Wayward Winds (16 page)

 28 
Brother and Sister

A week after the coronation, Catharine and George Rutherford bounded along in their saddles, enjoying a vigorous morning romp together on the backs of their two favorite young mounts, Snowmass and Black Fire, whose contrasting equine coats bore precise resemblance to their names. George sat atop the white colt, Catharine rode the black filly.

That brother and sister were skilled equestrians insured that a good deal of galloping, racing, hedge jumping, and various pranks were included in almost any outing together. Though six years separated them, the two were indeed the best of friends. Catharine had always looked up to her older brother almost as if he occupied an equal stature with their parents, a perspective that his years away at Oxford only enhanced. He represented in her eyes the ultimate in youthful manhood.

George, on the other hand, had come during the past few years to enjoy Catharine as a true friend and equal, appreciating her lively personality and wit, since he was himself generally reserved and quiet. With the passage of his last three years at Oxford, Catharine had matured in his eyes two or three years to each of his one. Her rapid physical growth no doubt contributed to this perception, but even more her keen-brained, invigorating, alert mentality. He found her every bit the intellectual equal of many of the students he had
met while away. And now, though she was merely seventeen, in his opinion she might as well have been the same age as he.

Her medium blond hair occasionally caught the sunlight such as to give it a hint of auburn. Her expression, like the shade of her hair, carried an air of occasional mystery. Such may have been accounted for by the fact that her light grey eyes perpetually sparkled as if aware of some unspoken joke being revolved in her mind. Indeed, her dry sense of humor could pop out at the most unexpected times, and kept the rest of the family, if not in constant laughter, certainly in good spirits. She had grown to be taller and more stout than her older sister, though not plump, and also better looking. A robust five ten, Catharine Rutherford had the look of one not afraid of a tussle—with horse, with difficult task, or in fun with older brother. Neither figure nor build was likely to attract immediate notice from one desiring petite and demure femininity. However, her face and spunky nature were sure to turn nearly any man's eye . . . and hold it, that is if he was a good enough judge of character to inquire to himself what lay beneath those gleaming grey eyes.

As they rode, Catharine was bent on pushing the pace, always inviting adventure, while George, at six one, sat more sedately in the saddle, as the elder statesman of the pair, thoughtful, perusing the landscape within and without.

“When are you going to get married, George?” Catharine asked, as for the moment they rode leisurely along.

“What kind of question is that!” laughed her brother.

“I don't know—it just popped out,” she laughed with him.

“Then I'll answer you with the same words—I don't know. I suppose I don't think about it much.”

“Everybody thinks about it, George. You can't tell me you don't.”

“All right, sometimes I do.”

“I knew it!”

“But it seems like something that might happen in the future.”

“You're old enough to be married now.”

“Maybe, but I'm in no hurry.”

“Why?”

“Maybe for the same reason I waited until I was older to go to university. I wanted to get the most out of it possible. I wanted to be ready, not rush it. So many of the students I met were too young to
absorb the education that was given them. If I ever do get married, I want to be ready for it. Besides, who'd want to marry me?”

“Anybody. If I weren't your sister I'd marry you in a minute.”

“What a thing to say!” laughed George.

“Why not? If I were looking for a husband, I'd want him to be just like you.”

“I'm very flattered.
Are
you looking for a husband, Catharine?”

“
Me
—are you kidding! I
am
too young.”

“Seventeen? That's all most seventeen-year-old girls are thinking of—finding a man.”

“A waste of time, if you ask me. I'm not
most
seventeen-year-olds. I happen to be Catharine Rutherford, and I won't give a man a second look until
I'm
good and ready, not because most other girls my age want to behave like ninnies and go giggling and ogling at every man they see between seventeen and thirty.”

“Plenty of that goes on with young men too, though disguised.”

“Most young men are ninnies themselves—except for you of course, George. It might be different if I met someone worth giggling and ogling over.”

“You don't want to go to balls and parties like Amanda did?”

“Ugh—balls and parties!
Me?
Heavens, George . . . you know me better than that. At least I thought you did. Nothing could interest me less.”

“Well, I can't say I'm disappointed. I never found much use for that sort of thing.”

“But you do want to get married?” persisted Catharine.

“Surely . . . I suppose,” replied George. “I'm just not in a hurry.”

“What are you going to do, then, now that you're out of university? I wondered if you would ever come home to live now that you're all grown up and graduated.”

George laughed again. “I may be graduated, but I'm not sure I feel all grown up.”

“You're a lot older than me.”

“True. But maybe we're both still young. That's one of the things about Amanda that I never understood—she wanted to grow up so fast and get away from here. I'm not especially eager to do either.”

“Do you like it here, in Devon, at Heathersleigh?”

“This is home,” replied George. “I can't imagine living anyplace else. I love it here. And I suppose I will someday be lord of the manor
just like father and his father, and so on. I'll probably have a stern old portrait of myself to hang with the rest.” He made a face like old Henry, which brought another laugh from Catharine's mouth.

“What about being with Mother and Father, now that you're—you know, George—now that you're almost grown up yourself? Don't you want to be independent and out from under their roof?”

“Who needs independence? Father's my best friend. Why would I want to be out from under his roof?”

“I'm so relieved to hear you say that!”

“Why?” laughed George.

“I wondered if you might be like Amanda and want to leave and never come back. That was my greatest worry about your being gone at university, that you would come back all sophisticated and different, and that you would then go somewhere else to live, and I would never see you again except for visits when you'd wear starched shirts and lift your little finger when you drank tea and be all stuffy and sit around talking about boring—”

George could not contain himself any longer. Finally he burst out laughing.

“I thought
you
knew
me
better than that,” he said.

“I thought I did too, but I couldn't help being nervous. I like it here too. Mother is
my
best friend, just like you say of Father. But I suppose I thought I was the oddball of the three of us children for feeling that way.”

“Well, have no fear, younger sister. I promise I will never change. I won't get stuffy, and unless circumstances force a change upon me, Heathersleigh will always be my home.—Come on, race you to the top of the ridge!”

With scarcely a flick of the wrist from their respective owners, both horses immediately tore off across the grassy slope, throwing back great clods of turf behind their hooves.

 29 
Neighbors

The race was curtailed after only about two hundred yards, however, by the appearance of another familial riding pair, who about the same time emerged from a thin stand of pine to the right of the two racers.

George reined in. Although Catharine was about half a length in the lead, it was several seconds before she realized she was no longer being hotly pursued. She glanced back, saw George slowing to a trot, then reined in Black Fire even as she spun her around to rejoin her brother. As she did, she saw the reason for her brother's withdrawal from the contest.

George was already greeting the twenty-four-year-old heir of the marquessate of Holsworthy, Hubert Powell, and his sister, Gwendolen. Though Heathersleigh Hall and Holsworthy Castle were separated by some twenty miles, the two estates were considered almost as neighbors, not only because they were the two largest and most well-known estates in the region, but also because of the similarity in ages of the rising generations within the two families. Neither set of parents had ever been close, nor desired to be. There had been considerable interest on the part of young Powell in Amanda Rutherford at one time. However, it had been smartly rebuffed by the latter's father. The incident left such an acrid sting in Hubert's mouth that he never forgot his vow to get even somehow. What better way than to get the religious fool's other daughter to fall in love with
him, for which second chance he had been biding his time until she was old enough to become interesting in his eyes.

In the meantime, remarkably, in spite of having plied his affections in more than a dozen directions, he had never married. This fact was not remarkable because he desired to marry and had not been successful. Six or eight foolish maidens would happily have married him for his looks, his dash, and his wealth, and been most miserable for it later. But the young Holsworthy heir had no inclination toward that sort of existence known as “settling down.” He preferred his oats numerous and wild.

That Hubert Powell remained single was remarkable simply by virtue of the fact that no outraged father who had come to the marquess Atworth Powell demanding that his son marry his daughter had actually succeeded.

More than one
had
come, it is true, with precisely such a demand. But money has a way of mollifying much outrage. And the marquess of Holsworthy possessed it in sufficient quantities to have thus far kept the reputation of his son unsoiled and his future uncommitted.

By outward appearance, the years had been good to the future marquess. Hubert Powell was even more handsome and dashing than before. He had heard—he possessed many sources for the receipt of this sort of information—that Sir Charles Rutherford's second daughter, now seventeen and thus technically “available,” had become something of an Amazon, and a beautiful one at that, whose eyes were like a wildcat's, who could ride like the wind, and who was stronger than any three normal women together.

When first he heard the report, he lost interest immediately. Who wanted a girl whose behavior resembled that of a man? He immediately set renewed inquiries afoot concerning the elder of the two girls. Now suddenly he realized how hasty had been his judgment. As the younger of the three Rutherford progeny rode up behind her imbecile of a brother, Hubert's eyes widened in fascination.

She
was
beautiful, and every inch a desirable young woman.

Knowing well enough Hubert Powell's reputation, George immediately assumed the role of knight protector, moving forward the moment the two riders came into view in hopes of placing himself between Catharine and harm's way. But the future marquess was not so easily deterred. The two eldest sons had just completed their stiff but properly cordial greetings when Catharine energetically cantered
up alongside her brother. Her hair was flowing and her face flushed from the exhilaration of the ride.

“And this must be your sister Catharine!” said Powell effusively, smiling his most charming smile, bowing slightly and lifting his cap. “I don't know that we have seen one another since we were children.”

“Catharine,” said George with obvious reluctance, “this is Hubert Powell, and I believe you know his sister Gwendolen.”

Catharine glanced momentarily toward her counterpart, then returned Hubert's smile, though cautiously. She too had heard the reports about him, and in truth George had nothing to fear. Her affections were perfectly safe. Because she was a young woman of substance, cajolery would not succeed in sweeping her off her feet. If she ever fell in love, it would be with someone of character, not superficial charm.

Already, however, Hubert was slyly angling his mount between George and Catharine, hoping to effect a pairing off, which could not better have suited Gwendolen Powell. She had had her sights on George Rutherford for years. Already, as her brother made his move, she flashed her eyes in George's direction.

“Perhaps you would like to join me for a ride, Catharine,” Hubert said in his smoothest tone. “I'm sure Gwen and George would—”

“I think George and I would prefer to remain together,” Catharine interrupted.

“What say you, George, old man?” rejoined Powell, turning with a quick wink toward George. “You and I are both men of the world, university fellows and all that. No doubt you and Gwen—”

“I'm sorry, Hubert,” said George. “Catharine is right. We really do intend to continue on together.”

Inwardly fuming at the double rebuff, Hubert did his best to maintain his composure.

“Well then, what would you say to some company? Gwen and I were heading down in your direction anyway.”

“The countryside is wide open,” replied Catharine. “We certainly have no objection, do we, George?”

The next instant she wheeled Black Fire about and was off down the slope at breakneck speed. George was after her before the two Powells knew what to think. Belatedly they both whipped their horses and did their best to catch up, but to little avail.

Eventually Catharine began to realize the rudeness of her swift departure. Gradually she slowed. George was soon by her side. They exchanged glances of resignation, as if to say,
I don't suppose we should just ride off and leave them
.

Neither was anxious to do so, but they now waited for the others to join them. In a minute or two the four young riders were clomping leisurely down the grassy incline side by side. The conversation among them, however, never quite successfully got smoothly under way.

“Tell me, Catharine,” said Hubert, whom the quick ride had succeeded in tiring enough to moderate his anger, “what would you think of accompanying me to the Summer Ball in Exeter next month?”

“I would say that you move rather quickly from the front door to the drawing room for someone I scarcely know.”

“How else will we get to know one another if we do not spend time together?”

“I would never go
anywhere
with a young man I don't know,” said Catharine, “especially to a ball.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“I don't like balls.”

“You are at the age where such things are done.”

“Not by me.”

“Why?”

“Because I have no interest in developing the kinds of relationships with young men that such circumstances are bound to produce.”

George smiled. Powell was no match for his sister.

“Ah, it is against your religion—you think balls are evil, is that it?”

“Mr. Powell,” rejoined Catharine, almost as if addressing a child, “you heard every word I said, and nothing remotely like that came out of my mouth. I simply find the atmosphere of a ball so shallow and artificial that it is the worst place I could imagine for two people to become acquainted.”

“How would such a one as myself, then, approach an attractive young lady such as yourself whom he desires to get to know?”

“Talk to my father.”

“What does
he
have to do with it?” asked Hubert, with difficulty keeping down his disbelief at her words.

“Everything. You surely do not think that I would become involved with a young man without my father and mother being part of it, do you?”

“I must admit . . . such a thing sounds rather old-fashioned in this modern day. Most of the young ladies I know are sophisticated and in step with the times—they have learned to speak for themselves.”

“Perhaps it is old-fashioned, Mr. Powell. But I would still suggest that you talk to my father. If he approves, you could come visit us at Heathersleigh—George, myself, and my father and mother. Better yet, your whole family could come. What better way to become acquainted than for families to know one another? And in that suggestion I am speaking for myself.”

Again in the company of these idiotic Rutherfords, the young heir to the Powell fortune was rendered fuming and speechless. Were they all a pack of fools together?

The ride did not last much longer. The strained silence that accompanied Catharine's remarks was followed within several minutes by a fork in the path, which, by common consent, saw two of the mounts take one direction, and the other two the opposite.