Elizabeth Mansfield (12 page)

“Then tell them to Tris,” Madge flung over her shoulder. “It won’t do any good for
me
to hear them.”

While the mothers were bandying words, Tris was out riding with Cleo. At his mother’s insistence, he’d invited Julie too. Julie’d accepted the invitation at
her
mother’s insistence, but she kept her horse well behind, knowing that she was intruding.

Tris was very grateful for Julie’s tact. In the social flurry of the past two days, he hadn’t had any opportunity to speak to Cleo in private. He guessed that she’d gone to great lengths of scheming and maneuvering to be here (the trip to Scotland was, he knew, nothing but a ruse), but this was his first chance to ask her why she’d come. “I don’t understand you, Cleo,” he said when he saw that Julie was too far back to overhear. “After what happened that last night in London, I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

“You should’ve known that I never meant it,” she said, throwing him a glinting look from under the brim of her rakish riding cap. “I was jealous, that’s all.”

“Jealous? Of whom?”

“Of Julie, of course.”

“Julie! Good God, woman, how could you have been so foolish? I told you she was like a sister to me.”

“You were leaving me to run home to her. A man does not run off from the woman he claims to love at the beck and call of a sister.”

“This man does. She needed me. Now that you’ve met her, I hope you understand.”

Cleo glanced back at the girl riding several yards behind. What she saw—a modest creature in a worn habit, shabby gloves and a head of hair that was blowing in dishevelment about a very pretty face that somehow turned no heads—confirmed what she’d felt from the moment of their first meeting: Miss Juliet Branscombe was not serious competition. “Yes, I do understand,” she said, her renewed self-confidence making her generous. “I’m sorry for my outburst that night, Tris. Do you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” He reached out and grasped her horse’s reins, drawing the horses so close that he could whisper in her ear. “There is no question of forgiveness, Cleo. I love you and only you.”

The horses shied apart. “We should speak of other things,” Cleo said, her manner coy but her eyes sparkling happily. “Julie will see us.”

But they needn’t have worried. All the while they’d been trotting along the path near the river’s edge, laughing and flirting and making up their differences, Julie had quite contentedly kept her distance, absorbed in her own thoughts.

The very person she’d been thinking of—Lord Canfield—was at that very moment out for his daily ride. As he came to the rise leading down to the river, he caught a glimpse of the scene. He could see that Tris and Cleo had their heads together, and that Julie was following at a distance. To him she seemed so forlorn that he found himself gritting his teeth.
Damnation, he
thought,
Miss Cleo Smallwood is moving right in, just as I suspected. And Julie is not even putting up a struggle.

He spurred his horse and galloped down to the river’s edge. He returned Tris’s warm greeting, tipped his hat to Cleo and rode up to Julie. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, pulling his horse up alongside hers, “may I ride along with you?”

“I wish you would,” she answered cheerfully. “Those two have given me no company at all.”

“More fools they,” he said.

Julie smiled at the compliment but shook her head. “I believe they have more interesting matters to engage them than to spend their time entertaining me.”

“Have they, indeed?” He studied her face for a sign of jealousy, but he saw none. “Are you implying that there is an attachment developing between them?”

“It is not my place to say.”

“You are very discreet. Though such discretion makes conversation difficult, I must admit it is an admirable quality in a woman.”

“I know you mean that as a compliment. But it suggests that you believe most women are indiscreet. For shame, my lord! If you were fair, you’d admit that indiscretion is a fault in both sexes.”

He held his hands up against her attack. “Yes, indeed, you’re quite right. Your point, ma’am.”

They rode on in silence for a while, both of them watching the couple trotting so closely together in front of them. “I know that what you see there ahead of us must give you pain,” Canfield said at last, unable to resist the urge to offer her his sympathy.

She blinked in surprise. “Pain?”

“Forgive me. It’s none of my affair. I have no right to interfere. But I pride myself on being a shrewd observer, and it’s plain to me that you care a great deal for Tris.”

Julie gaped at him in confusion.
“Care
for him?” she echoed, not quite knowing what to say. “Yes, of course I do. I’ve known him since childhood. But I wouldn’t say—”

“No, Miss Discretion, of course you won’t say. But I have no qualms about speaking frankly. And frankly, ma’am, you can easily win him for yourself if you would but try.”

Julie was so astounded she could only gasp. “Win him for
myself? Tris?”

“Miss Smallwood is a beauty, I admit. But you, Miss Branscombe, are just as lovely in your own way. In a more subtle, deeper way.”

Those lovely words drove everything else from Julie’s mind. Her heart began to pound, and a flush of warmth swept up from her throat to her cheeks. “I... I... don’t know what you mean to .... ,” she babbled, “. . . what you wish me to... say...”

“I’ve no wish for you to say anything. I didn’t intend to embarrass you, my dear. But, you see, I’m very well versed in the ways of London flirts. Miss Smallwood is one of the most talented, but there’s nothing in her packet of tricks that you couldn’t learn.”

“Tricks?”

“Oh, yes. Truly, ma’am, I could teach you everything you need to know.”

Julie, suddenly grasping what he was getting at, stared at him in utter disbelief. “Are you suggesting, my lord, that you want to help me to ... to ... ?”

“To win Tris back from Miss Smallwood, yes. With my help, you’ll have him at your feet in a fortnight.”

Her heart sank in her chest like a stone. She didn’t want to believe that she’d understood him properly. He
couldn’t
mean what she thought he meant! “At my f-feet?” she managed to mutter.

“Yes. If you’re willing to try. There’s nothing at all difficult about it. Just a few little strategems, like—”

“I know,” she muttered dryly. “Like being saucy and laughing at all his jokes.”

This brought a surprised guffaw from him. “Yes, just so,” he said, grinning at her admiringly. “I can see already that you’re a quick study.”

She shook her head, keeping her eyes from meeting his. “No, I’m not. I have no talent for such... such games.”

“Yes, you do, I’m certain of it. It needs only firmness of purpose. If you tell me you are firm in your resolve, we can start at once.”

“At once?” she echoed, hardly hearing him, so deep were her spirits sunk in disappointment and confusion.

“Right now. The first thing we’ll do is leave them. We’ll ride off without a word, over to the field where we once raced. If they come looking for us—and I hope they will—they’ll see us having a delightful time together. Are you game?”

Unable to speak, she merely nodded. He threw her a broad smile, spurred his horse and started off. She followed absently, her mind in a whirl. The situation was just too absurd. First Tris swore he’d have Canfield at her feet, and now Canfield was swearing he’d have Tris at her feet. Each man was dedicating himself to
passing her off to the other!
It was a most ridiculous situation. She would have laughed out loud if she didn’t feel so much like weeping.

17

The note from Tris instructed Julie to meet him at the summerhouse at five. She knew why he’d selected the hour—it was the time of day when the ladies rested before dressing for dinner—but she had no idea why he wanted the meeting. Nevertheless, she was there at the appointed hour.

Tris was already waiting. He’d come early enough to observe how the two brief weeks since he’d last come here had brought about a change in the appearance of the place. A patina of spring green shimmered over every living thing. The grass was beginning to show new life, the shrubs glimmered at their edges with new growth, and little shoots of fresh green buds were appearing on the climbing vines. Everything surrounding him had a look of hopeful anticipation, as if in reflection of his own optimistic mood.

He was very happy with himself and the world. Even Julie’s careless appearance, as she came into view, did not upset him. If Peter did not mind her tousled hair, her faded skirts and worn dull green shawl, then why should he? He jumped down from the platform of the summer-house and ran to meet her. He greeted her with a shout of triumph. “I
told
you it would all work out. Isn’t it splendid?”

She paused in the act of climbing the stile. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, puzzled. “What’s splendid?”

“Come now, Julie, it’s not like you to be coy. I realized yesterday that Peter is taken with you. He’s smitten, surely as I breathe. He’ll come up to scratch before you know it, and then our troubles will be over!”

Julie gaped at him in astonishment. “You’re speaking utter nonsense,” she said. “He’s not in the least taken with me.”

“You are too modest, as usual. Take my word for it, my girl, your Peter is entranced. I watched him all during the party for signs, and I swear he never took his eyes from you. When you played for Elinor, the fellow had eyes only for the pianist, not the singer. And it was you he applauded when you took your seat.”

“Good heavens, Tris,” she objected, “a little thing like that doesn’t mean—”

“And what about yesterday? Did he or did he not ride off with you with never a second thought for Cleo and me?”

“Yes, but—”

“But me no buts. I saw how you two were laughing and joking with each other when we came riding up to find you. Why, the very manner in which he lifted you from your horse was sufficient proof of—”

“But he was only acting that way because... because ...” She paused, wondering suddenly if it would be wise to tell Tris what his lordship’s real intentions were. Tris would surely find the information upsetting. And he would only redouble his efforts to make her saucy and flirtatious, all to no purpose. On the other hand, if he kept believing—for a while, anyway—that Lord Canfield was in love with her, he would cease his attempts to change her. That would be a relief!

Besides, if she
had
to be taught to flirt, she much preferred Canfield’s tutelage to Tris’s. Lord Canfield made her feel less awkward, less artificial. And he himself had undertaken a great part in the scheme: he was pretending to pursue her. Even if his attentions to her were not sincere but only a sham to make an impression on Tris, she nevertheless enjoyed them. It was a lovely pretense, and she wished the game would never have to end. Certainly telling Tris the truth would bring the end much too soon. No, she decided firmly, she would say no more.

“Well?” Tris was prodding curiously. “He was only acting that way because—?”

“Because... because... Oh, I don’t know what I meant to say. But I will tell you, Tris, that if you put too much stock in your foolish theories, you are letting yourself in for a huge disappointment.”

Tris glared at her in disgust. “I’m losing all patience with you, Julie! You push modesty too far. Such humility is not an appealing quality in you.” He stalked off angrily, looking back over his shoulder only once, to add, “I hope, when you wed him, you will be generous enough
then
to acknowledge how right I was.”

Julie sat on the stile, gazing after him with troubled eyes. Tris was still a boy, she realized. One of these days, when it was finally clear that his lordship had no intention of wedding her, Tris would have to admit how wrong he was. And then he’d see that there was no easy solution to his troubles. If he wanted to wed the girl of his dreams, he’d have to face his mama with the truth.
Tris,
she addressed him in her mind,
the only way for you to win is to become a man.

18

A morning ride became routine for Tris, Cleo and Julie, and they were invariably joined by Lord Canfield. Even the frequent April showers that dampened their clothing during the ride did not deter them from this enjoyable exercise. One morning, however, after a week of passable weather, the riders suddenly found themselves deluged by a torrential rain. Riding through a shower was fun, but through a deluge was not.

Since they were at that moment closer to Wycklands than the Enders’ estate, they spurred their horses to Canfield’s stables. Once the horses were comfortably sheltered, the riders ran for the house. Dripping wet, yet laughing good-naturedly at their condition, they gathered round the drawing room fire to dry and warm themselves. His lordship, assuming that the rain would not let up very soon, requested his butler to do what he could to arrange an extemporaneous luncheon for his unexpected guests. The staff rose to the occasion by providing, with this minimal notice, a hot, two-course luncheon of York ham with poivrade sauce, quail stew, river trout, poached eggs, potatoes au gratin, an assortment of greens, gooseberry tarts and a most delectable Highland cream, all served with gracious ease in the smaller of the mansion’s two dining rooms.