Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (7 page)

It was with relief, then, that Diana walked to the stables one day to find Sir James riding in. She was dressed in her habit, ready to go out for a morning ride on her gelding, Lightning. She gazed at Sir James’s mare, a showy piece and well-muscled, but a nervous beast. She wondered if the horse would be less nervous if Sir James had not been riding it. She winced as he came to a stop, the reins pulling just a little too hard on the mare’s mouth.

Sit straighter, and not like a sack of potatoes
, she wanted to say to him,
and don’t be so ham-handed
, but she had promised her mother that she would not judge people by their seat on a horse, and knew that it would be rude, besides. But really, the man had one of the worst hands and seats she’d ever seen. She put a smile on her face, however, and greeted him, and he gave a brief bow over her hand after he dismounted.

His gaze flickered over her hands, and he smiled sardonically. “Well, I see you are not married yet.”

“Of course I am not,” she said, irritated. “There is no reason why I should be.”

“He couldn’t come up to scratch, eh?” She opened her mouth, then shut it again, wanting badly to tell him that Lord Brisbane had said he had fallen in love with her. But she was sure the earl was jesting, and she knew Sir James would mention it in company and set everyone to chattering. Sir James had a way of casually letting drop interesting bits of gossip, sometimes to fuel some bet or other he had made, but sometimes just to stir rumors and bring attention on himself. If she told him, he would mention it, and that might move Lord Brisbane to propose marriage out of honor, and she did not want to be put in such an uncomfortable position.

“That is none of your business,” she said, knowing her reply would make him think that the earl had not one inclination to propose. Once more, she would have failed to get herself a husband and failed to keep herself and her mother from being hangers-on to the new earl. She burned with humiliation, but kept her face serene and shrugged. “And there are more important things than that at the moment.” She hesitated, then said, “Have you seen McKinney, our head groom? I have not seen him since the day of the accident. He had given me his resignation, and I referred him to you, thinking you would be Uncle Charles’s heir.”
But then, you are not the heir
, she thought, and almost smiled to see irritation flash over Sir James’s face.

He stared at her for a moment before saying, “No, he did not come to see me, cousin. I have not seen him since . . . I think it was the day the will was read.” A small crease formed between his eyebrows, but the rest of his face remained impassive. “Unfortunate,” he continued, “for I wished to speak to him myself.” Sir James took the reins of the horse and led it toward the stables.

Diana looked at her cousin questioningly. “Is there something amiss?”

“Only a few questions about the accident. I have no great confidence in the stability of that curricle.” His taut smile was a warning. “It would be best to sell it after it’s repaired. Or burn it, tethers and all, if the sight of it might cause you pain.”

“I am not as weak as that,” Diana said, and lifted her chin. “I had thought of selling it, but I mean to have it repaired and drive it.”

He gazed at her in silence for a moment, then his smile turned indulgent. “I wonder if you should.”

“If you mean that there is something wrong with the curricle, then the problem should be fixed when it is repaired.”

“And if that is not the problem?”

“Are you suggesting that I cannot drive it?” Diana demanded. “I assure you, I have driven it any number of times before the accident. I have never had a problem with it before.”

“
I
, however, have not seen you drive it without your uncle accompanying you.”

“That is because you did not visit Brisbane House regularly, and so missed those occasions I drove it alone.”

“That may be,” Sir James replied, “but that was before the accident.” He smiled skeptically. “Technique makes up more than half one’s driving skill, but confidence makes for the rest. I’m willing to wager your confidence has been severely shaken after seeing your uncle—ah, forgive me. It is a delicate subject, is it not? One that most ladies would prefer not to discuss.”

Or have been present to see
, Diana mentally finished for him. She gazed at his bored expression, and realized what it was that always irritated her about Sir James. It was that dismissive air he wore whenever he spoke to her, as if her thoughts and words were trivial and her opinion of no consequence. It made her feel diminished, and she did not like it. Perhaps it was why she disliked London so, confined not only by the tight corsets her Aunt Matchett forced upon her, but by the circumscribed set of subjects her aunt had decided were fit for a lady to converse upon, and what events and functions a lady was allowed to attend.

“Few
people
care to discuss such things, true,” she said carefully, not wanting to be put at a disadvantage. “However, such grievous incidents do happen, and it serves no one well to ignore the fact.”

“Even so, a lady of
delicate
sensibilities would have avoided the situation altogether,” he said.

There, it was out, he had said it at last—apparently she had no delicacy at all. Sir James clearly felt the realm of carriages and carriage races to be beyond the scope of understanding of women. She could have understood his reluctance to believe in her skill if he had not seen her drive, as Lord Brisbane—Gavin—had not. But Sir James had seen her drive, and it did not convince him. It made angry heat rush to her face, and she held her tongue between her teeth to keep from spitting out the hasty words that built up behind them.

“I am glad I was there, Sir James,” she said evenly, when she could. “At least I can rest easy at night, knowing, however little I or anyone else could have done, that I could at least give my uncle some comfort before he died.”

“I suppose it is useful to be strong-minded,” Sir James replied, looking her up and down, and his tone made Diana feel as if it was vulgar to be so strong.

Formidable.
Suddenly she remembered her conversation with Lord Brisbane; there had been admiration in his voice when he had said the word. Her anger fled, and she smiled, feeling quite cheerful. “Yes, it is very useful. It would have served no one well if I had had the vapors or had gone into strong hysterics.”

“Indeed,” Sir James said, and looked away, obviously bored. But Diana did not take offense at his manner. In fact she felt unexpectedly lighthearted. Why should she care what Sir James thought of her? Her own mother had not kept her from attending the race, for though Mrs. Carlyle herself did not like such things, she did not think it improper. If her mother—a gentle lady of good conscience and decorum—did not think it amiss for her to be present at her uncle’s race, who was Sir James to criticize? Indeed, there were more important things to attend to at the moment—such as the location of the head groom.

“But this triviality has sidetracked me,” she said. “If you do not know where McKinney is, then perhaps he approached Lord Brisbane with his resignation.” She frowned, and they stepped into the stable.

Sir James turned a slightly more interested gaze upon her. “You discussed it between yourselves?” He gestured to a stableboy who took the mare from him.

“Lord Brisbane brought McKinney’s absence to my attention, in fact,” she said, turning to the stall that held her own horse. Lightning raised his head at her voice and nickered softly, making Diana smile.

“Indeed, our conversation almost followed the one between you and me—”
Except that it had a quite different ending, to be sure!
Diana thought, and reached into the stall with a bit of dried apple. The gelding sniffed it and delicately took it between its lips. Diana patted the horse and shook her head ruefully. “But he did not say whether McKinney approached him at all. . . .” She realized that Lord Brisbane had not mentioned it directly; she had only assumed it from what he had said.

“A word of warning, cousin.”

She turned to look questioningly at Sir James and raised her brows at his grim expression.

“His lordship is not all what he seems,” he said.

She smiled slightly. “Oh, I know that. He is not as lazy as he makes himself out to be.”

“Far from it,” Sir James replied. “Have you not wondered why it was that you have never heard of Mr. Sinclair until now? Do you know anything of his background or where he came from?”

Diana gazed at him, startled. “Well, I know he has been in trade . . .” she said slowly. Did she know? She had guessed it from Lord Brisbane’s conversation, and he had said she was very perceptive. He had not, really, confirmed it.

“A common merchant,” Sir James said. “More or less.” There was a bit of a sneer in his voice. “Possibly less—a nobody.”

Anger shot through her, quick and hot. “Oh, my,” she said sweetly. “Do I hear regret? Even envy? How inconvenient for you that Gavin appeared to oust you from your inheritance.” Her voice turned hard. “You would do well not to spread rumors regarding Lord Brisbane. It cannot do your consequence any good, for everyone shall know you have been expecting to inherit, and what a comedown that will be for you!”

Black fury in Sir James’s eyes made Diana take a sudden step back, rustling the hay at her feet, and her horse moved uneasily in its stall. Then the expression was gone, and a thin smile appeared instead.” ‘Gavin,’ is it? Well, well. I see where your interests lie. What a nice performance you gave at the library. I was almost fooled. But you are no different from any other woman.”

Diana gritted her teeth. “We are cousins, and he has permission to call me by my Christian name just as you do for the same reason—
James.”

“But you jump so quickly to his defense, my dear,” Sir James said, mimicking her earlier sweet tone of voice. “And what, really, do you know of him? I, on the other hand, have spent a good deal of time investigating his past while I was in London.”

She stared at him, at once curious and yet reluctant to take the bait. She shrugged. “My uncle had every confidence in his solicitor. If Bartlett found no fault with the present Lord Brisbane, I am sure no one else should.”

“You are still convinced of your uncle’s infallibility, are you? And yet you protested the conditions of your dowry at the reading of the will . . . or was that a pretense?”

She stared into Sir James’s dark eyes, feeling caught, as if she were a fly whose wings he had pinned to a board. “Uncle Charles meant it for the best. That it is not my conception of what is best for me does not erase his concern—his very great concern—for my welfare,” she said at last. She moved to her horse, patting its neck comfortingly.

He smiled then, and shrugged. “A politic answer. I think you’ll see, however, that the truth regarding the present Lord Brisbane is not in his favor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I shall not tell you, for you are obviously enamored of him.”

Diana gave him a level gaze. “You are quite mistaken.”

Sir James shrugged again. “I advise you to stay away from Lord Brisbane. At best he is nothing but a useless man-milliner, caring for nothing but his clothes. At worst—” He smiled. “Much worse.” He turned and proceeded out of the stables, but turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. “By the way, I would advise you to get yourself another horse—your gelding is much too difficult to handle.”

“Only for you,” she shot back. She grinned fiercely as he gave her another black look and strode away from her to the house.

One of the undergrooms saddled Lightning for her. True, the gelding would normally not be seen as a lady’s mount, but few ladies were as tall as she. And true, even her uncle had questioned her choice of a horse. But she had known the moment she had set eyes on the wild-eyed bay colt that this one was hers. And so it was: the bay obeyed only her, and had come willingly to her as she whispered to it and fed it from her own hand. She was the one who trained it as it grew larger and stronger.

Her smile grew wider. The stablehands had once told her Sir James had tried to ride Lightning at one time and the gelding had thrown him. Sour grapes was behind the man’s anger, and resentment that he had not been the heir to the Brisbane title or estates.

She shrugged mentally as she mounted the horse, gentling it with soft words as it pretended to startle at the familiar gate it always passed. With the next game of chance he won, Sir James would soon forget his disgruntlement. He always did, whatever his temper may have been at some setback. This tantrum of his—for that was what it was—would end soon, she was sure.

Chapter 5

As Diana spurred her horse out into the stableyard and into a gallop when she reached the fields, she shook off thoughts of Sir James and what he had implied about Lord Brisbane. The morning was too beautiful to waste on uneasy speculation. That was all it was, speculation. Unless she applied to her uncle’s solicitor and asked difficult and awkward questions—and there was no real reason for her to ask them—all she could do was question Lord Brisbane or those who knew him.

Nearing a small copse of trees, she sat back a little in the saddle, once she was quite a way from the house, easing her horse into a trot and then a walk. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting a cool breeze brush her face and her hair. The sun shone brightly, and she regretted that she had decided to wear her black riding habit instead of her lighter weight blue. The dress was very warm, and perspiration prickled at the nape of her neck. She had worn it because she was still in mourning, but if she had come out earlier in the day, she could have worn the cooler riding dress and no one would have been the wiser.

She glanced around her—there was no one about. It would do no harm to unpin the jockey-bonnet and let her hair loose down her back. Quickly, she took it off, then unpinned and untied her hair. She would hang her bonnet on a branch to fetch before she returned home. Her hair would become tangled, but the breeze would run through it and cool her quite a bit, and she could run her fingers through it to untangle it before binding it up again.

The air wafting through her hair was glorious. She ran her fingers through it, massaging her scalp a little, and shook her head, and the length of it fell down over her shoulders to her waist. There, now! She would become sadly brown without her bonnet to shade her face, but it was not as if her skin were perfectly white, after all. It was something her Aunt Matchett used to complain about all the time in London, and had made her put lemon slices all over her face every evening to lighten it. The lemons had made her skin no more pale than it was now, and she was glad to have ceased such nonsense once she returned home.

“Now we shall have a good gallop,” she said to Lightning, and the horse nervously flicked its ears back for a moment. “Oh, don’t be so finicky, silly! You have galloped when I have had my hair down before, and you have done just fine. Now, let’s go!”

She nudged her horse forward, leaning over his neck, urging him on faster and faster. Diana grinned widely as the ground passed quickly under her, her hair flying behind her, fluttering at her back like wings. No one did this in the city without someone crying scandal; it was only here, at home, she could ride and be free. Surely there was nothing as wonderful as this, the power and grace of the horse beneath her, the soaring speed as Lightning leaped over small brooks and shrubbery.

They reached the edge of the estate and Diana slowed her horse, then turned back. She would not go home immediately, but take another way through the woods. The heat was rising, and both she and the horse could cool down in the shade, then rest by the pond there. Then they would have another good gallop, and both of them could return home eager for a midday meal.

The shade beneath the trees was indeed cool, just right after the heated ride. Diana rode Lightning to a stump and carefully dismounted onto it. Still holding the reins, she gazed speculatively at the bay horse. She had trained him to stay in place if she loosely tied or even only draped the reins over a bush or a low tree limb, and for the most part the horse obediently stayed where he was. But every once in a while, he would be in a mischievous mood, and after an experimental tug at the reins would find them loose enough to know that he was not tied to anything at all, and off he would go. Horses were not particularly intelligent animals, but Lightning was an exception to the rule and was for that reason often more contrary than most and a little more difficult to train.

Well, there was nothing like consistency to remind an animal of its training. This time she would tie the reins firmly and the horse would know that he was not free to go anywhere.

“You
will
stay,” she said sternly as she tied the reins to a low branch. “See, I have put you near the pond if you want to drink, and there is plenty of grass to crop, too.” The horse eyed her skeptically, lipped the knot on the branch as if in defiance, then lowered his head to the grass and began to eat.

Diana walked to an old oak, then sat on one of its large roots. A scattering of primroses grew around it, and she picked one, twirling the stem back and forth between her fingers in a contemplative way. She thought of what Sir James had said; she could not help wondering about Lord Brisbane, about his background. She had not asked him . . . there never arose the opportunity, or it never appeared to be the right moment. Dinner conversation tended to dwell upon general subjects, and upon the war abroad, or taken up in telling Lord Brisbane about the tenants and the nature of the property.

But no personal exchanges were ever made. Mourning made everyone keep their distance for fear of some unintentional hurt. Even Sir James and Mr. Southworthy kept to themselves, not mentioning the accident or the late earl.

Except for the current Lord Brisbane. His manner was still lazy, his eyes still heavy-lidded, but he listened and commented in his quiet voice, and somehow Mama would laugh at something he said, and Diana found herself talking of her life and her uncle.

It was like that last evening. When the ladies and gentlemen went into the drawing room after dinner, the vicar conversed upon the state of the war, in which he was highly interested, but soon afterward retreated into reading some religious works. Sir James engaged Lord Brisbane in a short discussion of upcoming prizefights and races, but soon left to partake of a cigar out-of-doors.

She had been playing a few tunes on the pianoforte all the while, not really wanting conversation, and watched Lord Brisbane wander over to the windows and look out at the sunset in the distance. He had been impeccably dressed in a black jacket with pale yellow knee breeches and a cream-colored embroidered waistcoat. His shirt points were higher than the rest of the gentlemen’s, but not as high as she had seen some dandies wear.

He had moved to her mother, who was stitching some tatting she had made to a collar. The earl made some comment, and Mama had laughed and blushed, shaking her head slightly. She had made a shooing motion, and he had grinned, and turned toward Diana.

He had stood, watching her play for a while, then forestalled her when she reached to turn the sheet of music. He turned it instead, and she nodded her thanks to him. She finished the piece—it was a Mozart divertimento—and he clapped his hands. “You play very well,” he said.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “But I beg to differ. I have heard better musicians than I in London.”

“I said you play very well, but not like a
professional
musician.”

“Now I know your proclamation of love was false,” Diana sighed mock-dolefully, for she did not take offense at obvious truth. “I thought if one were in love, one loved everything about the beloved.” It was a daring thing for her to say—but something prompted her to say it, and for some reason she did not think Lord Brisbane would mind. Besides, they were far enough away from everyone else so that she would not be overheard.

“Well, I have heard that love is blind, but I have never heard that it was tone-deaf,” he replied.

She had begun a sonata, but laughed and stumbled in mid-phrase.

“Oh, now look at what you have done! I shall have to start over again, and will sound like the veriest beginner.”

He grinned. “No, not like a beginner. You do play very well.

Did your mother teach you?”

“Yes, and then Uncle Charles bought this pianoforte and paid for a music master in addition to a governess. So you see, I have been brought up a lady.” If the last few words were said with more than usual emphasis, she could not help it. Sometimes her Aunt Matchett’s voice echoed in her ears, criticizing everything she did. After a month in London, the sound of it had given her a stomachache.

“That must have been dull,” he replied.

She looked up at him in surprise. “Why do you say so?”

“Aside from the music, I have often thought the education of young ladies to be tedious in the extreme: dancing, stitching, nothing beyond basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, barely any geography, and perhaps a smattering of Italian, enough to sound affected and cause acute pain to any Italian within hearing distance.”

Diana choked, almost touched the wrong key, and hastily corrected herself. Luckily, the music was a
largo
piece, slow enough to cover her hesitation. “If you must know,” she said, managing only barely to hold back a laugh, “I was bored with all of it, except geography, and that subject made me frustrated, for my governess could never tell me what the countries were really like, nor did she think it proper for me to procure books that would.” She sighed. “How I wish I could have had a boy’s education. I could have gone on a Grand Tour, and learned Latin and Greek, and learned enough Italian to”—she gave him a sidelong glance—“to learn fencing.”

Lord Brisbane nodded. “I understand the best fencers are Italian.”

“You are an odd man, indeed, my lord.”

The earl started, and looked behind him. “My lord . . .? Ah, you mean me.”

Diana laughed. “Very well—Gavin. Yes, very odd.”

“How so?”

“I have not been able to shock you—so far—with any of my notions.” The sonata ended, and she rested her hands on her lap.

“Do you mean there is something shocking about you? I am all ears.” He leaned forward expectantly.

“I would have thought what I have told you already was shocking enough. Certainly most everyone of my acquaintance has thought so,” Diana said primly, again suppressing a laugh.

“As did your uncle?”

She looked down at her hands for a moment, then met his gaze squarely. “I owe my uncle a great deal. If it had not been for him, my mother and I would have starved. I was not his heir—he had no real obligation to care for us, except that we were his younger brother’s family.”

Lord Brisbane had nodded gravely, and his eyes had been understanding. “That is enough to gain anyone’s loyalty. Was it difficult?”

“Yes,” she had said, and had told him of the cold and hunger she remembered, and how her mother had grown so thin and pale. She had even told him how the servants had found her father on a cold winter’s morning at the steps of their house, dead from drowning in the gutter because he had been in such a drunken stupor he had not the wit nor the will to rise when he had fallen. She had stopped, suddenly, alarmed at what she had told him, something she had not even discussed with her mother. But Lord Brisbane had only nodded, and had gently directed the conversation elsewhere, much to her relief.

How had he done it? Diana wondered, plucking another primrose and twirling it between her fingers. A breeze wafting through the woods lifted the hair from her face, and she closed her eyes, feeling the warm sun and cool air alternating across her skin. She sighed. She was not one to give confidences, but she had told Lord Brisbane—Gavin—almost her whole life story. She shook her head, puzzled. He was an odd man, indeed. She had never encountered anyone who . . . who
listened.

That was it. Whatever his manner or the subject that might arise, he always seemed to listen, carefully, as if noting down every word she said. She drew in her legs and put her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. His attentiveness was pleasant . . . flattering, in fact. It made her feel as if what she said mattered to him.

Her stomach growled and she sighed again, rising from the tree root on which she had been sitting. She should go home and have some breakfast—she looked at the sky—rather, luncheon, and—She stopped, as she looked for her horse near the pond.

Her horse. Her horse was gone.

The image of the bay nibbling the knot she had tied on the reins rose from her memory and she groaned. Yes, Lightning was an exceptionally smart horse—so much so that he had apparently learned how to untie simple knots. She had been so immersed in pondering over the nature of Lord Brisbane that she had not even noticed her horse had loosed himself from the branch and wandered off, no doubt back to the stables for some grain or hay.

She would have to walk back, and in fact have to take the roundabout way, because she had left her jockey-bonnet on a tree some distance away. She gazed at the smooth cool pond nearby. Well, her horse had returned to the stables before her in the past; the servants would not come looking for her for a while. It could not hurt to stay here a little before she left. She picked up a rock and threw it at the pond, watching it splash in a very satisfying manner. It had been a long time since she had skipped rocks across water . . . could she still do it?

She had only thrown her fifth rock before she heard a thunder of hooves in the distance. She turned and watched a horseman galloping toward her through the gap in the woods—he was a good horseman, she noted. He came nearer, and to her surprise it was Lord Brisbane.

His eyes had lost their habitual sleepy look, his jaw was set, and his lips were tightly pressed together. He looked grim, as if expecting to face some dire trial. Diana smiled as his eyes found her in the dim light of the woods, but her smile faded as he continued to look grim, even furious. He dismounted, then took her by her shoulders.