A Suspectible Gentleman Part 13

"On the contrary, he will be delighted." Lady Catherine was calm. "It is in every way an eligible connection. To be sure, my rank is higher, but your family is nearly as ancient and I am given to understand ... That, is of course, the settlements are between you and Papa. I shall write and tell him the good news at once. You may kiss me, Cheverell." She took a step toward him.

"1 cannot think that wise, considering our present situation." He backed away. "That is, I must not take advantage of you by accepting your kind offer, but it will be equally unwise to publish our news too soon. You will not want it to be said that I offered only because you were compromised. Besides, I cannot like to disappoint Miss Brennan and Miss Davis, and Louise and Eliza would make my life deuced uncomfortable. In fact, it is particularly important that you do not tell Mary, for she is bound to let it slip to her sisters. Let us wait until after the end of the house party."

She considered. "Perhaps it will be best. I confess, I should prefer not to tell Papa that we were stranded together in the depths of the countryside. Of course, if it should later prove necessary, I shall not hesitate to disclose everything."

"Why should it ever be necessary?" asked Adam blandly.

When at last they drove through Little Fittleton, past the vicarage, Adam knew that everyone else must have reached home long since. He could only hope that Sarah was at the back of the vicarage, unable to see his late arrival with the triumphant Lady Catherine at his side.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Sarah had not seen the curricle drive past, but she learned of its delayed return the next morning. Lady Cheverell, on her way to visit a neighbour, called at the vicarage.

"My dear, I bear another invitation," she announced. "Such a gay time as we are having! Louise has planned a picnic for tomorrow, if the weather holds fine, at the c.u.muli over by Tilshead."

A glorious, if momentary, vision of ladies and gentlemen picknicking among the clouds crossed Sarah's mind before she realized her visitor was referring to the prehistoric tumuli scattered across Salisbury Plain.

"A banquet among the burial mounds? An interesting notion."

"Adam has praised Lydia Davis's riding, you see, so Louise wanted to choose somewhere that can only be reached on horseback."

"But you and Sir Reginald will not be able to go."

"We old folks will be quite content to stay home and gossip, my dear. I pa.s.sed the age for picnics long since, and it is Louise's turn to parade her protegee. Miss Brennan showed to advantage at the ball, and Lady Catherine had her chance in Salisbury. I quite thought she had made the most of it, too, when they returned so late yesterday, until I learned they had stopped here to ensure that you had reached home safely. Well, I must be on my way. Shall you go tomorrow?"

"I would not miss it for the world," said Sarah grimly.

It was the outside of enough that Adam had used her as an excuse for dallying with Lady Catherine, especially after pretending he was reluctant to drive the girl home. Sarah had every intention of taking him to task for it. However, he did not call that day. Swan and Kerry, who dropped in for half an hour, said that he was gone out on estate business. They accepted a gla.s.s of Madeira and ate all Mrs. Hicks's fresh-baked shortbread.

"I say," remarked Kerry wistfully, eyeing the empty plate, "that was deuced good. Don't suppose your cook would let us make gingerbread men again one day? Haven't had so much fun since I don't know when."

"You haven't made so long a speech in the presence of a lady since I don't know when," Mr. Swanson said in surprise.

"Miss Meade ain't like other females." His eyes turned to Sarah with a hopeful devotion that reminded her of a puppy begging for a walk.

"I'll ask Mrs. Hicks," she promised, smiling. "I cannot suppose she will have any objection."

When the gentlemen took their leave, Swan drew her aside for a moment.

"You're doing poor Kerry a world of good," he told her, his voice serious. "He managed to answer Lady Bradfield without blus.h.i.+ng the other day. He's right, you're not like other females. Dashed sight kinder than most, for one thing. I'm glad I came down with Adam or I'd never have had a chance to make your acquaintance."

There was a thoughtful expression on Sarah's face as she watched them ride down the village street.

The next day dawned sunny but with a brisk breeze chivvying a few c.u.mulus clouds across the sky like frightened sheep. It was perfect weather for riding across the hills. Nonetheless, Adam had distinct misgivings about the proposed outing. Yesterday he had managed to avoid seeing either of the young ladies to whom he was engaged, except in company. However, a party on horseback was bound to straggle and both would undoubtedly expect him to stay close to them.

Quite apart from other considerations, the thought of plodding along beside Miss Brennan or risking his neck with Lady Catherine was enough to ruin his day.

Lady Catherine unwittingly solved his problem when she sought him out in the library, where he had retired to ponder his fate after breakfast. She glanced around, saw that he was alone, and dropped the three books she was carrying on a table.

"There," she said with satisfaction. "Everyone will suppose that I am merely looking for something to read. I declare I am quite enjoying our little deception, Cheverell. It is just like acting in a play." She leaned over his chair and brushed back the lock of hair from his forehead.

"And a very fine actress you are, ma'am," Adam hastened to a.s.sure her, "but you had best keep your distance lest someone comes in. I am sure no one has the least notion of our secret, and it would be the greatest pity to waste your efforts. Much as it disappoints me, I must not make you the object of any particular attentions today."

Her vanity thus appealed to, she agreed. She took a couple of books from the shelves and departed holding them before her in an exaggerated attempt to disguise her purpose. Adam breathed a sigh of relief and went to look for Miss Brennan.

Unlike Catherine, Vanessa had never prided herself upon her acting ability, so she was somewhat surprised to be congratulated upon it. Adam had to add a suggestion that close proximity might make it impossible for him to keep his hands off her, which had the merit of being perfectly true. He wanted to put them around her neck. At last, still pouting, she agreed to accept his apparent neglect. He went off to make last-minute arrangements for mounts for his guests, with plans for separating Sarah from them floating in his head.

His plans were doomed to failure. From the moment they reached the vicarage and Sarah mounted the docile mare he had chosen for her, Swan and Kerry stuck like leeches on either side of her. He did not dare single her out by attempting to displace her cavaliers. As he rode behind the merry trio, his irritation grew as he noted how at ease his friends, even Kerry, seemed to be with her.

Distracted as he was, his eldest sister found it easy to ensure that Miss Davis was at his side when they left the village behind.

The horses spread out, finding their way across the trackless turf in small groups. Sarah's two besotted swains, both bruising riders, kept pace with her cautious canter. She sat straight and slim in her grey habit, but to Adam's searching gaze there was a certain tension in her bearing. He vowed to make it his business to see that she rode regularly in future, as long as she lived in Little Fittleton.

Jonathan, with Christian forbearance, lagged behind at a walk beside Miss Brennan, while Lady Catherine galloped ahead with Mary and her husband. All in all, Adam was not displeased to ride with Miss Davis, suiting their pace to the terrain. She was not an enlivening companion, but at present he felt more in need of soothing, and it was a relief not to have to make conversation. She was more than satisfied with his occasional remark about the fineness of the day or the beauty of wide horizons uncluttered with trees.

The barrows rose from the plain ahead, low, green hills too steep-sided and regular in shape to be natural. Adam remembered iron-age battles he and Jonathan had fought here, with Sarah unwillingly cast as the captive princess or, if she protested strongly at that role, as the invading Roman army, doomed to defeat.

He wanted to wander with her among the burial mounds, reminiscing. Instead, he helped Miss Davis down from her horse and escorted her to where the grooms sent ahead from Cheve had spread rugs and cus.h.i.+ons in the shade of a solitary yew.

Mary and Lady Catherine were already unpacking the hampers the grooms had brought, producing veal-and-ham pie, cold chicken, cheeses, cherries, bread and wine and lemonade. Miss Davis went to help, and Adam stood chatting with Mary's husband, watching as the rest of the party rode up. He would have gone to help Sarah dismount but she avoided looking at him and accepted Kerry's aid with every evidence of pleasure. Adam was shocked by the lance of fury that stabbed through him at the sight of her hands on Kerry's shoulders, his at her waist, her smile as he swung her down.

He turned back to invite Miss Davis to sit beside him, and plied her with food until she was quite bewildered. He tried not to look at Sarah, but it was impossible not to be conscious of her presence. She seemed to him to be flirting wildly, in a most uncharacteristic and unbecoming manner, with Swan and Kerry. Trying to persuade himself that what he was feeling was not jealousy but concern for her disappointment when neither came up to scratch, he absently offered Miss Davis a third red-currant tart.

Her timid refusal drew his attention at last. He looked down to see her plate piled high with untouched delicacies.

"Not hungry?" he asked with a kind smile. "Nor am I. Shall we go for a stroll?" All he wanted was to remove himself from Sarah's vicinity.

"If ... if Lady Edward says I may." There was a hint of alarm in Miss Davis's expression.

Adam had not the slightest doubt of his sister's approval, and he was proved right. The alarm on Miss Davis's face deepened as Louise whispered to her, and she returned to Adam with a faltering step. As they moved away from the picnickers, he set about relieving her apprehension.

"Jonathan and I used to come here often on our ponies when we were children," he told her. He described their battles in a way calculated to make her laugh, and at last succeeded in winning a smile.

With a little coaxing she was soon chattering happily about the misdeeds of her brothers. She had an instinctive understanding of and sympathy for childish mischief that Adam found most attractive. He could imagine her, grown older and more poised, as a superb mother. It was a great pity that he had not the slightest desire to make her the mother of his own children.

They were out of sight of the others by now, and approaching a barrow somewhat smaller and less steep than most.

"I think this is the place where I was buried," he said. "I was a heroic Briton, a war chieftain grievously wounded fighting the Romans. Jonathan was my high priest and we invented an elaborate funeral ceremony involving a sacrificial maiden. Poor Sarah played that part, of course, though she did not like it one bit. We tried to dig a grave on top of this mound, without great success. I wonder if there is any sign left of our digging."

"Let us go and see," suggested Miss Davis with unexpected enthusiasm. "Then I shall be able to describe it properly to the boys when I go home."

The girl refused any a.s.sistance, shying away when Adam offered his hand. When they reached the top after a breathless scramble which brought a delightful colour to her cheeks, the green gra.s.s showed no sign of any disturbance. They stood for a moment admiring the view, then started back down the steep slope.

Again she refused help. Adam went ahead, glancing back anxiously as she picked her way down from tussock to tussock, the train of her habit draped over one arm. Sarah had been in short skirts when they had come here as children, and he had not realized how awkward the climb could be for a female.

He waited at the bottom, and she was no more than a dozen feet above him when she lost her balance. Arms waving in an attempt to recover herself, she dropped her train, caught her foot in it, and slithered the rest of the way to land in a heap at his feet.

He reached down to help her up. Her face was white.

"I've turned my ankle," she whispered. "It will be all right in a minute, I expect." She moved to sit up, wincing and biting her lip.

"We'd best take your boot off at once, in case it swells," said Adam, suiting action to the words despite her protest. "Lord, you won't be able to walk on this."

"It will be better directly. I ... I'm sorry, my lord."

"Nonsense! It is entirely my fault, and I shall do penance by carrying you back. How fortunate that you are a mere slip of a girl." He grinned at her encouragingly as he lifted her in his arms and started back towards the others.

"Oh no, please, put me down. I can walk, indeed I can." The colour of her face fluctuated from white to scarlet and back again. Fright and embarra.s.sment mingled in her eyes and her slight body trembled with tension. "It cannot be proper for you to carry me, my lord. Pray let me try to walk."

"That will only do you a further injury. Try to relax, Lydia. Lay your head on my shoulder."

"I cannot! Oh, what will everyone think? I cannot bear to face them."

"They will think me a fool for letting you climb the barrow," he said, with what patience he could muster.

Tears began to trickle down her pale cheeks. "They will think me the veriest hoyden, and quite lost to all shame."

"No one can hold you to blame for your accident, but if anyone takes exception to your being in my arms, you had best tell them we are betrothed."

The tears ceased and she looked up at him in amazement. "Betrothed? But you cannot wish to marry me."

"Do stop telling me what I can and cannot do, there's a pet."

"Do you really mean it?" she asked doubtfully. "Lady Edward will be happy, and Papa and Mama."

"And you?"

"I ... I expect I shall grow used to the idea. Mama says I will like to be a viscountess and have lots of pin money."

"I am sure you will. Now, lay your head on my shoulder and relax. It is very difficult to carry you when I feel you may jump down at any moment."

She obeyed. "Are we truly betrothed, then? It seems very strange."

It seemed strange to Adam, too, though he was beginning to grow accustomed to the feeling. After all, it was his third betrothal within a week. There was safety in numbers, he reminded himself, doing his best to suppress an inner voice that told him this time was different.

"This is excessively romantic," sighed Lydia. "If only my ankle did not ache so. Do you really think

people will not be shocked that you are carrying me?"

"They will be by far too concerned about your injury. I daresay there will be a great to-do and we will not even have a chance to tell them about being engaged to be married."

"Oh yes, let us keep it a secret. That will be even more romantic, will it not? Just like something out of a novel."

Adam breathed a silent sigh of relief.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Sarah lost interest in flirting with Lord James and Mr. Swanson as soon as Adam was out of sight.

Though she tried to conceal it, the spirit went out of her repartee.

"Care to take a stroll?" suggested Swan with a knowing look in his eye. "There's nothing like a little

gentle exercise after overeating."

"Speak for yourself!" said Kerry indignantly. "Miss Meade ain't overeaten. Eats like a sparrow."

"Thank you, my lord," Sarah laughed. "Nonetheless, I should like to walk for a while. I have not been

here for years."

Kerry jumped up and gave her a hand. "Deuced peculiar notion, if you ask me, having a party in a graveyard."

"Hush, there's a good fellow." Mr. Swanson struggled to his feet. "You wouldn't want Lady Edward to