Chapter Five
“Mrs. Darcy! Mrs. Darcy!” Jocelyn paused on the steps of the lady’s coach to look up as two young children scampered across the drive before a lovely Saxon-style manor house. The lady opened her arms and the pair barreled into her, nearly knocking the woman over. Jocelyn noted how Mrs. Darcy leaned over to gather the children to her, and she quickly recalled how both of her parents executed something similar when she was small—much younger than the pair before her. However, by the time she was nine, such displays of affection had ceased. With Andrew’s arrival, she had been relegated to the role of “older sister.”
“How long might you stay?” the boy asked. “Will Mr. Darcy come also?”
“Did you bring the baby?” his sister asked over him.
Mrs. Darcy directed the children to the side. “Let us permit my friend room to step down,” she instructed. “Yes, Lord Vincent, Mr. Darcy plans to join us in a couple of days. I expect we shall be here a week or so.” To the girl, the lady said, “Hannah and the boy’s nurse are in the other carriage.”
“May I go see?” the girl asked.
“First, I wish you to make your bows to my friend Miss Lambert,” Mrs. Darcy diplomatically suggested, knowing her child’s caretaker was a better choice than the two children to hold the boy, who was quite active.
Jocelyn stepped down to stand before the trio. “Lord Vincent. Lady Victoria, permit me to give you the acquaintance of my friend Miss Lambert.”
The boy’s eyebrows arched in suspicion. “Is she to be our new governess?”
Mrs. Darcy slid her arm about the boy’s shoulder, and Jocelyn noted how the child stiffened, but he permitted the lady’s kind gesture. “Have you again lost a governess? I was not aware, for I have been visiting with my sister Mrs. Bingley in Cambridgeshire. As to Miss Lambert, she was also with me and sharing a table with my dear Jane, for, like you, she has lost family, and she was headed north to seek employment. I offered her passage in the comfort of my coach, for I would not turn any young lady out on the road alone in these days. It was I who insisted that Miss Lambert join me here. You will note Mr. Jasper is riding my friend’s horse and her saddle is on top of my coach.”
Jocelyn stood in awe of the woman. Mrs. Darcy had convinced the child to believe what she wanted him to believe. Mrs. Bingley had said something similar of her sister, but Jocelyn had not fully comprehended until this very moment.
“That is . . . your horse, ma’am?” the boy asked.
“Is she not a fine example of horseflesh?” Jocelyn asked as she turned to look at the animal. “If you like,” she said casually, “I would be glad to introduce her to you. That is a bit later, after she settles in.”
The boy still appeared more than a bit skeptical, but he said, “I would like . . . that very much. I still only have . . . a pony. I hope my stepfather . . . will permit me . . . a real horse soon.”
Jocelyn said. “We all must begin somewhere. While I am here, if you will permit it, I would welcome showing you something about riding.”
“Me also?” Lady Victoria asked.
“Absolutely,” Jocelyn confirmed, “but first we should all go inside. I am confident Master Bennet wishes to stretch his little legs.”
“May I hold Bennet?” the girl asked.
“I fear my child is of his father’s nature,” Mrs. Darcy said diplomatically. “He does not sit well in one place for long, but we can permit Bennet to practice his crawling skills if you wish to sit with him on the floor.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lady Victoria skipped off to look upon the baby, while Lord Vincent said, “What type of . . . horse . . . is yours?”
Mrs. Darcy nodded her approval, so Jocelyn said, “I could tell you, but does not Lord Lindale’s library or something similar hold a book about different types of horses? Do you know for what purposes your pony was bred? It is all quite fascinating. Someday I would like to own a line of thoroughbred horses. Mrs. Bingley’s husband has some of the most beautiful animals I have ever seen. I would know pleasure in sharing what I observed at Mr. Bingley’s estate, if you like.”
Mrs. Darcy cautioned, “You must permit Miss Lambert and me a few minutes to freshen our things first.”
The boy grinned, and something in Jocelyn knew pride in placing a smile on his face. “I will go ahead . . . and find the books.” He darted off, but stopped suddenly to look back to Jocelyn, examining the weight of her words. “You will . . . keep your promise . . . Miss Lambert?” he asked with a frown.
“Other than my horse, I do not own many things others would think are valuable, but I consider my word my bond,” she stated firmly.
The boy studied her for several elongated seconds before presenting her a nod of approval. He turned and raced off towards the house.
“Well done,” Mrs. Darcy whispered as they passed each other while separating the trunks being lifted down from the coach.
“My brother adores horses,” Lady Victoria said softly. They both had forgotten the girl had not followed her brother inside.
“Most boys do,” Jocelyn said in kind tones. “Though I too enjoy riding. Do you not?”
The girl shrugged. “I go riding with Vincent because riding is his favorite exercise. I usually permit him to lead.”
Mrs. Darcy said, “In England, we women must often subjugate our wishes to the males in our lives, but such does not mean we may not enjoy our own interests. There are men, such as my Mr. Darcy, who do not fear a woman with her own ideas. Your brother is young enough to learn it is also acceptable for you to sometimes lead and he should follow.”
* * *
An hour later, Jocelyn agreed to permit Lord Vincent to show her his pony, but when they reached the outside, she stopped, refusing to follow him any longer.
The child was ten steps ahead of her before he realized she had waited at the top of the steps. “You . . . changed . . . your mind?” he demanded with a look of irritation.
“Though I enjoy your company, my lord, and was quite prepared to permit you to show me the way through the house, which is new to me,” Jocelyn said pointedly, hoping to provide the boy with another useful lesson—one which would serve him better than would a knowledge of horseflesh, “a gentleman would escort a woman across the lawn to the stables.”
“I am . . . a boy,” the child argued. “Not . . . a suitor.”
“You are an earl, my lord. Young, but still an earl. An earl would practice proper manners even on his way to the paddock,” she said sweetly, hiding what he might view as a chastisement.
“I do . . . not . . . understand.” The child’s frown line deepened.
“A gentleman would offer me his arm,” she explained. “Though we are of different ages and height, we should at a minimum walk side-by-side.”
“But you . . . know more . . . of horses . . . than me,” he protested.
“Than I,” she corrected.
His frown became one of confusion. “Pardon?”
“The correct word is ‘I,’ not ‘me,’” she said patiently. “A person would not say, ‘But you know more of horses than me do.’ It would be ‘than I do.’ Just because you did not say the word ‘do’ at the end of your statement, it was implied.”
“I . . . thought . . . we were . . . speaking of . . . horses,” he argued.
“We will look in upon the horses and speak of them,” she assured, “but we shall practice our proper English at the same time. We are both intelligent beings and are capable of doing two things at once.”
The boy’s features screwed up in obvious disbelief. “Everyone . . . except Victoria . . . and my mother . . . my other . . . sister and Lord . . . Lindale and . . .” He broke off in frustration. “They say . . . I am . . . dumb.”
“The others are incorrect,” Jocelyn declared. “I have been speaking to you for several hours, and the only things with which I would take offense is your walking ahead of me, rather than at my side, and your use of ‘me’ at the end of your sentence. In my humble opinion, you are capable of correcting both.”
“You . . . do not . . . speak to . . . me . . . like . . . others do,” he reasoned.
“Again, I doubt your reasoning. Mrs. Darcy does not speak to you as if you are a child, without a doubt, she does not speak to you as if you are incapable of understanding and acting upon your behavior. She also says Mr. Darcy deems you quite brilliant. I do not imagine your mother or Lord Lindale or . . .”
The boy interrupted, “Mrs. Peyton . . . called me . . . dumb . . . when I . . . refused . . . to answer . . . her.”
“Who is Mrs. Peyton?” Jocelyn inquired.
“Gover . . . ness.” He nearly spit out the word.
“Where is this Mrs. Peyton?” Jocelyn asked, herself, now confused. “I have not encountered her in the manor.”
“Mrs. Ross . . . released her. Mrs. Peyton struck . . . Victoria . . . for protecting . . . me.” He paused to look off, but his emotions were still evident. “I felt sorry.”
“Naturally,” Jocelyn encouraged. If she was to remain at William’s Wood, she should do so as Mrs. Darcy’s ‘friend,’ not the children’s governess. “Mrs. Ross was correct in releasing the woman. Upon occasion, I suppose, as some believe, there is a reason to punish a child with violence, but, as for me, no transgression comes to mind which would warrant such a punishment. Certainly not something as simple as responding to a question.” The boy studied her, but he made no observations of which he chose to speak. Therefore, Jocelyn said, “If you are agreeable, we shall walk to the stables together.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he announced and hurried back to where she waited. “May we go now . . . Miss Lambert.”
“Absolutely,” she declared, before dropping into step beside the boy. She glanced about her as they walked. “The stables appear to be superb. It is all quite fabulous.”
“Lord Lindale . . . does not ride,” the boy shared. “Prefers . . . his carriage.”
“I know quite a few gentlemen who prefer their carriages. They do not like the smell of either the horse’s sweat or their own upon their clothes.” The child appeared to see things as black or white. Good or evil. She supposed such was characteristic of most children. Andrew did so at one time, but not so much now. Lord Vincent was testing the world to determine what was acceptable and what was not.
However, before they could reach the barn and the nearby stables, a loud cry of pain filled the air. “A horse!” she screeched and broke into a run, hiking her skirt as she did so. “Where?” she questioned the boy who had followed her.
“Back of . . . the stable!” he called and led the way to the rear of the stable, where she spotted a magnificent stallion who had somehow wedged himself between a gate and a flat rail, despite there being plenty of room behind him. In his struggle to be free, he was cutting his legs on the rail.
“Stay away from the horse’s hoofs!” she warned the boy as a groom attempted to knock down one of the rails with a broken axe handle. She caught Lord Vincent by the shoulders and maneuvered him to the side. Even so, she noted a stiffening of the child’s person, but he did not object to her touch. “Where is the tack room?” she demanded.
Fear marked the boy’s features, but he pointed to the other end of the aisle. “On the right.”
“Stay put!” she ordered and raced away. Thankfully, the room, when she located it, was unlocked. She grabbed two ropes, the type used as lunge lines. Scampering back to where the groom still struggled with the rail and staying away from the horse’s fury, she screamed, “Use this! We must maneuver him over! I will manage the rear leg!”
“Good idea!” the man shouted over the noise of the animal and it striking the railing.
They worked together to loop the line around the front leg and then the back. “Come, Vincent. I’ll require your strength to manage.” Although tentative, the boy came to stand beside her. “Catch hold tightly and pull when I tell you!”
It was, without a doubt, not easy. The rope burned her hand, and she assumed also the boy’s, but the three of them managed to have the horse leaning heavily to one side, though not over by any means. It was enough for the groom to remove the flat rail. A second effort on their part, along with the assistance of a couple of stable boys who had followed the noise, had the horse right again.
Jocelyn was not assured whether the animal’s objection was to the loss of his stability or the loss of a target for its anger, but it calmed down some. Finally standing tall again, the animal snorted loudly and pawed the ground.
“Much obliged, miss. Me lord,” the groom huffed as he remained bent over with his hands on his knees, as if to catch his breath. “Not know whats I do, otherwise.” He straightened again. “I’d be lookin’ at his legs now, ma’am. With yourn permission.”
“I think this was enough of the stables for now, my lord,” she said while still capturing her own breath. “We may return later, once Mr. . . .?”
“Mr. Jessie, miss,” the man supplied.
Jocelyn nodded her gratitude. “Once Mr. Jessie tends the stallion and things calm down again, we may visit with my horse. For now, it might be best if we see to the scratches on our hands.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy looked with dismay at the palms of his hands. “I have never had a scab,” he admitted without his customary pauses between the words. He had either known horror, or his reaction to the horse had eliminated his fear of . . . In truth, Jocelyn was not confident she understood what the boy feared, but she now knew when he was “excited,” Lord Vincent no longer hesitated in expressing his thoughts.
“Water and soap and salve,” she told him as she gestured for him to lead the way back to the house. “Maybe a wrapped bandage. Would such be acceptable, my lord?”
“Will it hurt?” he asked.
“Not if we soak your hands in the warm water first,” she assured. “Would you wish a valet or a maid to tend you?”
“Could you do it?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” Jocelyn declared. She wanted to lace her arm about the boy’s shoulder, but, instead, she expressed her gratitude again and relived the moment of their glory with glowing remarks of Lord Vincent’s bravery and strength in such a perilous adventure.