Simon found himself wondering how the devil he could ever have thought himself in love with such a cold, calculating female.
After her ladyship retired, the gentlemen played a game of billiards before following suit. At the bottom of the stairs Gerald decided to look in Sir Josiah's bookroom for something to read in bed.
“I'll ride with you in the morning,” he proposed, turning back to the hall.
“Not unless you rise early.” Simon paused on the bottom step. “I've an appointment with a young lady at nine and I don't know how long I'll be gone.”
“At nine! Young ladies never rise before noon.”
“You're not in Mayfair now, coz. Here in the country, it's the early frog catches the fly.”
Gerald grinned up at him. “That innocent belief just goes to prove that you haven't stayed at Crossfields since my sisters left the schoolroom. Ah well, it will take me a few days to accustom myself to country hours. I shall ride alone in the morning and see you later in the day. Good night, coz.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, Simon pondered the difference between his cousin and his dead brother. Outwardly they had always appeared two of a kind—arrogant, elegant, jaded, sardonic. Yet Cedric had made Simon feel insignificant and resentful, whereas he had the liveliest affection for Gerald. Cedric's sneers had always cut him to the quick. Somehow the same insults became friendly teasing when Gerald spoke them.
Had his reactions to his elder brother been oversensitive, driven by his parents' oft-voiced opinions of their two sons? He was not much given to introspection, but he thought not. Gerald possessed two essential qualities that Cedric had lacked: a willingness to laugh at himself, and an ability to empathize. Simon appreciated Gerald's delicacy in refraining from asking him about the lady he was meeting on the morrow. He rather suspected that his cousin would not altogether approve of the scapegrace Miss Lakshmi Lassiter.
Chapter 8
Miss Lakshmi Lassiter approached the mere with considerable trepidation. After all, the last time she had met Simon Hurst there he had been disgracefully impertinent—and she had made promises she had no intention of keeping. He had managed to inveigle a place at her dinner table, but she was determined not to grant him a dance, let alone a kiss.
Deva Lal was skittish this morning, hardly surprising in view of the clanking of the six buckets tied to the saddle of Jacko's cob, following close behind. Mimi leaned forward to stroke the mare's neck soothingly. Between the greening trees she caught sight of Mr. Hurst, alerted to their coming by the horrid noise.
Any shyness she might have felt instantly vanished. “Oh, where did you get those?” she called, her gaze fixed with open envy on his thigh boots.
“My aunt's butler found them for me.” He came to meet her and walked at her stirrup back toward the water's edge.
“Baird is a dear, is he not? He found me the butterfly net, and he has lent me Sir Josiah's fishing rod. I mean to take up fishing.” She announced this last with a certain defiance, but he merely nodded.
“These were Sir Josiah's fishing boots.”
“I wish I could have some like them, but with these stupid skirts they would be useless anyway.”
“Stupid, perhaps, but most becoming. That shade of blue suits you, Princess.”
He reached up to help her down from the saddle, and for a moment his strong, warm hands clasped her waist. She was glad she had decided to wear her habit despite the encumbrance of the train, both because he admired it and because she didn't want to reveal her legs to him again. It must be the memory of riding away from him in her morning gown that made her feel hot and bothered, she decided.
All the same, the extra length of skirt was going to get in the way. “Pray turn your back, sir,” she said primly. “I have brought some pins to pin up my train.”
Obediently he turned away. “You need not envy the boots too much,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “They make it devilish difficult to sit down, and quite impossible to ride. You should have seen me trying to mount Intrepid this morning. He looked down his nose at me as if I were a... frog.”
Sensing a despondent tone in his pronunciation of the last word, Mimi hastened to assure him, “You cannot possibly be a frog. Frogs jump, and I don't believe you can jump an inch in those boots.”
He laughed aloud. “You're probably right. I shan't try, for fear of falling flat on my face. Jacko, bring those buckets over here. There are some rushes growing in shallow water, and a patch of cress. I brought a spade and fork.”
“That's well thought on, sir.” The groom clanked after him. “There weren't nowhere to tie 'em on to poor ole Brownie alongside these pails, but I borried a trowel from Mr. Renfrew, as is our gardener at the Hall. He'll have me guts for garters ifn I don't take it back safe and sound.”
Her skirt securely pinned—she hoped—Mimi hurried after them. Despite her good intentions, she was soon damp and muddy, her hair falling in wisps over her face. She was enjoying herself too much to care. Taking off her hat, she tossed it to the ground.
Jacko, soaked to the knees, carried a bucket full of fresh green rushes out of the mere. Mimi took it from him.
“It's not too heavy. I'll carry it over to Brownie.”
She turned to find a gentleman riding toward her along the bank. As he neared, she recognized Viscount Litton and saw his satirical look change to surprise.
“Miss Lassiter, is it not?” He raised his glossy beaver and bowed.
Mimi curtsied, feeling foolish. “How do you do, my lord.”
“I thought I recognized the bay... Good gad, Simon, it is you. I'd no idea you had an interest in cottage industries. Basket weaving, I take it?”
“If we were going to make baskets,” Mimi pointed out, “we would not need the roots, so we could just cut the rushes instead of digging them up.”
“Of course. How slow-witted I am at this hour of the morning,” he said politely. Too politely—Mimi was sure he was mocking her. “I assume, then, that you have some other purpose in mind?”
“To plant them elsewhere, obviously,” came Simon's voice from behind her. “You certainly are obtuse this morning, Gerald.”
Mimi glanced back at him. Still standing in the mere, he was grinning at the viscount, not in the least discomfited by his lordship's irony. Nor did Lord Litton appear to resent the insult. She recalled that, whatever the difference in station, they were connected through the Thompsons: Lord Litton was Sir Josiah's nephew and Mr. Hurst was related to Lady Thompson. They seemed to know each other well.
“Ah, not cottage industries but gardening,” said the viscount. “I never suspected you of such versatility.”
“A bailiff must turn his hand to many tasks. Here, Jacko, take this pail of flags. They'll be blooming soon, but I hope they won't mind being transplanted. That's the last, is it not?”
“Aye, sir, they'm all full.”
Recalling her bucket of rushes, Mimi picked it up. Lord Litton promptly swung down from his horse and tied it to the nearest tree, saying, “Allow me to be of assistance, ma'am.”
She looked dubiously at his spotless buckskins, gleaming top boots with snowy white tops, and superbly tailored jacket. Even dressed for riding he cast Sir Wilfred's finest finery in the shade. It would be almost indecent to let him carry anything so commonplace as a bucket.
“I'm stuck,” said Simon.
Mimi and the viscount swung round. From the bank, Jacko reached for Simon's hand and tugged. Simon wavered wildly and nearly sat down. Mimi giggled.
Lord Litton sighed. “Pray excuse me, Miss Lassiter.” He went over to the edge of the mere and reached for Simon's other hand.
Mimi was laughing so hard that she didn't notice Harriet's approach until little Prue piped up, “Harry, that's the gentleman who called on you yesterday.”
“Harriet, I'm glad you came. Mr. Hurst has been so very helpful and now the poor man is stuck in the mud. Oh, they've pulled him out.”
As Simon emerged glugging from the mere, Jacko staggered backward and landed on his rear end. With a neat bit of footwork that would have drawn praise in Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Saloon, Lord Litton kept his balance. Leaving Simon breathing heavily on the brink, he joined the ladies. His boots still gleamed, and not a fold of his cravat nor a hair on his dark head was out of place.
He looked on Harriet, fresh and neat in pale yellow muslin, with unmistakable approval and, Mimi thought, with some uncertainty.
“I believe you have met Miss Cooper, my lord.”
“Ah yes, our worthy vicar's daughter.” He smiled as Harriet curtsied. “I think you and I are the only sane people in this Bedlam, Miss Cooper. These must be your sisters?”
“Sarah and Prudence, my lord,” Harriet told him shyly.
The little girls curtsied. Prue, at six years old, had not quite mastered the art and she wobbled. The viscount put out a hand to steady her. She beamed at him.
“I'm getting better,” she assured him. “We're going for a walk. Do you want to come?”
To Mimi's astonishment the top-o'-the-trees nobleman, after a moment of grave consideration, said that that was a delightful idea and offered Harriet his arm. As they strolled away, the children running ahead, she stared after them, then glanced disconsolately down at her soiled riding habit.
Oh well, all in a good cause, she thought, shrugging her shoulders. It was a pity, though, that Harriet had not had a chance to talk to Mr. Hurst.
“Do you mean to help us, Princess?”
Simon and Jacko were tying the buckets full of plants to the patient Brownie's saddle. Mimi picked up her hat and went to join them.
“Thank you, sir, we should never have managed without you.” She held out her hand to Simon.
He took it, but replied, “We're not finished yet. There's the planting to be done.”
“Oh, but I didn't expect...” she began, disconcerted.
“I never leave a task unfinished. Let us be on our way before those clouds I see in the west arrive.”
To ride when he was walking would have been rude, she felt, even though he looked more like a laborer than a bailiff with the fork and spade over his shoulder. Leading Deva Lal, she fell into step beside him.
“You did a splendid job of pinning up your train,” he congratulated her with a grin. “I quite thought I was going to have to leave Sir Josiah's boots behind me in the lake.”
Suddenly the day was sparkling again. She laughed. “You looked so very funny. That was further proof that you're not a frog, whatever your horse may think. Whoever heard of a frog getting stuck in a pond?”
* * * *
“I can't be a sailor anymore and I'll never make a town beau,” Simon pointed out to Gerald that evening as they sipped Sir Josiah's ruby port. “I might as well make the best of it and accustom myself to rustic pursuits.”
“I am acquainted with a number of gentlemen who enjoy the pursuit of rustic beauties,” his cousin drawled, “but devil if I know any who pursue them through knee-deep mud.”
“I've no intention of pursuing Miss Lassiter, I assure you.” To himself, he qualified that statement: except to gain my promised rewards. “I'm damned if I know how she inveigled me into this morning's escapade.”
“I have met Miss Lassiter before,” Gerald mused, holding his glass up to the light and admiring the rich color. “I thought her a well-behaved, insipid miss no different from a hundred of her kind. How wrong I was! To what do we owe the transformation, I wonder?”
“I don't know, but I'm quite certain there's method to her madness. She's more or less admitted to some deep-laid plan, to what end I've no notion.”
“One shudders to think. Pray do not allow yourself to be ensnared by the tiresome child.”
“I'm in no danger—she thinks me a bailiff. But what of you and Miss Cooper, coz? I near fell back in the lake when I saw you walking off with her on your arm as if you were strolling in Hyde Park with a blue-blooded debutante.”
“With a blue-blooded debutante, as you vulgarly put it, or even with Miss Lassiter, I might indeed arouse expectations. The daughter of a country parson has more sense than to let her hopes be raised.”
“You mean no more than a flirtation, then?” Simon hoped he didn't sound disapproving. He rather liked Harriet Cooper and would be sorry to see her hurt.
“Gad no,” said Gerald, bored. “Miss Cooper has not a flirtatious bone in her undeniably shapely body. We spoke of parish business. Shall we join Aunt Georgina?”
Simon drank down the remains of his glass of port and followed the viscount from the dining room.
Gerald paused with his hand on the drawing-room door handle. “Besides,” he said with a lurking smile, “we were very thoroughly chaperoned by Miss Sally and Miss Prue.”
* * * *
The clouds Simon had seen blowing up passed over after dropping a few showers. The next day the sun shone once again. Mimi wanted to talk to Harriet, privately, without Mrs. Forbes or Mrs. Cooper or the children. She sent Jacko to the vicarage to see if Harriet could escape for a while and meet her in the gazebo at the top of the ha-ha.
“Miss says her mum's much better and she'll be there at midday,” the groom reported.
“Good. I can go and inspect the plants in the pond while I'm there, to see if they have survived transplanting. Thank you, Jacko.”
Shortly before noon, Mimi walked down through the gardens, abloom now with peonies, tulips, and pansies. She particularly liked the pansies, with their cheeky faces raised to the sun. Picking a few, she pinned them to the bodice of her pomona green walking dress. Mrs. Forbes was right: a lady should always carry a few spare pins.
When she reached the top of the ha-ha, Harriet was already coming up the steps. They went together into the gazebo, a small open summerhouse decorated with lacy, white-painted fretwork. More than anything else in England, it reminded Mimi of India, of the cool pavilions in the gardens of her grandfather's palace. For a moment she was overcome with nostalgia for the fierce old man, for fountains and still pools with pale pink lotus blossoms floating, for the sound of bare feet on marble floors and soft voices murmuring in Hindi, for odors of incense and spice.