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* * *
There was no doubt that Ellen was indeed in demand. The parties and entertainments, together with Ellen’s dancing, singing and Italian lessons, gave Phyllida little time for leisure. Ellen thrived upon the activity and Phyllida made sure she was always accompanied whenever she stepped out of the door. However, she soon discovered that even the presence of Ellen’s maid did not keep Richard Arrandale away. She was in the morning room waiting for Ellen to return from her dancing lesson when she saw him pass the window with Ellen on his arm. He left Ellen at the door but Phyllida watched in growing alarm as he raised Ellen’s fingers to his lips before striding away.
Phyllida was dismayed at her reaction to this gesture but she was honest enough to admit that the emotion uppermost in her was envy. She stifled it immediately, composing herself as Ellen burst into the morning room with her sunny smile quite undimmed.
‘Did I see Mr Arrandale at the door with you?’ Phyllida kept her voice light, determined not to show undue anxiety.
‘Yes. We met in Wood Street and he insisted upon escorting me home. Was that not kind of him?’
‘Yes, very.’
She said no more at the time, but as the conversation moved on Phyllida knew she must speak to Matlock about the matter.
* * *
However, when she did so Matty’s response was typically blunt.
‘What would you have me do, my lady? Miss Ellen greeted him like a friend and I could hardly forbid him to walk with us. And even if it had been in my power I would not have done so, for nothing is more certain to make a spirited girl want something than to tell her she can’t have it.’
Phyllida nodded. ‘I am well aware of that, Matlock. And Miss Ellen is definitely spirited.’
‘But nothing untoward happened,’ added the maid. ‘I can assure you of that, ma’am. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised in Mr Arrandale, after all I had heard about the man.’
‘Oh, Matty, pray do not tell me you are falling under his spell, too.’
The older woman gave a grim little smile.
‘No, no, I’m too long in the tooth to be taken in by a handsome face, my lady, but credit where ’tis due, the gentleman never said anything out o’ place while he was escorting Miss Ellen. And he made no attempt to lower his voice to avoid my hearing it, either.’
‘Well, perhaps there is some good in the man, after all,’ murmured Phyllida, but she added, her suspicions not completely allayed, ‘Or perhaps he is playing a deep game.’
Chapter Five (#u29bbfd4e-c1a0-5a52-b48d-077660225407)
Phyllida had still not made up her mind about Richard Arrandale by the time they rode to Farleigh the following Monday. Her groom Parfett brought the horses around from the livery stables, warning that they were very lively since they had not been ridden for some time. Phyllida was soon in control of Sultan, her own rangy chestnut gelding, but she watched anxiously as Ellen’s spirited grey mare pranced and sidestepped playfully.
‘No need to worry about Miss Ellen,’ said Parfett, observing Phyllida’s frown. ‘You know there wasn’t a horse in her father’s stable she couldn’t master. She’s at home to a peg.’
As if to prove him correct, the mare quickly grew quiet under Ellen’s confident handling and they set off to meet up with the rest of the party at Laura Place, where they found the Wakefields already mounted and waiting for them.
‘Our little riding party has grown to nine, Lady Phyllida,’ Lady Wakefield greeted her with a cheerful smile. She waved her hand towards the pretty brunette talking with Julia and Adrian. ‘Mrs Desborough has allowed Penelope to join us, and Mr Henry Fullingham came up to me just yesterday and begged to be allowed to join us. Here he comes now, with Mr Arrandale.’
Phyllida looked back to see the two gentlemen approaching. Surely it was not merely her fancy that of the two men, Richard had the advantage? It was not only his superior height, nor the way his blue riding coat moulded to his form. He looked relaxed and at home in the saddle, completely in control of the powerful black hunter he was riding. She thought it could not be a livery-stable horse, and this was soon confirmed when Mr Arrandale rode up to Lady Wakefield as the party prepared to set off.
‘I do not know the country,’ he said. ‘Will we be able to give the horses their heads? I was going to hire a hack, but in the end I sent for my hunter. He has been eating his head off at Brookthorn Manor and could do with the exercise.’
‘There are a couple of places one can gallop, although Wakefield and I will not do so,’ replied the lady. ‘And I should warn you that Miss Desborough and Julia are rather nervous riders, so I pray you will not encourage them to join you.’
Phyllida knew Ellen was anything but nervous and would undoubtedly wish to gallop across the country with the gentlemen. She made up her mind that if Lord and Lady Wakefield would not accompany them, then it would be up to her to do so. She patted Sultan’s glossy neck, reflecting that neither she nor her mount would consider it a penance to career across the countryside.
They rode out of Bath at a sedate pace. Mr Fullingham and Mr Arrandale both looked as if they would like to ride with Ellen but she remained happily between Phyllida and Penelope Desborough. Phyllida considered the picture they must make. Penelope’s plum-coloured habit was sober enough, but Ellen’s sky-blue velvet with its matching hat was quite eye-catching, and there was no doubt that the colour accentuated her flawless complexion and shining curls. Phyllida thought her own dove-grey habit must look very dull by comparison and was obliged to stifle a pang of regret. She felt a little envious, then scolded herself for such nonsense. As a girl she would never have been confident enough to choose bright colours, even if Mama had allowed it. She glanced again at her kerseymere skirts. She was out of mourning now, there was no reason why she shouldn’t order a new riding habit. Something a little more...showy.
What on earth am I thinking? I am Ellen’s chaperon. I do not wish to draw attention to myself.
But at that moment her gaze fell upon Richard Arrandale and she knew that she was not being quite honest. Phyllida glanced again at her stepdaughter. Ellen was looking particularly lovely today, her eyes sparkling, her countenance so animated that Phyllida thought no man would be able to resist the attraction. She would have to keep her under close scrutiny. She passed the gentlemen in the party under quick review. Lord Wakefield and his son posed no threat, she decided, but Messrs Fullingham and Arrandale were a different matter. They were both fashionable men with considerable address and Phyllida had no intention of allowing either of them to spend time alone with Ellen.
* * *
This was not a problem until they reached the first stretch of open ground where Lord Wakefield indicated it would be safe to gallop.
‘Our route lies along the road here,’ explained Lady Wakefield, ‘so those of us who do not wish to race may walk on at a respectable pace. The rest of you may gallop over to that copse yonder and back again.’
‘But there will be no racing,’ Lord Wakefield reminded them.
‘Actually I think I will remain on the road,’ said his son, drawing closer to Penelope Desborough.
Lord Wakefield turned his attention to the other two gentlemen. ‘We have a long way to go,’ he barked. ‘I do not want to be turning back because one of you young dogs has broken his neck.’
He frowned so direfully at Mr Fullingham that the young man flushed.
‘No, no, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.’ His glance flickered towards Ellen who was trotting up. ‘Especially when we will have ladies with us.’
‘Oh, do not hold back for me, I want no special treatment,’ replied Ellen, laughing.
‘Your stepmama may not agree with you,’ said Lord Wakefield.
Ellen looked around, her brows rising when she saw Phyllida approaching. ‘Oh, are you coming with us Philly?’
The surprise in her tone irked Phyllida and roused a tiny spurt of rebellion.
‘Coming with you?’ She kicked her horse on. ‘Catch me if you can!’
Sultan was fresh and leapt forward without a second bidding. Phyllida heard the cry of delight from Ellen and a startled call from Lady Wakefield for her to take care but she ignored them both. She felt suddenly, gloriously free as the gelding flew across the turf. She glanced behind. Three riders were following, Ellen’s grey mare galloping beside Mr Fullingham’s bay but in front of them and closing fast upon her was Richard Arrandale on the black hunter. Phyllida turned back, crouching lower over Sultan’s neck, urging the horse on. She could hear the hunter thundering up behind her. The copse was approaching all too quickly, but she did not want to rein in Sultan. Her only relief during her year of mourning and self-imposed exile at Tatham Park had been her early morning gallops. She had missed them when she had come to Bath and now she wanted the feeling of excitement to go on for ever.
‘Don’t pull up,’ Richard shouted. ‘We’ll go on to the barn yonder!’
It was madness. She was setting a poor example to Ellen, but with the wind in her face and the exhilaration of the ride firing her blood, Phyllida could not resist prolonging the race. She touched her whip to Sultan’s flank and they shot past the copse and on towards the barn in the distance. Above the thud of Sultan’s hoofs she was aware of the hunter closing up. The black nose was at her shoulder. She pushed Sultan on, urging him to make one last effort and they thundered past the barn neck and neck.
The horses slowed and Phyllida straightened in the saddle, unable to hold back a laugh of sheer delight.
‘Impressive, Lady Phyllida.’ Richard had brought his hunter alongside and was grinning at her. ‘And unexpected.’
She met his eyes, still exhilarated by the race. The glowing, soaring elation intensified when she saw the admiration in his glance. She could not stop smiling at him. They were very close, his muscled thigh encased in tight buckskin was so near that she might reach out to touch it. Phyllida was startled to realise how much she wanted to do so. How much she wanted him.
The urge to smile disappeared. In a panic she dragged her gaze away and stared determinedly between Sultan’s ears.
She said remorsefully, ‘It was very bad of me. Lord Wakefield expressly forbade us to race. And then to extend it here, out of sight of the road.’ The pleasure of the moment had subsided and she bit her lip, suddenly mortified at her lack of decorum.
‘Console yourself with the fact that the others did not follow us,’ said Richard. ‘They are obediently waiting at the copse even now. Shall we go back?’
‘I suppose we must.’
His look was searching as they turned about and Phyllida realised she had sounded quite regretful. Heavens, she hoped he did not misunderstand her and think she wanted to keep him by her side. She rushed into an explanation.
‘It is a long time since Sultan has raced against another horse. When Sir Evelyn died the family thought it would be best to sell all the horses except Sultan and Ellen’s mare.’
‘Surely that was your decision?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
And it had been her decision, but she could acknowledge now the pressure that had been brought to bear, while she was still coming to terms with her loss. It was not just from Sir Evelyn’s family, but her own, too. She had been brought up to believe that a man must be head of the family and his word was law, that she should always bow to his will, but marriage had changed her. She had enjoyed being mistress of her own house and had grown more confident under Sir Evelyn’s benevolent protection. He had encouraged her to think for herself.
Her parents had died by the time Phyllida became a widow, but her family had descended upon her, discussing with Sir Evelyn’s relatives what would be best for her and it had taken all her newfound strength to stand out against them. Thank goodness she had not allowed them to persuade her to give up Sultan, or to sell Tatham Park.
* * *
Richard was silent, watching the play of emotion on Lady Phyllida’s countenance. The excited glow died from her eyes and her cheeks lost their hectic flush. He thought there was a shadow of sadness about her. She was thinking back to her dead husband, perhaps. Did she miss him? Had she loved him?
Richard shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the thought. A sudden and unfamiliar feeling swept through him. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. To make her happy.
* * *
The others were waiting for them at the copse, keeping their horses in the shade of the trees. As Phyllida and Richard approached Ellen called out, ‘Philly, are you all right? When I saw you racing on I wanted to follow but Mr Fullingham thought we should wait here, since this is where we agreed to stop.’
‘We were afraid Sultan had bolted with you,’ added Mr Fullingham.
‘No such thing,’ said Richard. ‘We were enjoying the race and decided to go on.’ He glanced at Phyllida. ‘It was my fault, and I beg your pardon.’
‘I knew you were in no danger, Philly,’ said Ellen comfortably. ‘You were always a clipping rider, I had forgotten just how good you are!’
Phyllida chuckled and shook her head. ‘It was most irresponsible of me, but I cannot deny that I enjoyed it.’
Ellen looked back towards the road. ‘I think we should be getting back to the others. I am not sure how much they will have seen...’
‘Not the race to the barn,’ said Richard. ‘That would have been screened by the copse.’
Ellen giggled. ‘Then we shall not tell them how reprehensibly you both behaved.’
‘Thank you,’ said Phyllida meekly.
‘And it has done you good, Philly,’ Ellen continued. ‘I have never seen you looking better.’
Richard grinned. He had to agree, Lady Phyllida was looking radiant. She had surprised him and he thought that perhaps she was not such a mouse after all. He fell in with the others, but as he did so he caught Henry Fullingham’s eye and the fellow winked at him. Richard’s jaw tightened and he cursed inwardly. By allowing himself to gallop off with the widow he had left the field free for Fullingham to advance his cause with Ellen Tatham. And if that smug expression was anything to go by, he had taken full advantage of it.
* * *
Richard hoped for an opportunity to draw Ellen away as they continued towards Farleigh but she fell in beside her stepmother. Phyllida’s unexpected escapade had clearly impressed her and the two ladies rode together, laughing and chattering. Watching them, and listening to them reminisce about past rides and excursions, Richard was again struck by Phyllida’s youthfulness. She could only have been about Ellen’s age when Sir Evelyn had married her. She and Ellen were obviously good friends and he wondered if that had been a comfort to the young bride in the early days of her marriage.
* * *
The question was still in his head when he finally managed to ride beside Ellen, and instead of taking the opportunity to engage her in a gentle flirtation he remarked that she appeared to be on very good terms with her stepmother.
‘Yes. Philly has always been much more like an older sister than a mama to me.’
She turned her head and regarded him for a moment with unwonted seriousness. ‘I would do nothing to hurt her, Mr Arrandale.’
‘I am sure you would not.’ He added, surprising himself, ‘I hope that will always be the case, because it might well prevent you from getting into any serious scrapes.’
She thought about this for a moment.
‘Sometimes I think I am much more worldly-wise than Philly. In fact, I have decided to promote her happiness.’
His lips twitched. ‘And how do you propose to do that, Miss Tatham?’
The solemn look fled and she shook her head, eyes gleaming with mischief.
‘I shall not tell you. It is always best to play one’s cards close to one’s chest, is it not?’
He frowned. ‘Now where did you learn that expression?’
‘From my teacher, Mrs Ackroyd. She explained to us about games of chance. Cards, and dice and the like.’
‘Ah, I did not think you would have heard Lady Phyllida say such a thing.’
‘Goodness, no. Sometimes I think Philly needs me to look after her, not the other way round.’
Before he could respond, a call from Lord Wakefield informed them that they had reached Farleigh and the party reorganised itself to ride up the drive to the house. They were met at the door by the housekeeper, who confirmed that the family were not at home but that refreshments were waiting for them, if they would care to step inside for a little while before they inspected what was left of the castle and the chapel.
Phyllida moved closer to Ellen. She had observed her talking to Richard during the ride, seen the looks, brimful with laughter, that Ellen had thrown at him and she had been conscious of a strong feeling of desolation. It had formed itself into a hard, unhappy knot deep inside. Phyllida wanted to snatch Ellen away but that would do no good at all. She was Ellen’s chaperon, not her gaoler, and would never prevent her merely talking to a gentleman. So she entered the house beside Lady Wakefield and left the younger ones to chatter together while they enjoyed the cold collation that had been set out for their delectation.
* * *
Afterwards, when they went off to look at the ruins of the castle, she made no attempt to keep Ellen at her side, but watched her scamper off with the other girls. Adrian, Mr Fullingham and Richard Arrandale accompanied the group to help them over the uneven ground while Phyllida followed a short distance behind with Lord Wakefield and his lady.
‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Lady Wakefield when the breeze brought snatches of the young people’s conversation floating back to them, ‘Adrian is recounting the castle’s gruesome history. Should we tell him to stop? I would not wish him to give the girls nightmares.’
‘Do not silence him on Ellen’s account,’ replied Phyllida, thinking of the copy of The Monk currently secreted in her stepdaughter’s bedchamber, ‘She will enjoy the horrid stories immensely.’
‘As will Julia and Penelope,’ added Lord Wakefield, with a complacent chuckle. ‘Do not worry, ladies, the children will not come to any harm here.’
Phyllida wondered if that were true, but she soon saw that the young ladies were much more interested in clambering over the ruins and listening to Adrian Wakefield’s blood-curdling tales than in dalliance with any of the gentlemen.
* * *
There was little to see of the castle except the gatehouse and what remained of the thick walls. The rest was merely piles of rubble, much of it overgrown, but this did not prevent the younger members of the party from scrambling around like excited children.
‘Which is what they are,’ remarked Lady Wakefield, watching them with smiling indulgence. ‘The girls are barely out of the schoolroom and Adrian is only a couple of years their senior. I wish I had their energy! The ride and then the refreshments have left me feeling quite languid, so Wakefield and I are going to find a convenient stone block to sit upon, Lady Phyllida, if you would like to stay with us?’
Phyllida declined gracefully. She was not at all fatigued by the ride and glad to have some time to herself. She wandered off, enjoying the solitude. She loved Ellen dearly, but having responsibility for such a pretty girl, and an heiress at that, was proving more arduous than she had thought. Having spent the past year living on her own at Tatham Park she had thought having Ellen to live with her would provide her with the companionship she had lacked since Sir Evelyn’s death, and it did, but Phyllida knew now that it was not enough. Ellen was not a kindred spirit, they could not converse upon equal terms, because Phyllida could never forget that Ellen was her responsibility.
