Chapter Eleven
Miss Rafferty Takes a Ride in Rotten Row
Fiona partook of hot chocolate in her room the next morning, bringing her cup to the chintz armchair by the window to finish Henry V. The stirring play occupied her attention completely until Betty knocked on the door to begin the dressing process.
At eleven o’clock, she descended the stairs, clad in her riding habit. It had been glorious to play her fill last night, and she had practiced until well after midnight. Her head was still full of lieder and impromptus, but her technique and agility showed steady improvement.
She passed Hansen, at attention with his usual dour expression, on her way to the music room and said a cheery good morning.
“Ah, Fiona,” Lady Amelia greeted her in the entrance hall, “we are off, my dear. Are you sure there is nothing we might fetch to supplement your wardrobe? The haberdashery is next to Sutton’s and carries everything one might need.”
“I can’t seem to find my long gloves. Would you mind bringing home a new pair for me?”
“Of course not. Hansen, we are ready for the carriage. My, that’s a lovely riding habit, my dear. Very fetching. Not everyone can carry off black, but it suits your complexion admirably.”
The fitted bodice and full skirt of the black merino habit might have been severe, if not for the ivory lace jabot and the rakishly tilted hat with peacock feathers and black netting perched on her dark hair. The outfit was several seasons old, but still fashionable enough for Mayfair.
“We won’t leave for Almack’s until later tonight,” Lady Amelia said, “so you need not rush home from your ride today. Octavia, do not follow Mrs. Talbot to the kitchen. I have told you, no more cookies. By the way, girls, we’ve had many calling cards left with Hansen the past few days.
Shall we entertain visitors later this afternoon? ”
She had looked forward to practicing on the piano during that time, but supposed callers were necessary if she and Valentina wanted any success with suitors.
“I think not, Mama,” Valentina said, much to Fiona’s relief. “After a busy morning, we will want to rest, I’m sure, before dressing for Almack’s. Besides, after tonight, I expect there will be no shortage of visitors.”
There was still time to spare before Richard arrived, and Fiona escaped to the music room.
She carefully removed her hat and set it aside, then rifled through the box of music on the credenza.
She pulled out Mozart’s Sonata No. 11 in A major.
It was a virtuoso piece, full of difficult technique and changing tempo, which she was determined to perfect.
When the earl arrived, Fiona was so absorbed in the music she didn’t hear anything until he entered the room and took a comfortable chair next to the piano.
“Pray continue…I am early,” he said.
She launched into the second movement, a menuetto, glancing over with a smile. “I don’t have nerves, you know…I’ve played under the scrutiny of some very harsh critics.”
He leaned back, closing his eyes. “I enjoy your playing without making judgments, Fiona. Is it Haydn or Mozart?”
“Mozart.” Her face warmed at his use of her given name.
“Ah. One day, I will ask you to play your favorite piece for me. I believe this sonata is a puzzle you wish to solve. The first Beethoven was to impress us, the Schubert yesterday to entertain. I wonder what music is closest to your heart?”
She transitioned smoothly to the third movement. “One day, perhaps, I will show you.”
While he listened, she finished the piece without mistakes. It was strange to think of Richard bent over the piano as a youth. What had he been like in those days? Still tall but never awkward and just as handsome, she guessed.
The last notes reverberated in the air, and she closed the fallboard. “It must be time for our ride.”
As he rose to his feet, she couldn’t help but admire the superb cut of his midnight-blue coat and buckskin breeches.
He wore top boots and carried an ivory-handled whip in his gloved hand.
Richard met her perusal steadily, his blue-gray eyes lit with amusement under an artfully disordered crop of mahogany hair.
It was disconcerting that he often regarded her in that way.
Fiona stood, shaking out her skirts, and reached for the hat perched on top of the piano.
“Allow me.” Lord Richard took it from her hand and replaced the hat on top of her dark curls, tilting it slightly to the right. Her heart beat faster at his proximity, and she didn’t like the sensation at all.
He stepped back and gave a satisfied nod. “Excellent. My compliments to your tailor.”
“I am not too outdated?” She couldn’t resist the barb.
“Not at all.” He smiled and offered his arm.
In front of the stables, a short wiry man she remembered from her arrival at Merrick House waited with two gleaming horses.
“This is Jerome, Miss Rafferty, my tiger and my stable manager. He is the consummate horseman.”
“Please ta meet you, miss.” He doffed his cap.
Lord Richard took the tall gray gelding, and Jerome led the other, a dainty dark bay mare, to the stone mounting block. He helped her onto the sidesaddle, and she found her seat, hooking a knee over the pommel as the tiger adjusted her stirrup.
“Her name’s Della, miss,” he said.
“What can you tell me of her?” she asked, patting the sleek neck.
“She’s a goer, miss, a fine lady’s horse, if’n I ever seen one.”
“Della’s gaits are smooth, and her disposition even.” Richard mounted with no aid, settling lightly in the saddle. “I think you will find her mouth soft enough, and she prefers a light touch.”
She followed him as he turned his gelding toward the street.
It was a little early to show oneself in the park, but there were still plenty of riders and groups of people strolling along the wide gravel paths.
Carriages were less frequent, except for a few phaetons, mostly handled by brash young Corinthians.
As the earl picked up a trot, she noted he had a fine seat, which annoyed her immensely. Was there no accomplishment he lacked? Perhaps a life of leisure and great wealth allowed one to become adept at many things.
Their horses soon stepped into an easy canter. Della had a wonderful temperament, and Fiona rode confidently but it was not her favorite pastime.
As they turned down Serpentine Road, Sir William Denton approached at a canter from the west and slowed his chestnut, hailing them. “Lord Seldon, Miss Rafferty, what luck indeed. May I walk with you?” Sir William appeared to advantage on horseback and cut quite a dashing figure.
The earl greeted him cordially, and they fell into an easy conversation regarding mutual memberships at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. As she observed them both, Fiona concluded that two of the most elegant men in London escorted her.
After engaging her in an amusing dialogue about tonight’s ball, Sir William parted from them at Rotten Row, promising to call later the next afternoon.
When they were once more abreast, Richard settled the gray, who had sidestepped nervously at a particularly loud cart. “You ride a good deal better than tolerably, Fiona. Why don’t you enjoy it more?”
The promenade along Rotten Row was thick with riders, but Della handled the bustle with equanimity.
She reached to smooth the mare’s black mane, grateful for her calm demeanor.
“I do on a horse like this. At thirteen, I suffered a bad fall when my horse shied at a wild pig in the jungle, and it colored my joy of the sport for the worse, I fear.”
“Were you injured?”
“I broke my arm and my collarbone, but recovered well enough.”
“And what do you think of William Denton?”
She raised her brows at the abrupt change of subject. “I find him quite agreeable and sensible. But not the romantic figure Valentina would choose.”
They crossed the street after waiting for a break in the carriages and carts that made for heavy traffic along High Street.
“Goodness! I just had a revelation, Lord Richard!” she exclaimed. “I’ll set my sights on Sir William. We would suit admirably.”
His mount jerked its head as if the reins had tightened abruptly. “That won’t do, Fiona. Think how it would appear if someone who showed an interest in my sister suddenly changed direction and pursued my ward.”
“Valentina has refused to entertain Sir William, has she not?”
“The appearance,” he said through clenched teeth, “would be that he is determined to marry into my family for financial gain.”
“Why, Lord Richard, are you saying that I have nothing to recommend me but your fortune?”
“That is not what I meant.”
“No, but you wish us all to act as your puppets, my lord, and I will not dance to your strings. I’m quite old enough to choose my own suitors—Sir William is intelligent, charming, and very handsome. It’s my guess he wouldn’t run roughshod over a wife, which I couldn’t tolerate.”
“Perhaps you have forgotten that you cannot marry without my permission. You might have ruled the roost in the past, but that won’t do here. I will be master of my household, Fiona, make no mistake.”
She started to make a scornful retort but held her tongue as two riders trotted up to them.
It was the elegant figure and pale-blonde hair of Mrs. Davenport, accompanied by a tall gentleman of a rather swarthy complexion and cold face.
Mrs. Davenport pulled up to them. Her cobalt riding dress set off her blue eyes and voluptuous figure to advantage.
Lord Richard nodded in greeting, still stiff with anger. “Mrs. Davenport. Lord Fellingham. Good day.”
Mrs. Davenport surveyed them with a mocking expression. It must be obvious they had been quarreling. Of all people to come upon them at this moment, must it be the earl’s former attachment?
“So, this is your new ward of whom I have heard so much.” The gentleman tipped his hat. Fiona took an instant dislike to him; she had the impression that he sneered at the world.
“Miss Rafferty, you’ve met Mrs. Davenport, but not the Marquis of Fellingham.” It should have been clear to even the most obtuse of acquaintances that the earl did not desire company. Mrs. Davenport chose to disregard this and fell in alongside him, followed closely by the marquis.
“Are you returning home, Lord Seldon?” she asked. “Might we accompany you as far as Grosvenor Gate? This time of day lacks a certain excitement, I fear.” Fiona knew he could not refuse with any degree of politeness.
“Of course,” he replied tersely.
“I am quite sure Lord Seldon picked this time so there would be fewer people about should my riding prove embarrassing,” Fiona quipped.
Mrs. Davenport laughed gaily. “You are correct, I think. A Corinthian such as the earl would never be seen with a poor equestrienne. But you need not worry on that account, Miss Rafferty.”
“Indeed, you sit a horse most beautifully.” The marquis smiled.
The compliment reeked of familiarity. “Are you attending Almack’s tonight, Mrs. Davenport?” she asked to cover the awkward silence.
“Why, certainly. And the marquis will be my escort, will you not, my lord?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I assume the ball will announce your entry into our London society, Miss Rafferty?”
“You would be correct,” Lord Richard answered. “Fiona is a member of the Merrick family and will be introduced as such.”
“You must be very nervous, Miss Rafferty,” Mrs. Davenport said with pity. “So much is at stake in your first appearance. The approval of the ton is a fickle thing. I certainly don’t miss those days.”
“I am accustomed to harsh critics.” She couldn’t understand the undercurrent of spite she sensed from the older woman.
“Indeed. How so?”
Lord Richard flashed her a dampening look, but she ignored him. “I studied piano at the Dublin Conservatory of Music under the most demanding masters one could face.”
The marquis raised an eyebrow. “A conservatory? For music? How delightful.”
“And very brave of you indeed, Miss Rafferty,” Mrs. Davenport sighed. “We all know the arena of serious music belongs to our gentlemen.”
Lord Richard’s horse plunged, reacting to an abrupt change of hand. He brought the gelding back and inclined his head to their companions. “As pleasant as this encounter has been, we have arrived at Park Lane and must beg leave of you both. Come, Miss Rafferty, or we will be late for tea.”
He trotted off briskly, leaving her no choice but to follow. She said her goodbyes hastily and caught up with him.
“That was very high-handed, Lord Richard. Perhaps I did not wish to leave so soon.”
“To remain and be toyed with like a poor mouse between two hungry cats? I think not.”
Her cheeks grew hot. “I am very capable of standing on my own, thank you. And your friends are very unpleasant, to say the least.”
“Lord Fellingham is not a friend—merely an acquaintance.”
“I am told the same cannot be said for Mrs. Davenport,” she snapped, instantly regretting her words.
“You would do well not to listen to gossip,” he answered in a freezing tone.
Red with embarrassment, she endured his silence the rest of the way home.
In the courtyard at Merrick House, Jerome helped her dismount. “How did you like Della, miss? She’s a fine one, ain’t she?”
“Yes, Della is a wonderful mare, and she took good care of me, Jerome. Thank you.”
The earl gave his reins to the groom and pulled off his gloves. “That will be all, Jerome. We will need the carriage at nine thirty tonight.”
“Yes, Yer Lordship.” The compact tiger led the horses away, the groom on his heels. Lord Richard entered the house without a backward look, leaving her to trail behind.