Mistress of the Hunt (20 page)

P
HILIPPA’S FIRST EMOTION UPON SEEING
Rochford was distress that he might have reinjured himself by riding the five miles between Wyvern Towers and Chase Charley, but his angry words and curt command put distress to flight. She stood where she was, having all she could do to control her own rising temper.

Rochford shot a look at the hovering Bickerstaff. “Take yourself off, man. You’re not wanted here.”

“How dare you?” demanded Philippa, finding her tongue at last and adding sharply, “Bickerstaff, you are to go nowhere. His lordship mistakes the matter. I am not at home to callers.”

Bickerstaff glanced from her to the angry viscount, clearly undecided as to his proper course. No doubt he ought to obey his mistress and put the unwelcome visitor out the door. On the other hand, even with his injured ankle and what bruises might remain about his person, the viscount was a force clearly to be reckoned with. At the moment he looked particularly formidable. Still, Bickerstaff did his best. Spreading his hands appealingly, he said, “My lord, perhaps it would be best—”

Rochford turned slightly and flicked the butler a glance that halted the words in his throat and froze his hands in their movement through space. The flintlike gaze then shifted back to rest upon Philippa. “Tell him to leave,” he said, gritting the words through his teeth.

His anger, having first chilled her to the marrow, now sent sparks shooting through her veins. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, meeting his look eye to eye with an icy one of her own.

“You are behaving like a brigand, my lord,” she said tartly. “You have no right to roar your way into my house, waving your cane like a madman and bellowing orders at my servants. If you have something to say to me, be sure I will listen to you, but not here in the hall where you will be making a gift of your words to every passing servant. Come into the library, if you please. You may say what you like to me there.” She looked briefly at the butler. “Bring refreshment in fifteen minutes, Bickerstaff. His lordship will no doubt need something to cool his throat by then.”

Having said her piece, she swept past the viscount, carrying the train of her riding habit over her arm. It was not until she was halfway through the common parlor that it occurred to her that he might have difficulty walking so far as the library. But when she paused to look over her shoulder, he was directly behind her, and although he was limping, he did not lean as heavily on the cane as he had when he entered the hall. She found herself wishing suddenly that he had left that cane in the hall, and the thought sent a small shiver of fear up her back.

In the library, she turned to face him, her color high, her hands pressed tightly into the folds of her skirt.

Rochford pushed the door shut with the head of his cane. That he was still angry was evident from his expression, but she saw lines of pain in his brow, as well, and felt immediate contrition at having brought him to such a pass.

“Perhaps you ought to sit down, Rochford.”

“What, before I fall down? I am not such a weakling as that, madam. Nor was there any reason to repair to this room, for I have only one thing to say to you. You are to order those signs removed at once.”

Philippa stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“It is not my pardon you must beg, but that of the men whose hunting you have disrupted with your childish whim. Your quarrel—whatever it was—was with me. You had no business to act so precipitately, and you must put matters right at once.”

“I see,” Philippa said, wondering how it was that this man could turn her softer feelings to blazing anger with so little effort. “Because you order it, I am to submit to your wishes. Is that the case, my lord?”

“The case is that you don’t realize what you have done, and I do. For once in your life, dear Philippa, you will attend to wiser counsel than your own. This is no time to allow you to indulge in a temper tantrum, though from what I have come to know of you, I do not doubt that you have been allowed to indulge yourself far too often in the past.”

“Dear me, you sound very like Mr. Assheton-Smith,” she retorted sarcastically. “He left me in no doubt as to what method he would like to use upon me.”

“He has my sympathy.” Rochford was clearly having difficulty keeping rein on his temper. “If I were in better trim, I’d at least give you the thorough shaking you deserve for this piece of work. But I did not come here for discussion. If you like, I will convey your instructions to your bailiff before leaving here.” He turned back toward the door.

“Mr. Weems already has my instructions,” said Philippa hotly, “and I daresay he knows better than to take any from you, sir. If you have said all you mean to say, I wish you will go away, for I have nothing further to say to you.”

He took an unwary step toward her, wincing as he came down on his left foot. “Do you mean to tell me you refuse to do as I bid you?”

“Indeed, sir, for I do not recognize your authority. A proposal of marriage—which, I might remind you, I refused—scarcely gives you the right to dictate to me.”

He let out a long breath of exasperation. “Though, as always, I cannot wish to contradict you, madam, no offer of marriage was made. If you will but recall the moment in question, I am persuaded you will agree.”

She knew he was right. She had never allowed him to say the words he had begun to say, and oddly, now that memory irritated her. She shrugged. “What you said or didn’t say does not signify. I recognize no one’s authority save my own.”

“Philippa,” he said gently, “I should dislike being put to the trouble of applying to your trustees in such a matter as this, but do not think I will not.”

“You cannot,” she retorted, triumph gleaming in her eyes, “for there are no such persons. I am the principal trustee for my own estate as well as for—”

“Good Lord, do you mean Wakefield was such a flat as to put full control of your entire inheritance into your own hands?”

Philippa’s chin rose sharply. “And why should he not, sir? Wakefield was not so gothic as to think women cannot decide things for themselves. Besides,” she added, “he taught me everything I need to know, so he could scarcely declare me unfit and give my affairs into some one else’s hands.”

“But your father! Surely Wakefield must have named him—”

“I am sorry to distress you further, my lord, but you have only me to contend with, and I have no intention of taking orders from you or any other man. I have every right to do what I have done, and some good may even come from it if your precious Melton men learn a lesson in civility. It cannot hurt them, certainly, to learn that a love of hunting does not endow them with the right to crash through property without the owner’s leave to do so. And now I must ask you to take your departure, sir. There is no more you can possibly have to say to the purpose.”

He hesitated for a moment, regarding her narrowly, and she thought she saw dawning respect in his eyes. But then he turned on his heel without another word and she watched with a sudden tightness in her throat as he limped across the common parlor to the hall. For no reason that she could call to mind, she had a wish to burst into tears, and when the front door had shut behind him, she slumped down into one of the library chairs in a way that would have promptly called maternal censure down upon her, and shut her eyes as tightly as she could, as if by doing so she might stop her tears from flowing.

It was impossible to maintain this position for long, of course. First her eyes began to ache and then the muscles in her back began to protest. When she heard footsteps approaching the library from the direction of the hall, she straightened quickly, putting a hand up to smooth her hair as Bickerstaff entered the room carrying a silver tray. He glanced around in bewilderment.

“Oh,” Philippa said, attempting to sound casual, “his lordship has gone, Bickerstaff. I am surprised you did not hear the door shut behind him.”

“But you ordered refreshment, my lady.”

“So I did. Well, you may leave the tray, in any event. I am parched, myself, and can do with a restorative.” The butler looked her over with an experienced eye, but he said nothing, taking his dismissal without protest. That he believed she ought not to be left to her solitude, however, was brought home to Philippa some minutes later when Miss Pellerin entered the library.

“Mercy me!” that lady exclaimed, throwing up her hands as though she were startled to discover Philippa in the room.

“Doing it much too brown, as Edward would say, Cousin.” But Philippa smiled at her. “I collect that Bickerstaff advised you to seek me out, believing I was in need of solace or some such thing.”

“Well, dearest,” Miss Pellerin said, taking a seat and feeling the teapot for warmth before pouring herself a cupful, “he did say that Viscount Rochford had called.”

“And he no doubt also said his lordship was blustering like bull-beef when he descended upon us. Well, he was, but as you see, I have routed him, foot and guns, and have come through the ordeal unscathed.”

“Oh, Philippa, what did he say?”

“Why, he was angry that I have posted our land, of course, and he had the unmitigated gall to order me to take the signs down. To tell you the truth, Cousin,” she added with a rueful sigh, “I was well along to a decision to do just that before he came roaring in, shouting his orders.”

“Oh, dear, he ought to have known a demanding attitude would merely serve to set up your back.”

Philippa grinned at her, more relaxed now. “Well, yes, I think he ought. But the poor man clearly thinks he is still on the Continent leading a squadron or whatever it was he led, with subalterns who salute and say ‘Yes sir’ to his every command. But I am no subaltern, and he ought not to bark his commands at me.”

Miss Pellerin regarded her speculatively. “He did not behave well, certainly, my dear, but must you continue at odds with him this way? You did say you had intended to have the signs removed.”

“I didn’t say that, precisely,” Philippa corrected her. “I confess I had had some thought of doing so, for I met one of our tenants, a perfectly horrid man who would have liked nothing better than to string me to the nearest tree, I think, and he has threatened to arouse the other tenants. Then, of course, Mr. Assheton-Smith and Lord Lonsdale are put out, and I never meant for anyone to be affected but Rochford.”

“You did not think the matter through carefully, Philippa. That has always been one of your worst faults, you know.”

“Yes,” Philippa replied candidly, “I do know, and since this was by way of being a decision about a business matter, I cannot think why I did not consider it in the methodical way Wakefield taught me. I daresay, however, that left to myself I would have had the stupid signs removed when I discovered what a row they had stirred. But you must see that I cannot do such a thing now, or Rochford would believe I have bowed to his will. That, ma’am, I could not tolerate for an instant.”

“No, I don’t suppose you could,” her companion said with a sigh, “but perhaps you ought to consider the wisdom of returning to London.”

“What? Run from the storm? I promise you, I am not such a rabbit as that. I daresay things may become a trifle difficult, but we shall muddle through.”

“Difficult” proved to be a mild word to describe the events of the next week. Indeed, at Saint Mary’s church in Melton Mowbray the very next morning, Philippa saw that word had passed to everyone about her dreadful deed. A good many glares were shot her way, and after the service she received the cut direct from no fewer than three gentlemen. Mr. Brummell shook his head at her, but she was certain she could detect a glint of amusement in his eyes. In Lord Alvanley’s, when they met on the flagway afterward, there was none.

“Harden your heart and tighten your girth, ith that the way of it, my lady?” he asked with a carefully blank expression.

“Oh, sir, are you at outs with me too? I promise I never meant to make so many people angry.”

“Mutht have meant to,” he said. “Certainly did a proper job of it. Daresay you intended only to play off a trick against Rochford, but your game affecth many more people than that. Hunting’s therious business in Melton, ma’am.”

She tried to explain that it was no game to her, but she could not feel that she had succeeded, and as the week progressed she came to see just how seriously the Melton men took their hunting. On Wednesday Weems informed her that he would have to send to Grantham for feed for their horses.

“Good gracious, I thought you attended to all that in Melton Mowbray,” Philippa protested.

“To be sure, ma’am, we have done in the past, but there seems to be no feed available at present.” He gazed steadily at a point beyond her left shoulder as he spoke.

“I see,” she said, seeing very clearly. “Very well, do what you must.”

Her tenants reacted just as Giles had predicted they would, but she instructed Mr. Weems to explain matters to the most assertive of these, which the poor man did as best he could. Her gamekeeper presented yet another problem, for Jake Pottersby had informed her that Sam Cudlipp was as annoyed with her as Tom Giles was. By far the greatest portion of Sam’s income came from his earth-stopping fees, which were considerable. Still, she could not see what was to be done about that and determined to avoid the gamekeeper altogether for the present, if she could manage to do so.

In order to avoid any incident that might jeopardize Jessalyn’s or Lucinda’s safety, Philippa was forced to forbid their afternoon riding, causing Jessalyn to express her annoyance in such inconsiderate terms that the scene between them ended with Philippa’s ordering her to bed without supper. Fortunately, however, although his own frequent visits had ceased, Rochford did not choose to forbid his sister’s daily visits to Chase Charley—probably, Philippa told herself acidly, because he would then have had to look after her himself. Nonetheless, she was grateful to him, for she was convinced that without Lucinda’s visits to keep Jessalyn’s boredom at bay, her stepdaughter must have driven her mad. As it was, by Friday she was exhausted and sick to death of the whole business. When she entered the drawing room that afternoon in time to see Miss Pellerin whisk a sheet of crude paper out of sight beneath her gray woolen skirt, it was nearly the final straw.