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‘But I could,’ Rayne persisted. ‘Coming from me, and knowing that it was myself who’d given them some schooling, they’d allow me to find them something more suitable for their daughters. These nags hardly add much to your image, either, do they? Unless your intention is to entertain, of course.’
‘My image is my own affair, my lord,’ she snapped.
His low reply was meant for her ears alone. ‘Yes, my beauty, and I could make it mine, too, if you could curb your sharp tongue. The nags are not the only creatures around here that need some schooling.’
She pretended not to have heard, but she had, and the words bit deep into her shell, angering and exciting her at the same time. Why did he think, she wondered, that it was not obvious why he wanted access to seven attractive young ladies on a regular basis, with her personal approval? Did he think she was a dimwit not to see what he was about?
‘Your persistence must be an asset when you’re teaching battle tactics, Lord Rayne, but I find it irritating. Thank you for your offer, but I prefer to do these things in my own way and in my own time.’
She had not, however, made any allowance for the timely interference of Miss Sapphire Melborough, whose parents were important members of the Richmond set and who, at almost eighteen years old, saw in Lord Rayne a close resemblance to Sir Galahad of Arthurian fame. What she knew of his reputation made him all the more dangerously attractive to her. By falling behind her companions and by making her dapple-grey dance about naughtily, she allowed herself to be caught by Lord Rayne’s hand on her bridle and brought back to the wide path, blushing in confusion. It was doubtful whether the performance had fooled anyone, Miss Melborough being one of the better riders, her mount usually well mannered, but it served to reinforce Lord Rayne’s argument tolerably well.
‘Oh, thank you, my lord,’ she said, slightly breathless. ‘I cannot think why Mungo should choose to be so wilful when I was trying so hard to do everything Miss Boyce has told us about looking where we’re going.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Rayne, with a glance at Letitia, ‘Miss Boyce also finds it difficult to see where she’s going.’
‘But Miss Boyce is the most elegant of horsewomen, my lord. You must have seen that for yourself. And her beautiful grey mare is…’
At the merest signal from Letitia, the beautiful grey mare bounded forward on delicate hooves towards the barouche, which was approaching the village of Hampton, and although her instructions to the coachman were hardly needed, neither would she stay to hear the silly exchanges between those two, or to his impertinent observations about not being able to see. It was not hard for her to believe that this deficiency was partly behind his offer, knowing as she did that, in order to correct anyone’s riding, one must be able to see perfectly. Yet she did not think his offer was entirely for her sake, either. The man was nothing if not an opportunist.
Entering the riverside grounds of Hampton House, she left Mr Waverley and Mr Thomas to dismiss the cavalry in whatever way they chose, going with the playwright Mr Chatterton to meet their hostess in the sadly neglected mansion that David Garrick had lovingly referred to as ‘his pretty place by the Thames-side.’ Bound to the upkeep of two grand houses under her husband’s will, old Mrs Garrick was now reduced to doing almost everything for herself and understandably did not wish anyone to see the dilapidations of the house. She was happy for them to go down to Mr Garrick’s ‘Temple to Shakespeare’ by the river, which is what they had most hoped to see.
It was a domed, octagonal, brick-built place with steps up to a portico of Ionic columns and a room beyond where, they were told, the actor used to entertain his friends or learn his lines in full view of the river. A statue of the bard was here, too, with objects said to have belonged to him, though the glass cases were dusty and a mouldy smell hung in the air. Between them, Mr Chatterton and Mr Thomas, a young Welshman with the most perfect diction, took it upon themselves to be the guides.
Miss Gaddestone, Mrs Quayle and Mr Waverley hovered on the edge of the group while Letitia, hoping for a few moments to herself, wandered down the sloping lawn to the water’s edge. A weeping willow swept the grass with new fronds like pale green hair and, as she passed through its curtain, a figure moved away from the trunk and into her view. Against the mottled shadows, she had not noticed him.
The fur helmet was cradled under one arm, his dark hair caught by patches of light, thickly waved and long enough at the back to be tied into a pigtail, which she knew was a badge of this regiment. She wished he had stayed with them.
He followed as she turned away, though she felt rather than heard his presence. But there was nowhere for her to hide and her impulse to run was held in check, and she was gently steered away from the direction of the Temple, feeling rather like a hind evading a dominant stag.
‘Out of the frying pan into the fire,’ she snapped. ‘I came here to avoid the commentary, but perhaps I should have braved it, after all. Don’t captains have duties to perform on Monday afternoons?’
‘Surely, Miss Boyce, you would not begrudge me a few moments of your time?’
‘Oh, be assured that I would, my lord. I thought I’d made that plain last night at the Misses Binney’s. However, if you are also hoping to claim a few moments of Miss Melborough’s time on the way home, I would rather you respect my wishes and do your flirting when she is under her parents’ protection, not mine. I cannot be held responsible for what you get up to. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Not at all. I am happy to oblige. So, having dismissed the young lady from our thoughts once and for all, I wonder if you would care to reconsider your objections to allowing some help with the riding problem. You admit that you do have one?’
‘I neither admit nor deny it, Lord Rayne. It is my concern and nothing to do with you. Thank you for your offer. The answer is still no.’
They had been walking quickly, and now Mr Chatterton’s distantly garbled ranting came to them on the breeze combined with the honking of geese on the water. The winding path had taken them downhill out of sight of the Temple and into a dell where they came to a standstill, their antagonism almost tangible as they faced each other like a pair of duellists waiting for the next move.
‘Do you answer no to everything, Miss Boyce, as a matter of course?’ he said, softly.
She hesitated, suspecting that he had re-routed the subject towards something more personal. She could not be sure. ‘No,’ she said, ‘but I find it a useful tool to use when an alternative won’t do.’
His head bent towards her. ‘Surely you don’t think there is only one alternative, do you? There are many tones between black and white, you know. There is maybe, and perhaps, or let’s discuss it, or what exactly do you have in mind? And dozens more.’
‘I know exactly what you have in mind, Lord Rayne.’
‘Tch! Miss Boyce!’ he exclaimed in a dramatic whisper. ‘That is the most unintelligent thing I’ve heard from you so far. Would you believe me if I said the same to you?’
‘No, of course I would not.’
‘I should hope not indeed. Still, if you’re quite determined not to accept the best offer you’ll have for some time, then so be it. We shall consider the matter closed because Miss Boyce has a bee in her bonnet about my precise intentions. Which, by the way, are not at all what she thinks.’
‘Lord Rayne,’said Letitia, looking towards the silver ribbon of water and the blobs of white floating upon it, ‘I think we ought to return. I have nothing to gain and much to lose by taking a walk alone with you. Perhaps you should allow me to walk back on my own.’
‘I do not think you should be allowed to go anywhere on your own, Miss Boyce. Will you take my arm up this bank? We’ll go up towards the house.’
‘I’m not exactly blind, my lord.’
‘So defensive,’ he said, crooking his arm for her. ‘Come on. Mind that branch.’
She hesitated, unaware of any obstruction on the path. It was shadowed and dappled with greenery, and it would be unnecessarily foolish to ignore his offer of help, and she was defensive, and insecure, and a whole lot of other devices acquired during years of having to battle against convention, her mother, her desires, her poor eyesight and its disadvantages. Her hesitation was interpreted as obstinacy.
‘Can you not bring yourself to accept help of any kind?’
‘I can’t see any branch!’ she yelped.
Unable to stifle a chuckle of exasperation, he went behind her, bending to unlatch the skirt of her sage-green habit from a mossy twig projecting from a branch. ‘Now,’ he said, offering his arm again, ‘shall we go, or shall you fight the elements single-handed?’
Subdued, she took his arm and used his steely strength to negotiate the overgrown path up to the house, unsure how she had come to this point in a relationship that could not have begun in a worse manner. She understood that everyone had at least two sides to their characters, but so far she had allowed him to see only one of hers. It was her own bizarre two-sidedness that concerned her most, for she was not sure which of the two was the real Lettie Boyce, nor did she approve of the deception she was being forced to present, especially to those close to her. For some reason she could not explain, it mattered to her that this man’s opinion should be placed on a firmer footing.
‘Lord Rayne,’ she ventured, not quite knowing what to say.
‘Miss Boyce?’
‘You may have…well, you see…I am not quite what you think.’
‘And you are about to tell me what I think, are you? I thought we had agreed on the absurdity of that, just now.’
‘I meant to say, if you will allow me, that I may have given you the impression that…well, you spoke earlier about my sharp tongue, and—’
‘And the fact that you might personally benefit from a little schooling? Yes, I remember, Miss Boyce. Are you taking up my offer, then?’
‘Lord Rayne, you are the most odious man of my acquaintance.’
‘Abominable,’ he agreed, smiling broadly.
Chapter Four
As a result of her meeting with Miss Austen Letitia came away with a feeling of relief that she had not revealed anything of her own writing. Yet with every sentence she wrote, she was reminded that, apart from one derisory kiss from the odious Lord Rayne, her heroine and her heroine’s creator were both still innocents with fervent imaginations. Although the kiss was very clear in her memory, it had not been given in the right circumstances and was therefore untypical.
Mr Waverley had told her that afternoon how much he was enjoying Waynethorpe Manor as much as, if not more than, the first novel. His mother, he told her, had begged to be the next to read it.
‘Is that wise?’ Letitia asked him before he left that evening.
‘She’s one of your most avid readers. Of course it’s wise.’
‘I hope she doesn’t suspect…’
He took her by the shoulders in brotherly fashion, laughing at her touchiness. ‘She doesn’t suspect anything, Lettie. She and Lake are well acquainted, and he’s told her that the author is a certain Lydia Barlowe, but no more than that.’
‘Perhaps I should have used different initials.’
‘Nonsense. No one is ever going to make the connection.’
Her friend’s approval of Waynethorpe Manor, however, satisfied her that the author’s lack of emotional experience had not in any way affected his enjoyment, though whether she could convince her readers for a third time remained to be seen.
‘What’s the new one about?’ he asked.
‘About a young lady called Em…er…Perdita, rather like one of my pupils, in some ways.’
‘Which pupil?’
‘Any one of them. Inexperienced. Looking for excitement.’
‘Looking for love, you mean.’
‘Yes, that, too,’ she said, giving herself away at each reply. Surely Bart would recognise the heroine?
‘You have only to look at the material right under your roof.’
‘What d’ye mean?’ she asked, rather too sharply.
‘I mean your seven young ladies, who else?’ They had reached the pavement where Mr Waverley’s horse was being held by the young groom. Taking the reins with a nod of thanks, he spoke to Letitia in a confidential whisper. ‘As a matter of fact, there is a young lady who might fit your Perdita’s description, up to a point. The lass from Scotland. One of the boarders.’
‘Edina Strachan? In what way?’
‘Nothing I can quite put my finger on, but you must have noticed how inattentive she’s become this new term. Her mind certainly isn’t on her household-management accounts, and I’d swear she’d been weeping before she came to the dinner table yesterday. She moons about like a lovesick calf.’
‘You don’t think she might be in love with you, do you, Bart?’
‘Good grief, no, I do not. She’s either still homesick or lovesick, I tell you. Perhaps something happened while she was at home at Easter.You might keep an eye on the situation.’
‘Yes, thank you for the warning. I will. I’ll ask Mrs Quayle what she knows about it.’
But Mrs Quayle, the widow in whose house next door the three boarders had rooms, had nothing to add to Mr Waverley’s observations. ‘Homesickness, my dear,’ she said that evening. ‘It’s only her second term away from home. We may have to work harder on her Scottish lilt, for if she cannot be understood, she’s not going to make much headway in the marriage mart, is she? Perhaps we could get Mr Thomas to give her an extra half-hour each week?’
‘So you don’t think she’s in love?’
‘Who knows? With all those young Hussars swarming about, it wouldn’t surprise me if all seven of them were. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a look out.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
That same evening, Letitia sat with the attractive seventeen-year-old Edina, whose guardian grandparents lived at Guildford. After talking at length about her family, it seemed that Edina was relieved to be away from their strait-laced Presbyterian influence and more involved with the kind of social life she had previously been denied. The symptoms that Mr Waverley had identified could not be homesickness, Letitia decided, therefore it must be love.
That evening, Edina’s early signs were written into the notebook with some elaboration to make up for what Letitia had not personally observed.
The remainder of the week passed uneventfully except for the visit on Thursday of Miss Garnet and Miss Persephone Boyce in the company of Uncle Aspinall and Aunt Minnie, the latter requiring a tour of the house and redesigned gardens. Sir Penfold Aspinall, a bluff, good-natured giant who had done so much to help his sister’s eldest daughter to set up house, approved of everything he saw, partly because he trusted her good taste and partly because he liked the idea of being surrogate father to his remarkable niece. His wife, shrewish and disapproving, had come chiefly to take note and then to convey to Lady Boyce every detail to which they could mutually object.
The twins’ main purpose in visiting their sister seemed to be to catch sight of Lord Rayne, whose absence had been the cause of some concern. They asked if it was true that he was visiting her.
‘Visiting me? You must be bamming!’
‘Has he?’
‘Of course not. Why would he visit me?’
‘We heard he was riding with you on Monday.’
‘Me and about twenty others on the way to Garrick’s Temple.’
‘Oh, well, if that’s all.’
‘That is all. I suppose he’ll be escorting you on Saturday?’
‘No,’ said Persephone, pouting.
‘Too busy with preparations for the foreign visitors. Apparently they’ll all need mounts,’ said Garnet. ‘We shall go to Almack’s, anyway.’
‘It won’t be the same. He’s such a tease.’
‘Is he?’ said Letitia, relieved to hear that his commitments would keep him away from Richmond that weekend. ‘Come to the garden and see my new summer-house. I think you’ll like it.’
Aunt Minnie had found it first. She was taking tea there, dunking an almond biscuit in her cup before she heard them coming. ‘Ridiculous waste of money, Letitia,’ she said, brushing away dribbles of tea from her lace tippets. ‘What are your fees for this place?’
‘With extras, usually twenty pounds a term. More for the boarders.’
‘Hmm! I don’t know what your mama will say to that.’
Uncle Aspinall chuckled. ‘It has nothing to do with Euphemia,’ he said. ‘Cheap at the price, I’d say. What are your young ladies doing now, Letitia?’
‘French, with Madame du Plessis, Uncle.’
‘Tch! French indeed,’ said Aunt Minnie, sourly. ‘That monster Bonaparte has a lot to answer for.’
But Uncle Aspinall had nothing but compliments to offer about the way his niece had furnished the rooms, the feminine colour schemes, the new garden layout and the adjoining conservatory. The hanging baskets, potted palms, window-boxes and newly planted vines had brought the garden well into the white painted room. ‘Like a jungle!’ Aunt Minnie carped. ‘Ridiculous!’
It was not until Saturday evening when Letitia gathered her pupils into the downstairs parlour for a last check that she discovered an unwanted addition to the guest list that she could do nothing about when the invitation had been issued by Miss Sapphire Melborough, the daughter of their hosts.
Letitia kept her annoyance to herself, though she would like to have boxed the pert young woman’s ears. ‘I don’t mind you inviting Lord Rayne, Sapphire dear,’ she said, fastening the pearl pendant behind her neck, ‘but it might have been more polite if you’d asked me first. And your parents. We have to be very careful about the audience, you know.’
‘But they like Lord Rayne,’ said Sapphire, understating the case by a mile, ‘so I know they won’t mind him coming with Lord and Lady Elyot. And I didn’t think you’d disapprove, now that you and he have made up your differences. I told him about our concert and he said he’d like to hear me sing.’
‘Next time, dear,’ said Letitia, turning Sapphire to face her, ‘ask me first, will you? He may be one of Richmond’s haut ton, but the 10th Light Dragoons, or Hussars, whichever you prefer, have quite a reputation.’
Sapphire’s bright cornflower eyes lit up like those of a mischievous elf. ‘The Elegant Extracts is what I prefer, Miss Boyce. It’s so fitting, isn’t it?’
