Chapter 18 #2
He must have reacted to that, for Sir Digby laughed and topped up Brand’s glass again.
“A figure of speech, I assure you, my lord. She’s fit as a fiddle, the Lord be thanked!
” Then he sighed and pushed away his own refilled glass.
“I can only pray He’ll be as kind to me.
Rosie would scold me fiercely to see me drinking so much. ”
“Takes care of you well, does she?”
“Aye, bless her heart.” He seemed to stare into the distance, then pulled out a snowy handkerchief, and dabbed at his eyes. “Such a good wife. I pray God send you one as fine, sir.”
“I pray so, too,” said Brand, touched by this devoted couple.
Sir Digby fiercely blew his nose. “Stop by anytime, my lord. Anytime. We live quietly, but you’ll always find a welcome at Wenscote, and my Rosie will be happy as a robin to meet a fellow enthusiast.”
Brand rather wished he could take up the invitation first thing tomorrow. At least it would get him away from all these people. Like a damn melancholy poet, he felt a strong inclination to isolation, perhaps even to attempting a maudlin verse or two.
The gathering was serving Bey’s purpose, however.
In his usual way, he was sifting through gossip and chatter for grains of the New Commonwealth, for any hint that the gentry could be secretly involved.
He had a remarkable memory, and hardly ever forgot a detail, which had led to his reputation as devilishly omniscient.
It was almost true, as his family had frequently found out.
As the men finally rose to walk—or stagger—to the drawing room to join the fairer sex, Bey found chance for a quiet word with his brother. “Discovering anything useful about our saintly friends?”
“Merely stories that reinforce what we know. As preachers, they’re rivaling Wesley in popularity. He’s in the area, too, you know.”
“Is he connected?”
“Not at all, though I suspect he’ll rock English society in his own way.
It could do with a good rocking. Wesley’s movement is a different matter entirely from the New Commonwealth.
There’s no such fanatical control of the membership, nor a greed for land.
The Cotterites stand to inherit an estate in this area. ”
“Inherit? In a will?”
“Not with the owner’s consent. The heir is a member of the Cotterites, so when the present owner dies, they have it.”
“The will can’t be changed?”
“There’s a long-standing settlement on the estate. A place called Wenscote.”
“Wenscote?” Brand glanced to where Sir Digby was making his ponderous way up the stairs, clearly affected by drink and perhaps wheezing a bit.
“Then the Commonwealth may not have long to wait. That’s the present owner.
A genial gentleman, but asking for a seizure.
I wouldn’t have thought him the type to raise a Cotterite son. ”
“Nephew.” Rothgar studied the older man. “No wonder they all seemed worried.”
“Shame his wife’s past childbearing.”
“Is she? One man suggested there might still be hope.”
“‘Hope springs eternal …’? I gathered that she was close to his age, but perhaps the womanly complaint that keeps her home is of the more obvious variety.”
“Then she is, alas, not with child. And even if it is still barely possible, after many childless years, it is not to be looked for. Feeling around here runs solidly against the New Commonwealth.” As they began to climb the stairs, he added, “Except, perhaps, for our hostess.”
“The countess! A less likely candidate …”
“In a brief exchange, she rather pointedly supported an improvement in morals, sobriety, and industry.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Not, I think, if applied to ourselves. And it was clearly a rapier point directed at me.”
Brand laughed, but he wondered if he should warn the countess about crossing swords with his brother. Blades or wits, he was rarely matched. He shrugged. Bey wouldn’t do the woman serious damage, and if she was up to mischief, she doubtless deserved a lesson.
The next day, Brand found that the countess had arranged a wide choice of pleasurable activities. That was to be expected, but he was disconcerted to be steered firmly by her toward the River Arra where guests were trying for trout.
“You believe angling is my favorite occupation, Lady Arradale?”
She looked up from under a charming flat hat crowned with artificial marigolds. “Is it not? All gentlemen …”
“I could say that all ladies enjoy stitchery.”
Her look was sharp, and indeed, he wasn’t sure why he was debating with her. “I can sew,” she said. “I have been trained in all the feminine arts.”
“And I can fish. However, at the moment, I do not care to. If it would not discompose you too much, I would prefer to stroll about your delightful park.”
Now, why did she frown? However, she could hardly object. The fleeting frown was replaced by a charming smile. “I think you will enjoy it. There are some pleasing walks over near the river,” she said, pointing to the left.
Thanking her, he took her direction, but he was intrigued.
What, pray, was the countess up to? Some plan to do with his brother?
Once out of sight, he altered course and worked his way back in the opposite direction from the one pointed out to him.
He didn’t for one moment think Bey would need help, but if the pretty countess was going to play seductive games with his brother, he wouldn’t at all mind coming across them.
However, a short time later, as he stood at the top of a small rise admiring the vista of the house below, he saw the countess ride out accompanied by two grooms. Not intent on seduction, then.
A wonderful piece of horseflesh, he noted, and a magnificent rider.
And, by gad, she rode astride. Watching the flash of chestnut horse and crimson habit gallop out of sight, Brand thought for a fleeting moment that it was a shame that neither his brother nor the countess were at all interested in each other.
Rosamunde was in the stud stables when Diana came up behind her, saying, “Rosa!”
Despite an urgency in her cousin’s tone, Rosamunde held up her hand.
“Hush.” She didn’t take her eyes off the scene in front of her.
She was observing the enclosed covering yard from a small unglazed window, watching as her newest prized possession, a Flemish stallion, called Dirk, approached a mare.
“Odd’s life!” breathed Diana close behind her. “No wonder she wants to get away. He’ll kill her.”
Rosamunde realized Diana had probably never seen this event before. The fact that the stallion was large, and he and the mare were each controlled by two men probably would give it a strange effect.
“Don’t be silly. Sinda’s been flirting with him for hours like the worst whore in York.”
“I’ve never seen a whore in operation, and neither have you. But I see what you mean. She’s virtually shoving her rump at that stallion. Oh!”
That, Rosamunde knew, was because Sinda had just let loose a stream of urine. Not appealing to humans, but apparently as good as a “Come on, sailor!” to a stallion. Dirk snorted, and moved forward to accept the invitation.
Voice hushed, Diana said, “The way she’s holding her tail out of the way is positively wanton. I wonder,” she added thoughtfully, “what the equivalent is with humans.”
“Diana!” Rosamunde didn’t take her eyes off the horses, but she was blushing, and not over horses. “I thought you had all those books.”
“They’re dull reading without … Well, without.” Diana was leaning against Rosamunde’s back to see through the small window, her chin resting on Rosamunde’s shoulder. “That stallion is quite well mannered, isn’t he?”
“Doubtless as well. An unwilling mare can geld a stallion with an angry kick.”
“If only men were as well trained, or women as well equipped. By gemini!”
Dirk mounted, nipping at Sinda’s neck. The mare squealed, but settled to the business as enthusiastically as he did.
Rosamunde heard a sort of choked gurgle from her cousin and grinned.
She’d felt exactly the same disbelieving embarrassment the first time she’d seen a stallion’s tail pumping merrily in tempo with other parts of him.
The tail stopped, and Dirk’s handlers drew him back, off the mare. Sinda was led away while the stallion stood like a statue, as if expecting everyone to applaud his mighty achievement.
“Males,” muttered Diana, still sounding slightly strangled.
Rosamunde turned, and found that her cousin was bright pink.
She feared she was, too, for other reasons.
That was the first covering since her night with Brand, and it had stirred heated memories, perhaps enhanced by Diana’s body pressed to her back.
She could almost hear him whispering, “More? Please.” Hot and throbbing, she wanted to speak the words. To him.
Diana took her arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course! That went well, didn’t it?” she asked breezily. “That’s a new stallion, so I wanted to be sure he was well behaved. They are so big that I worry, though Hextall points out that any horse is big and dangerous, so it doesn’t matter that much when they’re extra big.”
She was chattering nonsense, and waited for searching questions.
Diana, however, said, “I have something important to talk to you about, Rosa.”
That chilled her heated thoughts. “Trouble?”
“Lord Brand is at Arradale.”
It hit like a blow. “I prayed….”
“Prayers don’t always work.” Diana tugged Rosa out into the open near the paddock. “The real problem is that Sir Digby has invited him here to see the stud.”
Rosa slumped back against the wooden rails. “That’s sunk me, then.”
“Will he recognize you?”
“Of course he will! I might fool him in passing, or even for a brief meeting, but not over any length of time. Oh, why couldn’t he go back south, where he belongs?”