Amanda Scott (6 page)

“Thank you, my dear,” Miss Pucklington said, turning pink as she moved to allow a gentleman to pass by, “but I daresay Mr. Manningford is right in saying that we ought not to stand here blocking the footpath, you know. Perhaps he would care to escort us back to Bathwick Hill House for a hot cup of tea.”

But that did not suit Mr. Manningford. “Tell you what, Caro,” he said, plainly accepting Miss Pucklington as an ally, “I still don’t agree I was at fault. Well, dash it all, you ought to have stayed with me and not gone flitting off by yourself, oughtn’t you? But I ain’t one to contradict a lady,” he added hastily, if inaccurately, when a steely glint instantly replaced the twinkle in Carolyn’s eyes. “I’ll make it up to you by riding with you tomorrow and you can say whatever you like to me then. Since I know you dislike riding on your own with only a groom to bear you company, I can’t say fairer than that, can I?”

“You’ll forget,” she said flatly, unappeased.

“No, I won’t,” he retorted. “Might, in the usual way of things, but the fact is, I left m’ gold watch as collateral for a horse I bought, and I want to get it back. Horse is worth more than the watch, but I might want to do business with this fellow in future, so there you are.”

“But how will wanting to get your watch back make you remember you’re to ride with me?” she demanded.

“The gypsy camp is on Saint-Denis’s land,” he said, as though that simple statement explained everything.

“Gypsy camp? Goodness, are there gypsies on Bathwick Hill? Sydney cannot know that!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think it would bother him. Gentle enough folk if you keep your pockets sewn shut.”

“Well, Godmama would not approve at all, but how exciting! Will you really take me to their camp?”

He looked for a moment as though he were having second thoughts, and she knew that he had not previously considered that it might not be quite the thing to do, so she said quickly, “I should like to visit one above all things, and I know I shall be perfectly safe with you.”

“Safe? Of course you’ll be safe with me. What a dashed silly thing to say!” And he made no comment whatever after that about the proprieties, or lack thereof.

Miss Pucklington was not so reticent, however, once he had gone and they walked together along the broad expanse of Great Pulteney Street, toward Bathwick Hill. “Cousin Olympia will not approve of such an expedition,” she said gently.

“No, but I don’t intend to tell her,” Carolyn said. “Sydney probably will not approve either, but I shall go with Brandon all the same, and I shall be perfectly safe, too, Puck. He won’t dare to desert me a second time.”

“He truly deserted you last night? I didn’t know.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” Carolyn said airily. “We were only in the garden, after all, so it was no great thing. I mentioned it to him only because I wished to remind him that a gentleman does not walk off and forget the lady he is escorting. He would never do so at a gypsy camp. And, in any event, I have never heard of any gypsies hereabouts doing anyone any harm.”

“They steal,” Miss Pucklington said flatly.

“Well, of course they do,” Carolyn agreed. “Gypsies always steal. ’Tis their nature, I suppose, through not having had the benefit of a Christian upbringing. Although,” she added with a mischievous grin, “I have never heard of them actually stealing babies, despite the great number of romantic novels that are written about beautiful young girls who are stolen from their wealthy families at birth and raised by the gypsies.”

“Surely, you don’t believe you were stolen by gypsies?” Miss Pucklington inquired suspiciously.

“No, of course not,” Carolyn said. “Nothing so interesting ever happened to me. I do not live in the pages of a book, you know.” On the contrary, she thought, her life was perfectly ordinary and Lyndhurst the closest likeness to a hero she had ever met. Most depressing, for dangerous as he could look, he was really only annoying, not exciting at all. And doubtless, the gypsy camp, if Brandon did remember to take her there, would turn out to be just as depressing, and dull into the bargain.

Her outlook had improved, however, after a good night’s sleep, and by the time Brandon presented himself at Bathwick Hill House the following morning, she was looking forward to the outing with pleasurable anticipation. Thus, she was not at all pleased to see Sydney approaching them from the direction of the stables just as Brandon was lifting her into her saddle.

“Say nothing about where we are going,” she hissed, shooting an oblique glance at her nearby groom to assure herself that he was out of earshot.

“No fear of that,” Brandon muttered, adding in a louder tone, “Good morning, Saint-Denis. A fine day, is it not? Been out riding already, I expect.”

“Some time ago,” Sydney said, holding out his hand.

His buckskin breeches and dark blue coat, Carolyn noted, seemed to have been molded to his trim, well-muscled body, and had clearly been tailored by experts. His snowy neckcloth was tied in a less intricate style than he sported with his evening dress, but not a hair was out of place, and she decided that if he had been riding, he had maintained an extremely sedate pace. That would not do for her. Her impatience communicated itself to her mount, and the black gelding fidgeted beneath her.

“Where are you off to?” Sydney inquired, glancing at her but making no move to steady the gelding.

“Oh, just hereabouts,” she said airily, “if Brandon can manage to bestir himself to mount within the next hour or so.”

“Patience, madam,” Brandon said. Stepping toward his long-legged roan and taking his reins from the groom, he swung into the saddle with the easy grace of a man who spent a great deal of his spare time on horseback, then glanced at her with teasing laughter in his eyes. “Sure you want to do this, m’dear? Not too dangerous for you?”

Startled, she glared at him, then glanced guiltily at Sydney, who regarded them both with an air of polite inquiry. “Dangerous?” he said.

Carolyn held her breath, but Brandon only laughed again. “She challenged me to a run through the woods north of here. Know them like the back of my hand, of course, but she’ll have to think about what she’s doing. Gives me an edge, don’t you agree? Care to lay odds?”

Carolyn shut her eyes, waiting for Sydney to announce that he would accompany them, but once again he surprised her. “You’re taking Cleves, I trust.” He was smiling, but she was glad she had not ordered her groom to remain behind.

Affecting an offended attitude, Brandon murmured that certain people seemed to have no faith in him, and both men laughed. Annoyed with them, Carolyn waited only until she and Brandon had ridden out of the gates, with Cleves a discreet distance behind them, before expressing her displeasure.

“You ought never to have said such a thing!”

“What would you have had me say?” he demanded. “Unless you wanted me to tell him a real bouncer, that was the best thing I could think of to put him off. He knows you, don’t he? Knows that’s precisely the sort of nonsense you’d like better than a new gown. What’s more, we are riding in the woods, and you will have to think about what you’re doing, or you’re likely to have that pretty blue riding habit of yours stolen right off your back by the Romanys. I’m only hoping that fellow will give me back my watch and not just nip off with the money I’ve brought him. Still, he can’t think I’d send him more custom if he played me false, can he?”

“No, I don’t suppose he can.” A moment later she said, “What is it like, the gypsy camp?”

“Like any gypsy camp, I imagine.”

“Don’t be maddening, Brandon.”

He glanced at her. “Sorry, but I’ve seen more than one, you know, and they all look the same.”

“I have never seen one,” she said with forced patience.

“Oh, well then, let me see.” He frowned, evidently collecting an image of the place in his mind. Finally, just as she was about to demand that he get on with it, he said, “Mostly caravans and animal pens and people. Surely, you’ve seen their caravans. A fellow can’t drive on a highroad anywhere in England without being delayed by one somewhere along the way.”

“I’ve seen them,” she agreed. “Very colorful, but the people always seem a trifle … well, a trifle unwashed.”

“Lord, of course they are. You don’t think they bathe along the way, do you? Dashed uncivilized that would be, and doubtless complaints would be lodged against them first time they tried it on. Dash it, complain m’self if water was sloshin’ out the back of the caravan onto the road. M’ horses would slip.”

She laughed. “Are you never serious?”

“Never.” He grinned at her. “Fact is, it will be better if you see the place for yourself. I’m no hand at describing things.” He was silent for several moments after that. Then he glanced at her again before saying ruefully, “Look here, Caro, I’ve been thinking about last night, and the fact is I didn’t behave well. You were right about that. Never should have walked off without making sure you were right behind me. Not that you ought to have been, of course. No place for a lady, that bowling green. Not then, at all events.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll accept your apology and thank you for it. I didn’t think you would offer me one.”

He shrugged. “I can be civil when I want to be. Hope nothing awkward occurred. Notice you didn’t say anything about where you went after I abandoned you.”

“No.” She felt warmth flooding her face at the memory of Lyndhurst’s aggression and the embarrassment of being discovered in such a fix by Sydney.

“What happened?” When she looked away, he said more sharply, “What? Good Lord, Caro, you weren’t—”

“No, no,” she said before he could say aloud what he was so clearly thinking. “Nothing like that. Only Lyndhurst found me where you left me and made rather a nuisance of himself.”

“Oh, did he?” Brandon’s brows snapped together, and for once he looked as dangerous as any romantic young lady might wish. “I shall have a word with his lordship,” he said grimly.

Instead of pleasing her, however, his look and tone of voice dismayed her, and she said hastily, “There is no need for that, truly. Nothing happened except that Sydney came along and saw us standing there together. I’d have preferred anything else, believe me, which was why I was so annoyed with you for leaving me. Only try to imagine how mortified I was!”

But to her consternation, Brandon seemed not to comprehend her feelings. At the mention of Sydney’s name, he relaxed in his saddle and smiled at her, saying, “Oh, Saint-Denis was there, was he? That’s all right then, except I daresay he’ll have a few things to say to me about the impropriety of leaving ladies alone in gardens. Deserve to hear them, of course, but perhaps if I steer clear of him for a few days, he’ll forget. Want to let the fidgets out of that nag of yours?”

Believing any further attempt to make him understand must prove futile, she agreed, and they put their mounts to a canter. The path they were on led through a shady wood and was hard-packed and well-tended. The air was crisp with a suggestion of approaching winter, and the leaves were bright with color. In no time at all, Carolyn was so taken up with the sights, sounds, and smells of the wood and the pounding of hooves on the dirt path that all other thoughts faded from her mind.

Brandon was ahead of her, and when the path widened sufficiently, she urged her mount to a faster pace to catch him. He let her draw abreast, then leaned lower across his horse’s neck and eased his hold on his rein, giving the animal its head. The pace was a reckless one, but Carolyn didn’t mind in the least, and when it appeared that she might fall behind, she touched the black on the flank with the tip of her whip.

It was enough. The gelding sprang forward, closing the distance again. Seeing Brandon duck down, hugging the roan’s back to avoid a low-hanging branch, she did the same, and while the movement stopped her from seeing the tree root that rose several inches above the path ahead, it saved her from flying headlong out of the saddle when the gelding stumbled and nearly fell with her. Its pace dropped to a halting walk in the space of a breath or two, and as she sat up again, her hat askew, she realized immediately that her horse was injured.

Brandon, looking back over his shoulder, saw what had happened and jerked his mount sharply about, reaching her at nearly the same time Cleves did.

“Miss Carolyn,” the wiry, middle-aged groom exclaimed, drawing up beside her, “I thought you was a goner! What the master will say, I can’t think!”

“Then don’t think,” Brandon snapped, bringing the roan to a plunging halt and leaping from the saddle. “Better yet, don’t tell him. You hurt?” He flung the words over his shoulder at Carolyn as he bent to examine the black’s leg.

“Are you talking to me or to the horse?” she demanded as she straightened her hat and shoved an errant strand of hair back into place.

“Don’t be nonsensical,” he said sharply. “You’ll have to dismount. He’s strained a fetlock. Here, Cleves,” he added, taking her reins and handing them up to the groom, “make yourself useful and lead him. I’ll take Miss Carolyn up behind me.”

“Why don’t you just order poor Cleves to give me his horse,” Carolyn asked as Brandon helped her down. “Surely, you won’t want that poor nag of yours to carry a double burden.”

“No, I don’t, but it don’t signify, for we’ve only a short distance to go now.” Then he looked at her as though he had just become aware of the irony in her voice. “You miffed? I didn’t let him stumble. You did. Ought to be ashamed, riding neck or nothing like that. I can’t think what Lady Skipton will say.”

“Well, don’t think to cozen me into thinking you’ll tell her,” Carolyn retorted, “for I know you won’t, and if I was riding neck or nothing, ’twas only because you challenged me to do so. And after telling Sydney you’d take care of me, too.”

“Well, if he don’t know how difficult that is, no one does,” Brandon replied, returning his attention to the fetlock.

“Want me to have a look at that, sir?” Cleves asked.

“No, what for? Know as much as any groom does, m’self, don’t I? Going to need compresses, and the sooner the better, but I daresay they’ll have what we want at the camp.”

“Camp, sir?”