Cortland only likes polished London ladies, or widows.”

  “I can so gain his interest! And I shall have your favorite bonnet if I do.”

  “Whoa-ho, Lydia, that is a challenge, indeed,” Deirdre responded with glee. “Shall you accept?”

  Lydia considered the matter with a very serious expression. “Well, if my favorite bonnet is at risk, then I should at least have the chance at yours. If he converses with me for five minutes straight, your green bonnet with the crown of curled ostrich plumes is forfeit.”

  “Oh, capital!” Deirdre clapped her hands with excitement.

  “I’m willing to wager that you are more likely to make cakes of yourselves than have a real conversation with the Marquis.” Marina knew chiding them would do no good, but felt a note of caution should be inserted in the increasingly giddy situation. It did not surprise her that they ignored her.

  For the next few minutes the girls, with much laughter and cross talk, worked out the details of their wager. They decided that whoever managed to secure Lord Cortland’s undivided attention for a minimum of five minutes at once would gain the other’s bonnet. They chose Deirdre, to her delight, to use the small watch she kept attached to her reticule by a ribbon to keep them honest. They had until the group returned to Buck Hill but not a moment more, and the other girl could not cheat by trying to distract Lord Cortland if the other was engaged in conversation with him.

  Jane Willingham leaned
forward and said in a low voice, “Poor Lord Cortland, he has no idea what he is in for.”

  Marina’s attention was caught by Lord Cortland galloping ahead of the chaise, off the road, taking his black horse over a low hedge with great ease. He looked fit and sporting and she had to own that he cut quite a dash in his cinnamon brown coat, buff buckskins and shining black boots. Even from here, she could see the way his heavily muscled thighs flexed as he galloped. Quickly, she brought her gaze back to Jane.

  “I am of a different opinion, Jane. I think we may be in for a diverting afternoon. Lord Cortland is too arrogant for my taste and I wouldn’t mind seeing him taken down a peg or two. Who better to do it than a couple of silly girls?”

  Jane’s pale face showed surprise and curiosity. “You have certainly developed a strong opinion of Lord Cortland in the short time he’s been here. What has he done to create such aversion in you?”

  Marina shifted uncomfortably on the seat. Treading carefully she said, “Nothing in particular, it his general manner I dislike. You said yourself he is toplofty.”

  “I did, but not with the rancor you seem to feel. Besides, I freely confess that if he had asked me to dance, I would have been nearly as giddy as these two,” with a tilt of her head, she gestured to Lydia and Phoebe, who were off on another peal of giggles.

  In short order, they reached the ruin, the carriage bouncing over the rocky ground after rounding out of a hollow. A little distance away, Marina noticed the servants who’d been sent ahead removing food baskets from wagons and setting up tables, waiting for the party to enjoy an alfresco meal at their leisure. Two footmen were in the process of building a small bonfire, which Marina knew they would all be grateful for shortly. She was glad that she’d decided to wear her heaviest cloak, made of fur-lined wool, knowing the oxblood color showed her dark hair and gray eyes to advantage.

  In his role as their host for this excursion, Mr. Penhurst, with an affable smile, came over and helped all the young ladies alight from the carriage. Lydia and Phoebe immediately set off toward Lord Cortland, who was approaching the group after leaving his horse with a groom a good distance from the impromptu camp. Marina smiled, secretly hoping that the girls would not lose their nerves. It promised to be too diverting to watch Lord Cortland have to deal with the giggling pair as each attempted to win the wager.

  Vicar Ralston, evidently feeling quite in his element, started directing everyone to attend him. “Come, come, everyone,” he waved his hands toward himself, “we shall begin our afternoon with a little local history.”

  “Oh pooh, he’s likely to go for hours,” Deirdre had moved to her side and whispered this as she pretended to fuss with her muff.

  Marina smiled serenely even though she knew the Vicar’s tendency to pontificate. To her right, Sefton stood next to Mr. Fairdale, who was already looking a bit bored. She watched Sefton a moment, admiring how well he looked in his blue greatcoat. She dearly wished to speak to him again, though not in such a public setting and with Lord Cortland so close at hand. Perhaps Sefton would call upon Buck Hill again soon, came the wistful thought and she sent him a soft smile.

  Sefton returned her smile with an eager intensity that shocked her.

  Looking away, she felt her cheeks growing warm. That kind of lingering, soulful smile worked rather better from across a candlelit ballroom, she was forced to admit, feeling uncomfortable. In the bright cold light, with all her friends and neighbors so close, it seemed a little too intimate and familiar.

  As she turned, she saw Miss Brandon to her left, staring at Sefton with such a look of unshielded love that Marina felt a little sorry for her. Miss Brandon shifted her round blue eyes to Marina, and her love-struck expression instantly changed. Her gaze narrowed and flashed with venomous warning.

  Even more startled by this unexpected animus, Marina quickly returned her gaze to Mr. Ralston.

  “Well, now, aren’t we fortunate to have such a beautiful day to appreciate this most unusual place,” the Vicar began in what Marina always thought of as his “pulpit voice.” “We know from a few very old records in the rectory I have had the pleasure of studying, that this church was built during the long reign of Henry the Sixth, some three hundred and fifty years ago.”

  The newcomers exclaimed over the forlorn beauty of the place.

  Looking around, Marina agreed this was a special place, indeed. Situated on the highest point in Parsley Hay, the ruin, called Old James Church by the villagers, looked stark and beautiful against the late winter sky.

  A dozen stone columns and one complete, though crumbling, wall still stood to show what the huge building had originally been. A partial wall here and there, most of the vestibule, part of the bell tower and the stone base of the altar also remained. A fine example of an old Norman archway leaned at an angle against one of the columns, and Marina remembered when she was little enough to pass under it without stooping.

  Marina had always loved the ruin, and used to beg Papa to bring her here when she was little. When she was older, she would drag Deirdre along when she was in the mood for a long ride.

  She particularly loved to come here in summer when lavender filled the open center of the collapsed edifice. Now, with the surrounding trees bare of leaves and creaking in the slight breeze, she found the place mysterious and full of a poetic, haunting beauty.

  “It is rather tragic that the church was abandoned and allowed to fall into ruin,” Mr. Ralston continued, “especially when one considered the quality of the workmanship. The quarry which provided the stones is nearly fifteen miles away.”

  Mr. Ralston continued with his lecture of the little-known history of the area until some of the party, most specifically the youngest ladies, grew restive and began to wander off despite sharp looks from their mamas.

  To Marina’s relief, Mr. Ralston became aware that he was losing the attention of all but the most polite members of his audience and, with a last word for everyone to be careful as they toured the ruin, he finally stood aside.

  The party spread out and began to take in the scenic place at their leisure and Marina saw with a great deal of pleasure Lydia and Phoebe still hovering close to Lord Cortland. For his part, the Marquis seemed to be taking in the details of the ancient architecture with some interest.

  Knowing it was high time to speak to Lady Darley and put any awkwardness over Mrs. Birtwistle behind them, Marina approached her as she stood with Mrs. Ralston and Lady Meredith.

  “I think this picnic is a perfect notion, Lady Darley, it is so lovely to get out and see different scenery.”

  Lady Darley, though not exactly unfriendly, looked at her with a decidedly cool expression.

  “Indeed, it is. I do hope you and the other young ladies were not too cold in the barouche?”

  “Not at all, we were a cozy and merry group under all those lovely furs.”

  “This truly is a most unusual spot, Miss Buckleigh,” Lady Meredith offered with a hint of her nephew’s drawl. “It’s quite picturesque.”

  “I have always thought so. Some of the beautiful masonry is still intact if you’d care to take a closer look.” Looking at Lady Meredith, Marina didn’t think that she was quite dressed for poking around a crumbling church. Her cloak was heavy merino in myrtle green lined with heavily embroidered orange-colored satin, edged at the neck with sable. The half boots Marina glimpsed as Lady Meredith exited the carriage did not look the least sturdy.

  “I will keep to the outside of the ruin,” Lady Meredith said with a hint of a smile. “You younger people can enjoy the more strenuous exploring.”

  With that, Marina gave a quick curtsy and headed toward the fallen archway, wondering if there had been any more changes since last she was here. Espying Lord Cortland not twenty feet ahead of her, she pulled up short, struck by his expression. A mixture of hauteur and politeness quirked his upper lip, and one brow rose quizzically as he gazed down at Phoebe Tundale.

  Phoebe looked up at him with a coquettish smile,
and Marina was close enough to hear her say, “Oh, Lord Cortland, it seems you have an interest in architecture. How fascinating!”

  His other brow joined the raised one at this remark and Marina suppressed a snicker as she made to walk past them. She drew even and he turned from Phoebe’s dazzling smile and looked directly into her eyes. Marina met his gaze, knowing she hadn’t properly schooled her features, but she didn’t care.

  A familiar mocking gleam entered his glittering gaze as she walked by, and she was hardly able to keep a smile off her lips. Despite his polished expression, he could not completely hide his bemusement at Phoebe’s effusive attention.

  How delicious.

  To add to the absurdity of the scene, she noticed Deirdre next to a column staring intently down at her reticule. Marina had to fight even harder to keep the bubble of laughter from escaping her throat. Turning before she gave herself away, she moved to look at a wall she was sure had crumbled even more since last spring.

  She moved further down what was once, hundreds of years ago, the center aisle, toward the great granite stone that previously held the altar, now weathered and smooth from time and exposure.

  Lydia Hollings came up to her with a pout on her deceptively sweet face.

  “She’s going to win before I have a chance to engage him in conversation, just because she is more forward than I,” she whispered fiercely, looking back to where Phoebe still stood next to the Marquis. “It’s dreadfully unfair.”

  Considering for a moment, Marina decided she couldn’t ignore this opportunity. “Well, from what I heard there was nothing in the rules the two of you set up that says you can’t try to converse with him for five minutes even if she did it first. All I heard was that whoever engaged him in conversation for five minutes got the other’s favorite bonnet.”

  Lydia’s eyes went wide and her mouth made a perfect circle. “Oh, I think you are right, Marina, we never did say the first to do it won, we only said the one who did do it won.”