Chapter Five
“I still believe it was exceptionally kind of him.”
Mrs Foster was presiding over breakfast the following morning with a muted excitement that did not escape anyone’s notice.
“Mama,” began Geraldine.
“No, no, you must admit it. Rescuing you like that, making sure you were not injured and then taking you to Kendall Manor, not to mention inviting you to take tea…all exceptionally kind gestures.” She beamed across the table.
“If that’s the sort of man he is, I pray he will decide to stay, and not sell his property, because he’s just what we need around her to wash away the taste of his father.
” She fell silent for a second or two. “Not that I wish to speak ill of the dead, of course.”
“Of course.” Geraldine wished her Papa had lingered over his newspaper, but he had claimed business matters and taken himself off in a hurry as soon as her mother had begun her soliloquy on Sir Blaine.
“I wonder…” Mrs Foster put one finger to her lips in thought. “I wonder if he’d be willing to attend the Christmas party?”
“I understood all the invitations had gone out?”
“Well, yes, but since everyone locally is included, it’s only natural that we should add our newest resident. In fact, he barely needs an invitation, because of course he’d be expected to attend.”
“His title, I assume?” Geraldine raised an eyebrow.
“Darling, it is the way of our world. He is the highest-ranking gentleman in the area, and therefore must be…”
“Worshipped? Venerated? Mama, that is so sycophantic of you.”
Mrs Foster shrugged. “As I said, our world has rules. Sir Blaine is in a position to do a great deal of good for everyone around us. Upper Bicklesworthy can prosper with his help, or it can founder as it has nearly done over the past years when old Sir Robert was still alive.”
Geraldine sighed. “I’m sorry. Yes, you’re quite right. I don’t like it, but I am forced to agree.” She shrugged. “So you’d better invite him to the party. And I shall hope he chooses not to attend.”
“Ungracious girl.” Her mother eyed her. “I think we should see if you need a new dress for the occasion. You’ve grown considerably over the past twelvemonth.”
Blushing, Geraldine hunched her shoulders. “My wardrobe is quite adequate for a local Christmas affair.”
“Hmm.”
“Mama…”
“Yes dear?”
“Please…and I repeat…please do not get any ideas into your head about making a match between me and Sir Blaine.”
“Oh, goodness,” tittered Mrs Foster. “What a thing to say.”
“I can see that look in your eye. And I’m your daughter. I have a pretty good idea of what’s been going through your mind since he brought me home yesterday.”
Her Mama sighed. “You’re right, and I do apologise. It was a natural reaction, I suppose. Anyway, it’s not something we need concern ourselves with, as Mr Rovington has asked for a few minutes with your Papa today.” She beamed across the teacups once more. “It’s quite possible…”
Horrified, Geraldine shot up from the table, almost toppling her chair. “No, Mama. No. Absolutely not.”
“But why? He’s such an amenable gentleman…”
“Not to me. The man’s a milksop. A dreadfully traditional male. He’ll expect me to be a typical wife who will think about nothing but my household, having children, and pleasing him.”
Mrs Foster sat back and stared. “Why yes, dear. That’s what marriage is all about. And it works very well. Just look at your Papa and me.”
Geraldine caught her breath. “But I’m not you, Mama.
I can’t do those things. I need someone who will let me be myself, who will love me for who I am, not what I can provide in the way of housewifely skills.
” She sighed. “And let’s be honest, I have none of those.
I’d probably end up poisoning him with my cooking. ”
“Don’t be silly. You’d have household staff.”
“I don’t want a household staff.”
“Of course you do.”
“No I…” Geraldine realised the futility of arguing the point and shook her head.
“Mama. I know you’ll be disappointed when I refuse Mr Rovington, but I think you are a wonderful and caring mother, and I understand you want the best for me.
All I ask is that you take some time to think about just what that phrase entails. ”
“A man who thinks of nothing but horses.”
“You’re not far off. I want a man who loves me and horses. A man I can love back as much as I love my horse.”
“A tall order, my dear girl.”
“Well, if he’s not out there…I still have Flora.”
Mrs Foster rolled her eyes. “Not quite the same thing, darling. Not quite the same thing at all.”
Since Sir Blaine had taken her home to Holly Grange in his carriage yesterday, over her strenuous objections, Geraldine was eager to get out to the stables and make sure he had indeed followed through with his promise of bringing Flora back this morning.
Tucked up warmly in her winter cloak and boots, a thick red muffler wrapped around her head and shoulders, she crunched through the light snow that had fallen overnight, leaving footprints behind to mark her passage.
Steam rose from a few of the stable windows as the grooms cleaned out the stalls; several horses were already outside in the weak sunshine, nosing the paddock for any tasty grass morsels they could find.
Jepson appeared at the door. “Mornin’, Miss Gerry. No, Flora ain’t here yet.”
“Damn.” Geraldine hissed the word. “Where the hell is that man?”
As if in answer to her question, the sound of hoofbeats over the gravel at the gate to the stables made them turn simultaneously.
And there she was, Flora, tossing her head and shaking her bridle, making it jangle. Geraldine couldn’t help a smile, since she was well aware that was Flora’s way of laughing with delight.
To her shock, however, her rider was also laughing.
Sir Blaine, sitting proudly on Flora’s bare back, waved at Geraldine. The horse at his side snorted in what must have been disgust.
“It’s Sir Blaine,” she breathed, stating the obvious. “Bareback, on my damned horse, while his trots alongside. How dare he?”
Jepson sighed and went back into the stables as she strode out and across the gravel to the three of them, ignoring Sir Blaine and Thunder, and going straight to Flora’s head.
“Hello my darling.” She rubbed the long nose affectionately. “I missed you. Did you pass a decent night in the Kendall Stables? Did they take good care of you?”
Flora whickered gently, butting her cheek into Geraldine. “I’m so glad to see you.” Reassured, she turned to the man observing her. “I must thank you for returning her, Sir Blaine.” She paused. “However, I will confess to some surprise at your lack of a saddle.”
“It would have meant I’d have to carry it back with me.” He stayed comfortably where he was. “You ride bareback.”
“I raised Flora. She was not well when she arrived from Europe, so I cared for her, and we’ve been close for many years. We understand each other.”
“Then I would guess she understands me too, since she seemed quite content for us to proceed as you see.”
Geraldine’s eyebrow rose. “I believe Thunder might disagree.” She moved to stand in front of the big black, his coat shining, his expression somewhat belligerent, even for a horse.
She caught Blaine’s automatic shift toward her but ignored it, simply talking softly and placing her hand on Thunder’s cheek. She knew this boy, knew his wants, his temper, and his disposition. “There’s a beautiful lad. Your master still likes you best. He was just doing a favour for a lady.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it,” added Blaine with a grin.
“I was talking about Flora, not me.” She shot him a disdainful glance.
“I give not one whit whether you ride bareback, blindfold, or with a saddle. But Flora is always pleased not to be burdened with such a thing. Therefore, you have given her an enjoyable morning.” She rubbed Thunder’s smooth cheek. “Not that this fellow approves.”
Blaine chuckled as he slid down to the ground and nearer to Geraldine. “I should’ve known you’d charm Thunder and turn him soft beneath your hands.”
“He likes carrots over apples.” She glanced at him. “Just a comment, in case you ever need to ingratiate yourself with him.”
“Well, now that you’ve bespelled my favourite horse, I should tell you that I was hoping you’d be very kind to me this morning.
And before you ask why, I’ll tell you.” He paused dramatically, and moved even nearer, dipping his head until his breath dusted her ear.
“I’m about to offer you the chance to live your dream of riding in the Mistletoe cup. ”
She swallowed and tried to regulate her breathing. It was hard, since he was now standing very close, close enough that she could smell the mixture of wool, leather, horse and man. A heady and appealing fragrance that seeped into her brain and stayed there, making her very aware of his masculinity.
“How…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “How could it be possible?”
“I have a plan.”
“What? What’s the plan?” She gazed up at him, desperately trying not to let him see her eagerness.
“We cannot discuss it here.” He glanced around. “And we will need the help of one of your grooms. Someone you trust with your life.”
“That’s easy. Jepson and I are firm friends.”
“Excellent.”
“So?”
He looked down at her, his eyes filled with something, some emotion she couldn’t quite place. “Would you be amenable to a ride tomorrow afternoon? Perhaps at around two? I would like to see you on Flora, with a saddle, before I complete my plans.”
“I would need a groom…” she paused, and then shot him a shrewd look. “Jepson would be the ideal candidate.”
“Smart girl.” He grinned.
She nodded. “Very well, Sir Blaine. I could wish it were sooner, of course, but I believe such a thing is quite possible. My parents could not possibly object.” Her face reflected her inner emotions.
“Why do you say that? With such a particular look?”
She turned to lean against Flora, loving the warmth radiating from the grey coat. “Sad to say, my mother is like every other mother in many regards, most of which surround my eventual disposition in life.”
He frowned. “Clarify that statement, please.”
“She wants to marry me off.”
“Oooh.” Sir Blaine sighed. “Yes. I’m familiar with that species of Mama. Women who are the salt of the earth most of the time and then turn into fire-breathing dragons when it comes to searching out the gentlemen they consider best for their daughters.”
“Precisely.” Geraldine couldn’t help a grin. “And a certain Mr Rovington has made his presence known, to Mama’s great delight.”
“God. Not that milksop.”
“You know him?”
“I have met him a couple of times since I arrived. A pleasant chap, but for you? No.”
“My sentiments exactly. And I’ve already told her so. However, she has her mind set on making a good match for me, and now that you’ve arrived…well, all I can say is that you have been warned.”
“And I appreciate it,” he bowed politely. “If you’ll take Flora, and get her tended to, I’ll leave before your Mama decides I’ve compromised you in the middle of a paddock and declares she’ll have the banns read next Tuesday or something.”
Geraldine threw back her head and laughed, even as she took the reins from his hand. “Oh, it’s not that bad. But you will be receiving an invitation to our Christmas Eve celebration. Most of Upper Bicklesworthy attends, so I hope you can arrange your schedule and join us.”
“It is held here, at Holly Grange?”
She nodded. “We do have a small ballroom, sufficient to hold several dozen couples dancing. Everybody else mingles throughout the house. It’s a great deal more informal than what you’re likely used to, but we’ve always enjoyed having the chance to wish good cheer to our neighbours.”
“Something I would very much enjoy as well. I’ll look for the invitation.” He threw himself up onto Thunder’s back. “Until then, Miss Foster, stay away from streams, put a saddle on your Flora if you’re riding, and behave like a lady.”
“Certainly not.” Laughing at his nonsense, she waved as he touched his hat and turned the big black toward Kendall Manor.
Flora rested her head on Geraldine’s shoulder and the two of them watched man and horse canter and then gallop out of sight across the paddock and into the fields beyond.
As he disappeared, two simultaneous sighs sent clouds of breath into the cold winter air.