He swung down from Intrepid's back. “Well met, Princess. I was on my way to the Hall to pay my duty call on the lady who did me the honor of standing up with me last night.”
“Well, now that you have seen me your duty is done so you can go straight to the vicarage. Lord Litton is there and he said you were on your way.”
“There's no rush. You're going home now? You ought not to walk alone, Princess.”
“This is my father's land.”
“But if you're coming from the vicarage, you have been walking in the public road.”
Mimi couldn't tell him that she had felt safer in the public road than she did here alone with him. His closeness was oddly disturbing. If he chose to insist on taking his kiss, she wouldn't be able to stop him.
“Asota doesn't like walking, and Jacko had to take Deva Lal to the smithy to have a loose shoe nailed.” Words were a barrier, she found. “Does it hurt a horse when the blacksmith bangs nails into its foot?”
“I've never known a horse object to being shod, unless by an incompetent smith, except for the first time a yearling is taken to the smithy. The noise and heat and fire must be frightening.”
“I should like to see it, but Mrs. Forbes says a smithy is no place for a young lady.”
“We're agreed that Mrs. Forbes is a trifle old-fashioned in her notions of propriety, are we not? I can see no harm in it. Shall I take you one day?”
“Yes, please!”
“Very well. And now I'll escort you home.”
“You cannot take Intrepid up the ha-ha wall,” she pointed out, “and the other way is too far to walk. You had best go on to the vicarage.”
“I'll leave Intrepid grazing here. Come, Princess, let us take a look at our livestock and crops.”
As they talked they had moved toward the pond. Now Simon turned Intrepid loose, then joined Mimi on the bank.
The flags were still flowering, the rushes thriving, and some of the watercress had at last decided to take root and produce a few insignificant white flowers. There was a patch of pale blue forget-me-nots, too, and marsh marigolds, which must have been growing in the boggy ground before the pond was dug.
“It's looking very pretty,” Mimi said with satisfaction, “and the tadpoles must be happy, because they get bigger every day. But their gills have shrunk. Is that why they keep coming to the surface with their mouths open?”
“I expect so. If their gills are gone, they will need to breathe air.” Simon took off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. Crouching at her side, he put his hand in the water and managed to scoop up a tadpole. They examined it as it wriggled in his palm. “You see those knobs where the gills were, just behind the head? Those will grow into legs soon.”
He dropped it back into the pond and it dashed away. Mimi stood up.
“I must go and see if mine at home are beginning to grow legs. I didn't really look when I fed them yesterday.”
“It's about time we changed their water,” said Simon. “I'll come and help.”
She smiled at him, comfortable with him again. She'd done her best to send him to the vicarage, and she couldn't help it if he was more interested in tadpoles than in Harriet. Not that she meant to give up.
At the top of the stone steps they took the gravel path past the gazebo, across wide lawns and through the gardens to the ornately patterned house.
“I thought Harriet looked particularly lovely last night,” Mimi observed as they walked. Just in time she stopped herself from saying that it was a pity her friend had so few pretty gowns. Simon was not likely to be able to provide for his wife the luxuries the vicar could not afford for his daughter. “She is such a graceful dancer, and white becomes her.”
“She looked very pretty. How fortunate that her cool moonlight complemented your blazing sunshine so splendidly.”
“We did cause quite a stir when we entered the ballroom, did we not? Poor Sophia with her seed pearls that she was so proud of! But you must not think, because Harriet appears cool and her manners are reserved, that she is not a truly warm and loving person.”
“I don't think it, Princess. Any more than I think, because you enjoy setting local society by the ears, that you don't know how to behave with propriety.”
“I had better put on my hat before Mrs. Forbes sees me,” said Mimi guiltily.
“It seems a pity not to, when it's such a fetching confection.” Simon took the wide-brimmed straw Leghorn hat with its bunch of cherries, set it on her head, and tied the broad cherry-colored ribbons under her chin.
The back of his hand brushed her cheek and his head bent toward her, lips slightly parted. Mimi's heart went pit-a-pat, her breath caught in her throat—and then he stepped back.
Carefully not meeting his gaze as she adjusted the ribbons for comfort, she scolded herself: for her agitation, for not trusting him, most of all for feeling a trifle regretful that he hadn't kissed her. Only the merest trifle, of course. She was really excessively glad that she had misinterpreted his intentions.
They walked on. Under cover of her hat brim, she glanced at him sideways. No, he was not as handsome as Gerald Litton, but he had a pleasing face, open and friendly. She couldn't understand why Harriet preferred the starchy viscount.
“It's too warm for gloves,” she said.
“Yes, I shan't put mine on,” he agreed.
They went directly to the scullery through the kitchen court. Changing the tadpoles' water was by now a polished operation that took them only a few minutes. The casseroled tadpoles, like their free brethren, were losing their gills and thinking seriously about growing legs.
“It's still hard to believe they are going to turn into frogs,” Mimi said as she crumbled some stale bread into the water and watched them flock to gobble it down.
“It's a law of nature,” Simon assured her. “Tadpoles turn into frogs, and frogs turn into princes.”
“Gracious, what shall I do with a scullery full of princes?” Laughing, she led the way into the kitchen.
“Tha'll be wanting a drop o' lemonade after walking in t'heat, Miss Mimi,” suggested Cook. “And a glass of ale for t'gentleman? Mr. Waring s'll bring it to t'drawing room along o' madam's tea.”
“Thank you, Cook, that sounds good,” said Mimi, but as the kitchen door shut behind them she added severely, “And as soon as you have drunk your ale, Mr. Hurst, you must be on your way to the vicarage. You are expected.”
He saluted, laughing at her. “Aye, aye, Cap'n.”
They joined Mrs. Forbes in the drawing room, where she was knitting gray worsted stockings for the Poor Basket. As usual she was silent in company, but Mimi and Simon chatted about the assembly until Waring brought in the refreshments.
As soon as Simon finished his ale and a slice of Cook's sticky, spicy Yorkshire parkin, Mimi reminded him, “You are expected at the vicarage, Mr. Hurst, and Intrepid will be wondering what has become of you.”
“I'm on my way, Miss Lassiter,” he said obediently, and bowed to Mrs. Forbes. “Your servant, ma'am.”
She nodded coolly. As soon as the drawing-room door closed behind him, she turned to Mimi and said, “I am glad to see you discouraging Mr. Hurst's attentions. He will not do for you at all.”
“He is only a friend, ma'am, not a suitor. Indeed, he makes no attempt to flirt with me, nor to fix his interest. But surely he is no less eligible than Mr. Blake and Mr. Lloyd, a lawyer and a parson?”
“Most certainly he is. A lawyer is an independent man, and one must always respect a man of the cloth, whereas a bailiff can never be more than a superior servant. Not that I consider either of those gentlemen good enough to be your husband, though your papa refuses to discourage them.”
“Papa just wants me to choose for myself.”
“You will not refuse the guidance of an older and wiser head, however. All three are no better than fortune hunters. My dear, with your fortune and your royal background—unfortunately foreign, but royal nonetheless!—you may certainly aim at a title.”
“But I don't want to marry Sir Wilfred.”
“Sir Wilfred is a mere country baronet, for all his foppery. What say you to Viscount Litton?”
“Lord Litton! I cannot believe he is the least bit interested in me.”
“Come now, Mimi, the colonel told me you were one of only two young ladies his lordship danced with last night, and you cannot suppose he has any interest in a parson's daughter.” Mrs. Forbes grew quite pink-cheeked with excitement. “Besides, has he not stayed at Mere House for several weeks now, when his usual visit is no more than a few days? What else should keep him here?”
“He has shown no sign of partiality,” Mimi insisted.
“La, my dear, he is too well-bred a gentleman to raise hopes where he is not perfectly decided. I consider that you have a very good chance of receiving an offer, if you will only look kindly upon him. Needless to say, I would not have you set your cap at him in a vulgar way, but oh, Mimi, do try to behave with propriety in his presence. I declare, I cannot think what has come over you recently, and nothing is so likely to give a gentleman with such polished manners a disgust of you as the least hint of indecorum.”
“I'm sure you are right, ma'am, but I don't really want to marry his lordship either.”
Leaving her chaperon tut-tutting, Mimi wandered to the window and looked out over the gardens to the gazebo and the spread of green meadows beyond. What was the difference, she wondered, between a nobleman to whom her fortune made her an acceptable bride, and a bailiff who would wed her for her fortune?
The viscount had more choice, she supposed. He must have countless wealthy beauties flung at his head in town, so he might be expected to have better reasons for his selection than just wealth. Whereas to Simon hers might be the only fortune within reach.
Not that he gave any indication of wanting either her or her fortune—or why had he not kissed her in the garden?
Chapter 15
Prim and proper in her faded sprig muslin and straw bonnet, Harriet sat on the bench under the chestnut tree on the village green and wished she were three years younger.
The children were having such fun with Peter's new cricket bat. After a few minutes as a spectator, Judith had forgotten her aspirations to young-ladyhood and joined in—but she was only fifteen. Three village children, watching with envious eyes, had been invited by Peter to take part, so they were four a side.
“That's enough for a halfway decent game,” Peter told Harriet importantly, “if Prue wasn't so little.”
Prue had the bat at present, fortunately one of the new, shorter bats which didn't quite dwarf her. She stood proudly in front of a wicket composed of one old stump of Ferdie's, a forked stick, and a twig balanced across the top. Nor did the ball match the splendor of the new bat, being an aged sphere of India-rubber with a hole in one side where some dog had chewed on it. It hardly seemed to matter.
Jimmy was bowling to his little sister. Harriet was glad to see he took her age into consideration as he ran up and rolled the ball along the ground toward her. Prue struggled to lift the bat, the village boy playing wicket-keeper crouching behind her with a grin, sure of getting her out. To everyone's astonishment, bat and ball connected. Prue herself was far too surprised to run, and Sally, with the ball bouncing toward her, forgot she was supposed to catch it.
“Oh, well done, Prue!” she shouted, jumping up and down.
Harriet laughed and cheered and waved her parasol.
“An admirable hit,” observed a voice close beside her.
“My lord! I did not see you coming.”
“I beg your pardon if I startled you, Miss Cooper.” The viscount stood with one hand, gloved in the best York tan, on the back of the bench, the other holding his horse's reins. “I did not want to spoil the batsman's concentration.”
She smiled at him, relieved that she had not given in to the temptation to pin up her skirts and join the game.
At that moment Peter ran up. With the sketchiest of bows to Lord Litton, he burst into speech. “Harriet, Jim says Prue can't count a run, but she's only little, she just forgot, it's not fair. Tell him not to be mean.”
“Oh dear, it does seem unfair, but there are rules.”
“It's not a proper game, after all. We've only got one wicket 'cause we've only got one bat. The other's just a mark on the ground.”
“Let me suggest a solution,” proposed the viscount. “Instead of dividing into teams, you could all be fielders except the batsman, who only has to hit the ball to score a run. If he or she also runs to the mark, that counts for two runs. And you all take turns, in alphabetical order perhaps, at bat.”
“That sounds all right, sir,” said Peter doubtfully, “except that everyone will have to remember their own score and some will forget and some might cheat.”
“I shall keep score,” Lord Litton promised. As Peter returned to the wicket, he looped his horse's reins over a branch, took a small leather-bound diary and pencil from his pocket, and sat down beside Harriet. “I trust you can tell me the names of the village boys, ma'am?” he queried.
“Yes, of course.” She told him and he wrote them down. “But you cannot wish to stay here, sir.”
“Can I not? I beg to differ, Miss Cooper. What could be pleasanter on a warm summer's day than to lounge in the shade with a pretty young lady, watching a sporting event?”
Harriet blushed. “A sporting event of no significance, my lord.”
“Then let us give it some significance with a wager. I will lay you odds on Miss Sally scoring highest, for I know her to be a spirited young lady.”
“Oh no, Jimmy is sure to win, for he was used to play with Ferdie.”
“There we are then: if young James wins, I shall buy you a fan; if Miss Sally, you shall sing to me when next we meet at Salters Hall.”
Harriet was afraid that Papa would strongly disapprove of her entering into a wager with a gentleman, but the stakes seemed innocent—and flattering. “A plain, ordinary fan,” she said, looking up at him. “Not too expensive.”
“A plain, ordinary fan it shall be,” he promised gravely, then grinned. “You are very confident of winning.”