Chapter Thirteen #2
They walked along the beach, stopping to pick up a shell every now and then.
She loved inhaling the sea air, catching the taste of salt upon her lips.
She and Lord Cramer talked a bit about Dante’s work as they went, and she enjoyed his interpretation of parts of the poet’s The Divine Comedy.
They even argued playfully about how Dante had portrayed fortune-tellers, and she found she liked the earl very much.
When it came time to turn around and head back to Pebblestone, she encouraged him to walk with Mr. Tompkins.
“I do not wish to abandon you, Miss Stanhope.”
“You will not be doing so. I shall walk with Lady Jewell,” she proclaimed, slipping her arm through the other woman’s.
She was glad she did so. Lady Jewell kept Rowena entertained with stories of growing up in India the entire way back. Lady Jewell had a way with words, painting a picture with them, showing Rowena a world she had never been exposed to before.
When they reached the main house, she said, “I do not know when I have ever laughed so much, my lady. You not only have amusing tales, but you are a master storyteller. You know how to craft a story and then deliver it with maximum impact.”
“I have thought of writing them down,” Lady Jewell said. “Before I get too busy and forget them. India is still fresh in my mind, in vivid color.”
“Do so,” she encouraged. “It would be something you could pass down in your family. Your children—and even grandchildren—could read about the adventures you had in the magical place called India.”
“I will do so,” Lady Jewell said. “Thank you for your encouragement, Miss Stanhope.”
At the butler’s direction, they returned to the breakfast room. Cakes and scones had been laid out, and footmen poured them cups of tea.
Lady Pebble greeted them. “I thought you might need something to fortify yourselves before the afternoon. Lord Pebble is down at the stables now, seeing that your horses are saddled, gentlemen.”
Once they had drunk their tea, the gentlemen left, eager to get to the hunt.
Lady Pebble said the ladies could write their letters in her sitting room or even the library.
Rowena slipped back to the bedchamber and changed into her riding habit and went to the stables.
The men were just riding off, and she waved at them as they passed her.
“Would you saddle Aurora for me?” she asked the head groom.
“Right away, my lady.”
Soon, she had mounted Aurora and set out, already having a destination in mind. It surprised her when another rider joined her, and she saw it was Lord Marley. Pulling on the reins, she brought Aurora to a halt.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I could ask the same of you, my lady,” he replied, giving her a lazy smile that made her toes curl.
“You should be hunting with the others.”
He shrugged. “I have never been one who was enchanted by running down a helpless fox.”
“You seemed eager enough to join the others.”
“I was eager to ride. I had already decided to break away from the hunt.” He paused. “Much as you have done from the letter-writing ladies. Where might you be riding this afternoon?”
She decided it might be wise to have his company. She still was new to these parts, and he was pleasant to be around.
“There is a local landmark new to the area which I wish to see. Just north of Weymouth.”
“Then I will accompany you,” he determined, not giving her any choice.
She had already asked directions from Betsy, who had been the one to tell her about it.
“Follow me.”
He did, not asking where they were going or what exactly they would see. She appreciated that.
After three quarters of an hour, Rowena slowed her horse and said, “There. In the distance. Carved upon that hill. Do you see it?”
He lifted a hand, shading his eyes. “I do. It is a rider on a horse. But who is it?”
“It is called the White Horse of Osmington. A local, James Hamilton, cut it into the chalk hillside only a few months ago. It is a tribute to the king.”
“King George?” he asked.
“Yes. The Duke of Gloucester built a country house near here. He calls it Gloucester Lodge. The area caught King George’s attention, and he has summered here for almost fifteen years now. It is said he has even used one of the bathing machines and ventured out into the sea.”
Marley chuckled. “A brave man, our king.”
She spurred on Aurora, and they began drawing nearer toward the white chalk tribute cut into the high hill.
When they were closer, she brought her mount to a halt again in order to study the picture of a man riding a horse, thinking it looked quite like the king.
She had seen him once at a ball he and the queen had attended.
“The locals are quite proud of the artwork. It is two hundred and eighty feet long. Three hundred and twenty-three feet high.”
“Is that limestone?” he asked.
“You have a good eye, my lord.”
“Ah, a compliment from Miss Stanhope. I can die happily now,” he teased. He studied the hill. “This is unique since it is an example of both leucippotomy and gigantotomy.”
Surprise filled her. She knew leucippotomy was the art of carving horses, while gigantotomy was the art of carving humans.
Both were a part of the ancient craft of creating figures on the side of a hill.
These terms were not ones laymen tossed about.
It took a highly educated person to know what they were, much less how to use them.
“You are more learned that you let on,” she observed.
“I have never tried to hide my academic leanings. History has always been my favorite subject, especially ancient history. I suppose part of it is a result of the names in my family.”
“Do explain yourself,” she encouraged. “History is also a passion of mine.”
“My given name is Constantine, but I go by Con. My mother, her brother, and their cousin were fascinated by ancient history, especially that of Rome and Byzantium. They made a pact when they were children, deciding to name any offspring they had with the names of emperors and empresses. My sisters are Lucilla, who is Lucy, and Livia Drusilla, who is affectionately known as Dru. There are ten cousins in all.”
“And you all have these historical names?”
“We do. My Worthington cousins are Valentinian, Ariadne, Cornelia, and Thermantia. Only Ariadne uses her Christan name. The others are Val, Lia, and Tia.”
“How fascinating,” she said. “That would leave three more cousins, though, if I am not mistaken.”
“The Fulton branch. My cousin Lucius died as a boy in a carriage accident, along with my uncle. My cousin Hadrian became the Earl of Traywick at only ten years of age. He asked to be known as Tray from that point on. His sisters retain their empress’ names.
They are Verina and Justina. Neither has made her come-out yet, and Tray only recently graduated from university.
Soon, the Fulton cousins will take their places in Polite Society. ”
“You have a fascinating family history, Lord Marley.”
“Most of us are interested in history because of our names. Me, in particular. Do you lean toward history, my lady?”
“I do enjoy it, especially ancient history. I find modern history dull. Too many wars for my taste, especially this current one with Bonaparte. The Little Corporal has made a mess of Europe, hasn’t he?”
“Truer words were never spoken.” He gazed out again at the monument and its rider. “I know it is best seen from a distance, but let us ride a bit closer. I would not mind seeing the hill itself.”
They rode as close as they could come, dismounting and leading their horses up the hill, touching the carving with their hands.
“Fascinating,” the earl proclaimed. “I wonder what the king will think of it.”
Rowena did not know what King George III would make of this tribute to him.
What she did know was her opinion of Lord Marley was gradually changing again.
For the better.