She was relieved when Jason chose to ride again, though it meant that Henrietta let Lily loose in the carriage. She had taken to heart his instruction to keep the kitten in the basket, at least as long as he was present. For once Lily behaved herself, playing gently with her mistress and then choosing Angus’s lap to curl up in for a nap. Flattered, he suggested that Penny might like a kitten once they were married.
“A kitchen cat is always desirable, to control vermin,” he pointed out.
“You mean to kill mice?” Henrietta asked, distressed. “I hope Lily will not kill mice, though they are so horrid. It was dreadful when she caught that mole.”
“Rats and mice are carriers of disease. You will not wish to have them running freely about your house.”
“Oh no, I should jump up on a chair and scream. Jason will come to rescue me and chase the horrid things away.”
A curious view of married life, Penny thought. She wondered what it would really be like. Probably Jason would go to his club while Henrietta shopped and consulted her modiste. In the evenings they would attend parties or the theatre. An aimless, frivolous sort of life which would no doubt suit them both. With Mr. White’s blessing there would be plenty of money to hire servants to take care of the housekeeping, and the children when they arrived.
Penny didn’t want to think about Henrietta bearing Jason’s children. She turned her mind to her own future. Despite her money, there would be no fashionable parties. Married to a doctor, she would be as much beneath the notice of the Ton as she was as a lawyer’s daughter. Angus would continue in his noble calling of relieving suffering, and she would be as helpful to him as she was able. A useful life must be a consolation to her for the absence of...
No, she didn’t want to think about that, either. She gazed out of the carriage window at the passing scene. The countryside was growing hillier, a welcome change after the long, flat miles from London. Uphill and down, the road ran straight as an arrow—an old Roman road, Jason had said.
The Romans had known what they wanted and gone straight for it. Somehow, life wasn’t quite so simple nowadays.
****
Jason was waiting for them at the Willow Tree at Leeming, but only to say that he intended to ride on as far as Catterick. “I expect you will like to stop there for a dish of tea, my dear,” he said to Henrietta. “I shall meet you at the Bridge House. It’s outside the town, on the river-bank, so you will be able to let your kitten out for a while.”
“Oh yes, Jason, she will like that. She has been very good, has she not, Penny?”
“Very good,” Penny confirmed, not meeting his eyes.
He bowed, mounted, and rode on. What ailed the girl? No doubt the talk of the river-bank had reminded her of their walk yesterday evening, but that had been perfectly blameless. Her reactions had puzzled him all day.
When she came down to breakfast, he had expected her to be covered in confusion. How desirable she had been last night, warm, wide-eyed, her copper hair tumbled, her beautiful bosom half-exposed. She had made no move to cover herself. There was no knowing what might have happened had he not caught sight of his affianced bride in the bed beside her. Yet her embarrassment in the morning had been so slight, so fleeting, that he might have mistaken it.
For a moment he had thought her a hardened wanton, only to dismiss the notion at once. No lightskirt could have hidden her nature from him for two days, in such intimate circumstances. He was, after all, something of an expert on the ways of the muslin company.
No, Penny was an innocent. Therefore her lack of embarrassment indicated that she had no memory of his intrusion into her chamber. Could he have imagined the incident? He had been a trifle bosky, though by no means top-heavy. But the details were too clear in his mind, the flicker of candlelight across her white breast, the softness of it, the brief sweet warmth of her lips.
The memory flooded his groin with heat. In a vain effort to escape, he heeled his mount to a gallop.
CHAPTER TWELVE
At Scotch Corner the maroon carriage turned off the Great North Road. It rolled past green meadows dotted with huge oaks and chestnuts, where black-and-white cows and recently shorn, naked-looking sheep grazed companionably.
“This country is new to me,” Angus observed. “Greta Bridge is our next stop, you said, Kilmore?”
Jason nodded. He had been subdued since they caught up with him at the Bridge House, speaking little as he patiently helped Henrietta to her tea, which fortunately included macaroons. When he and Henrietta took Lily out to the river-bank, he politely refused Penny’s and Angus’s assistance.
Penny was afraid she had somehow offended him, that she had let him see her relief when he decided to ride. “Is there anything historical I ought to know about Greta Bridge?” she asked tentatively.
“Nothing in particular,” he said, then smiled at her in a silent, wry apology for his abruptness. “The inn is thought to be built on the site of a Roman fort. You’ll have noticed that we are still on a Roman road? Rokeby House is nearby, the scene of Walter Scott’s poem, and Mr. Turner painted The Meeting of the Waters in its grounds. Those can scarcely yet be considered historical matters, however.”
“I have heard of Walter Scott,” said Henrietta. “Did he not write a novel?”
“Several,” Jason assured her, “though he attempts anonymity, preferring to be thought a poet.” Penny was glad to see the gleam of amusement returned to his eyes. “And Turner has painted any number of pictures.”
Henrietta dismissed the great artist. “I have never heard of him. Papa has a very valuable picture. I cannot remember who painted it but I do not like it because there is a dead duck in it.”
“I must say,” Penny agreed, “that I have always felt the kitchen was the place for dead ducks. I like what I have seen of Turner's s work, though I confess I know little more of art than what I learned at school. My father used to take me to the Royal Academy exhibitions sometimes. He was something of a connoisseur and always tried to explain the merits and faults of the works displayed.”
“Then you know more than most visitors to the Royal Academy,” Jason advised her. “The Ton flocks to see who else is there, and to be able to say they have been. They spend more time disparaging Lady So-and-so’s hideous new bonnet than viewing the pictures.”
Penny laughed. “I did examine the pictures thoroughly, but in the end Papa despaired of me because...well, because I don’t care for dead ducks, however superbly painted.”
“Who is Lady So-and-so?” Henrietta enquired. “What is her bonnet like? I wish I had seen it.”
Admirably preserving his gravity, Jason entertained her with a description of the most appalling bonnet his imagination could conjure up. Made of green velvet, it boasted yellow ribbons, purple silk roses, a bunch of scarlet cherries, and four blue ostrich plumes. Watching his lively face and laughing eyes, Penny couldn’t believe Henrietta would swallow his creation. However, when he finished it off with a diamond brooch in the shape of a butterfly, she wanted to know whether it was high or low crowned, and how wide the brim was.
Satisfied on these particulars, she said with a sigh, “It must be very horrid, to be sure, but the brooch sounds pretty. I wish I had seen it.”
He continued to beguile her with nonsense until they reached Greta Bridge. After a long day in the carriage, any opportunity to move about a little was welcome. Jason stepped down and handed Henrietta out.
“You are odious to make a May game of her,” Penny whispered to him as he helped her in turn.
He shrugged. “She don’t realize it so she isn’t hurt. I’d not try such trick on you—you are by far too perspicacious.”
Henrietta turned towards them, her hands clasped in delight. “Jason, it is very pretty here. Can we not stay the night? I should like to stay here.”
It was indeed an attractive spot. Opposite the Morritt Arms, a large, rectangular grey stone building with a pillared porch, an emerald meadow sloped down to the rushing waters of the River Greta. Clumps of ragged robin studded the patches of dandelions, like coral set in gold, and a group of tall elms formed a picturesque group by the stream.
Jason frowned. “I had not intended to stay longer than to change horses. We have a long uphill stretch ahead of us, and I’d prefer to put at least a part of it behind us today. Let me speak to Mullins.”
He went over to the coachman as Angus jumped down from the carriage and stretched. “What’s toward?” he asked.
“I want to stay here,” said Henrietta, pouting, “but Jason says we must go up some horrid hill.”
Angus pulled out his watch and consulted it. “‘Tis early yet, and Kilmore mentioned that Bowes is no more than seven mile. Belike he is right to press on.”
Henrietta’s pout became more pronounced. “I want to stay here,” she repeated.
“It is a pleasant place,” Penny soothed her, “but perhaps Bowes is equally attractive, and surely it cannot be as dangerous for Lily.”
“Dangerous? Is there a big dog here? I have not heard it bark.”
“I’m thinking of the river. You know how adventurous she is—if she fell into that rough water she would be swept away and drowned before we could fish her out.”
Returning, Jason heard her and winked. “Mullins is concerned about the weather,” he reported. “He fears a storm before morning, so the farther we go tonight the better.”
Everyone looked up. Across the pale blue sky, huge fleecy clouds fled northwards, chased by a wind unfelt below.
“If it doesn’t rain here, it will in Scotland,” said Angus. “Allow me to help you up, Miss Henrietta.”
“Oh, yes.” Henrietta took his hand and stepped into the carriage. “It would be dreadful if Lily drowned.”
“You are as shocking a cozener as I, Penny,” Jason murmured. “I must take a leaf from your book. You can wrap her about your little finger.”
“I had reason to try.” She gave him a crooked smile. “The farther we are from the Great North Road, the safer I shall feel.”
“Ah yes, the wicked uncle.”
“You would not laugh at me if you had ever been in his power."
Angus turned to assist her into the carriage. “Recall, my dear, that once we are wed tomorrow, Mr. Vaughn will have no power over you,” he said, patting her hand, “and I’ll not let him frighten you.”
Tomorrow! Penny held down a feeling of panic. “You are good to me, Angus.” She settled on the seat with an involuntary sigh. The gentlemen climbed in and once more they were off.
Conversation was desultory, as everyone was tired. Indeed, Henrietta fell into a doze. Penny gazed out of the window. The road began its upward slope at once and soon she was enthralled by a landscape of a kind she’d never seen before.
To the south, with only an occasional twisted thorn tree to block the view, the countryside fell away into the valley of the River Greta, before rising in the distance to hazy heights. Cloud shadows raced across the wide green dale, criss-crossed with hedges. Above, the towering clouds were tinted with rose as the sun began to sink in the west.
From where Penny sat, her view to the north was less clear, framed by Henrietta and Angus. She caught glimpses of rough grass, drystone walls, an occasional splash of yellow gorse. Once Mullins shouted, his whip cracked, and a pair of black-faced sheep bounded away.
She turned back to the window beside her. As the carriage climbed higher, the panorama expanded in seemingly endless beauty. Penny wanted to express her wonder, but Jason was in a brown study, a tiny frown between his dark brows, and Angus, having put on his spectacles, was attempting to read by the fading light.
Despite the horses’ plodding pace, they reached Bowes as the sun sank beneath the horizon. As the carriage turned in at the Unicorn, Penny saw at the top of the village street the black silhouette of a ruined castle.
“Look!” she cried. “Can we explore the castle before it grows dark?”
“Certainly,” said Jason. “It will be the very place to let Lily out to play.”
He grinned at Penny as Henrietta said, “Then let us go at once, pray, for the poor little thing has been in her basket this age.”
“If you wish to go ahead,” Angus offered, “I shall make arrangements for our accommodation and follow you shortly.”
“Thank you, Knox. Make use of my name.”
“I’ll do nae sich thing. Ma ane name is guid enough for ony mon.”
“Of course it is, but for Miss Penny’s sake I beg that you will use mine, to throw the hounds off the scent.”
“Please, Angus.”
“Och, verra weel," he grumbled. “Tak’ care in the ruins, Penelope. Ye’ll no wish for a sprained ankle.”
“I’ll be careful,” she promised, once more touched by his solicitude.
Jason carrying the kitten basket, the three walked up the village street. The grey stone cottages clung to the side of the hill, even the small medieval church of St. Giles huddling close to the ground against the elements. Only the castle keep boldly reared its head to guard the pass across the Pennines.
“It was built in the twelfth century, on one corner of a Roman camp,” said Jason as they approached it. “Besieged by the Scottish king, Robert Bruce, in the early 1300s. Later in the fourteenth century the local barons chased out the king’s lieutenant and the castle began to fall into ruin.”
“It’s still impressive,” said Penny, gazing up at the sixty-foot-high walls, black against the angry red of the stormy sky. “Can we go inside?”
“I believe so. Let me go first to see if it’s safe.” He started down the deep ditch, lined with short grass, which had been the moat.
“It looks excessively romantic,” said Henrietta with a shudder, “but do not care to go inside. Pray give me the basket, Jason. I shall stay out here with Lily.”
Penny and Jason went on into the keep. They climbed a spiral staircase to a window in the thick stone wall, overlooking the church and the village. Leaning against the weather-worn embrasure they watched lamps being lit in the cottage windows against the gathering dusk. A silence had fallen between them, which, to Penny, seemed fraught with unutterable significance. The longer it continued, the more difficult it was to break.