The Wrong Miss Richmond Read online

  In the mirror on the dressing table she could see her reflection. Her hair was tangled, the lilac satin ribbons still clinging to their loosened pins, and as she untied her cloak, she saw how creased her lovely gown was. She was a very sorry sight, a different creature entirely from the neat, composed, contentedly undisturbed person she’d been on leaving Stroud what now seemed a lifetime ago.

  With a heavy heart she went to the wardrobe, taking off her cloak and replacing it on its hanger. She managed to unhook the gown, stepping out of it and draping it over the back of a chair, for it would need a great deal of attention to remove the creases. The ribbons looked sad as she placed them on the dressing table, and the pins chinked into their dish. Her hair crackled when the brush was drawn through it, and her nightgown felt cold as she slipped it on. She turned the coverlet back on the bed and crept between the sheets, curling up tightly into a ball.

  She hadn’t removed the pearl necklace. Her fingers crept to touch it, and she remembered the moment he’d placed it around her neck. It had been a bewitching moment, breathless and more seductive than anything she’d ever known before. Her defenses had been stormed by stealth, and her resistance brushed aside with a caress, leaving her totally vulnerable to the heartbreak and pain she’d striven so to avoid.

  Tears pricked her tired eyes again. “Oh, Robert,” she whispered in the darkness, “I love you so very much.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The ravages of the night were only too visible on Christina’s face when she woke up in the morning. Her eyes were red and tired, and her face was pale and drawn as Jenny came in with the customary tray of tea.

  The maid halted in dismay. “Oh, Miss Christina ...”

  “Do I look that bad?” Christina replied resignedly, knowing full well that she did.

  “I’m afraid you do, miss.” Jenny put the tray down on the table next to the bed. “My mother always used to say that cold stewed apple was good on sore eyes. There’s some in the kitchen. Shall I bring it?”

  “It sounds revolting, but I’ll try anything.” Christina sat up wearily, pushing a stray lock of hair back from her face.

  “I’ll go for it straightaway, miss.” The maid hurried out again.

  The cold apple did help; it soothed the salt soreness and restored a little of the lost brightness to Christina’s lackluster eyes. With the further judicious assistance of a little rouge, the careful pinning and curling of her hair, and the choice of a carefree pink muslin gown sprinkled with white spots, she knew the best that was possible had been achieved. All she had to do now was screw herself up to the necessary pitch to face everyone at the breakfast table. All she had to do? It was the worst part of all.

  Outside, it was another beautiful autumn day. The Darch valley was ablaze with color, and the heights of Exmoor stood out clearly against the brilliant blue sky. It was all so lovely and free; so at odds with the way she felt. With a sigh she picked up her shawl, draping it slowly over her arms; then she took a deep breath before leaving the room.

  Almost immediately she encountered Jane, and by the brightness of the smile she received, she knew that Robert hadn’t mentioned anything about the previous night. Jane looked radiant, and needed no artifice to assist her in her loveliness. She wore a green-and-white-striped lawn gown, long-sleeved and frilled, and several bouncy ringlets fell from the knot at the back of her head. Her shawl, as always, was trailing carelessly along the floor behind her, and there was gaiety in her voice as she greeted Christina.

  “Good morning—isn’t it a lovely morning?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Jane searched her face. “I won’t ask if you slept well.”

  “And here was I, thinking I’d made a fair fist of looking good.”

  “I’m your sister, I know you too well.”

  You don’t know me at all, thought Christina, looking quickly away.

  Jane touched her arm. “Do you still have a headache? I was quite concerned last night when you didn’t rejoin us, but Jenny said you were asleep and ...”

  “I ended up awake most of the night. There was an owl, it kept hooting on the eaves right outside my window.” It was all Christina could think of on the spur of the moment to explain her ragged appearance.

  “With all the owls we have at home, I would have thought you’d be used to it,” Jane said in some surprise.

  “Those are well-bred Gloucestershire owls; these are rather less well-bred Somerset owls.”

  “Please, it’s my future lord and master’s county you speak of so disparagingly,” replied Jane with mock haughtiness, taking her arm as they went down the staircase.

  Christina glanced at her. “Did you sleep well?” she asked after a moment.

  “Excellently. I don’t think I moved in my bed from the moment I closed my eyes.”

  “Which was when, exactly?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Jane asked with a laugh.

  “I saw you after your assignation with Robert.”

  “My what?” Jane came to an abrupt halt, staring at her.

  “Your assignation with Robert. I was in the garden last night, in the little summerhouse, and I saw you sneaking back to the house.”

  Jane seemed almost uneasy. “But why didn’t you speak to me?”

  “I don’t really know. You came along the path, paused for a moment with your hood back, and then hurried on up to the next terrace. It was over in a moment, and when I saw Robert as well ...”

  “You did? Where?”

  Christina was a little surprised at the question. “Why, following you, of course. He came in through the same wicket gate. You had been meeting, hadn’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.” Jane gave a light, rather embarrassed laugh. “I ... I thought we’d been completely discreet.”

  “I’m sure you were. I’m hardly likely to say anything.” Christina looked curiously at her. “Why are you looking so worried? It’s surely the most natural thing in the world for you and Robert to wish to be alone.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Am I to understand from this that you and Robert now have a love match?”

  Jane hesitated, and then looked shyly at her. “Yes, Christina, I love him so much I’m all at sixes and sevens.”

  Christina’s heart tightened with conflicting emotions: joy for her sister, anguish for herself. She managed a smile. “I’m very, very happy for you.”

  “Christina, I ...”

  No more was said, for at that moment Lady Chevenley appeared at the top of the staircase behind them, looking splendid in crisp lemon cotton. “Good morning, my dears, I trust you both slept well?”

  “I did,” replied Jane, “but I’m afraid Christina was less fortunate.”

  Lady Chevenley swept down toward them, eyeing Christina. “You do look a little wan, but I’m sure our good Exmoor air will soon put you right.”

  “I hope so.”

  Jane smiled. “Good Exmoor owls have a great deal to answer for, Lady Chevenley.”

  “Owls? Whatever do you mean?”

  “There was one outside Christina’s window all night, and it kept her awake.”

  “Really? Actually on the house? How strange, we don’t usually have them honoring us with their presence. Anyway,” she went on more briskly, “let’s to breakfast. I intend to twit your dear father, it’s a pastime I always used to enjoy, and one which has apparently not lost its appeal.”

  As she went on down the staircase, Jane turned urgently to Christina. “You won’t say anything about seeing me in the garden last night, will you? I ... I don’t want Lady Chevenley or Father thinking I’ve misbehaved in any way.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Thank you.” Jane linked her arm again, and as they followed Lady Chevenley down to the hall, she changed the subject. “I still don’t believe that Robert’s aunt was Father’s great love. It came as quite a shock when I joined you all for tea yesterday and gradually began to put two and two together.
”

  “You were at a disadvantage. Robert and I had, rather reprehensibly, earwigged at the door first.”

  They entered the sunny breakfast room, which had windows facing the moors behind the house. Robert and Mr. Richmond had already risen from the table to greet Lady Chevenley.

  Mr. Richmond wore a plum silk dressing gown over his shirt and breeches, and in place of his usual wig he had on a tasseled black cap.

  Robert was fully dressed, in a sky-blue coat over a charcoal waistcoat, and light-gray cord breeches. His hair was a little tousled, and there was something about him that told Christina he’d slept very little after his secret assignation with Jane. Or was it because of what had happened before that, in the great parlor?

  Mr. Richmond hastened to draw out a chair for Lady Chevenley, and she smiled at him. “Why, thank you, Hal. I trust this means you’re in an agreeable mood this morning?”

  “I’m always agreeable,” he replied.

  Robert had come to meet Jane, taking her hand and raising the palm to his lips. “Good morning, Jane, I vow you’re looking lovelier than ever today.”

  Jane hesitated, a strange look in her eyes, but as he smiled at her, she seemed to relax, smiling in return. “Good morning, Robert,” she said softly.

  The moment was almost upon Christina; in a few seconds Robert would speak to her. How would he address her? Would his embarrassment show?

  He drew out a chair for Jane, saw her settled, and then turned to Christina. “Good morning,” he said, holding her gaze.

  “Good morning.”

  He took her hand, cupping it briefly in both his and squeezing it in a secret gesture of reassurance that no one else could see. “I must say that you’re looking very lovely as well,” he said quietly, smiling at her.

  Relief swept through her that he was endeavoring to behave as if nothing had happened, but his kindness brought her close to tears.

  Mr. Richmond surveyed her suddenly. “Upon my soul, miss, you don’t look at all well. Is the headache still with you?”

  “No, I’m quite all right now,” she replied, taking the seat Robert drew out for her.

  Lady Chevenley was settled now. “I’m afraid poor Christina has had an owl to contend with. The horrid bird chose to perch by her window all night.” She glanced at her nephew. “That must have been the noise you heard.”

  “Yes.” He glanced fleetingly at Christina, who gazed steadily at her plate.

  A discussion about the habits of owls ensued, giving Christina a little time to collect herself. She looked around the room. It was a cheerful chamber, its walls hung with blue-and-white painted silk above half-paneling. The immense sideboard, a weighty sixteenth-century item that looked as if it had been built where it stood, was laden with silver-domed dishes presided over by Campion.

  The table was laid with a crisp white cloth, and on it there was an array of fine porcelain. A bowl of yellow chrysanthemums graced the center, and around it were ranged bowls of fresh bread rolls, racks of toast, jars of preserves, a cold beefsteak pie especially for Mr. Richmond, and a dish of crushed ice on which reposed a large pat of creamy butter.

  Christina’s appetite was nonexistent, although for the sake of appearances she endeavored to eat a buttered bread roll with her cup of thick, dark coffee. A glance at Robert’s plate told her he felt much the same.

  They’d almost finished their meal when a note was delivered from Grenfell Hall. It was handed to Lady Chevenley, who immediately beamed with delight. “William has sent word that today is quite perfect for an ascent in the balloon! He says that if we drive over there at our earliest convenience, he’d be honored to take us all up.” Her eyes shone as she looked around the table. “Isn’t that splendid?”

  Jane’s eyes brightened; evidently memories of Major General Sir Penn-Blagington’s roof were short-lived.

  Mr. Richmond looked sour. “A plague on the fellow,” he grumbled.

  “Hal, you gave your solemn word last night,” pointed out Lady Chevenley.

  “Under duress.”

  “You still gave it.”

  “I know, devil take it.”

  Satisfied that he couldn’t wriggle out of the undertaking, she smiled at Christina. “Won’t you change your mind, my dear? I do think you’d enjoy it, you know.”

  “I’d really rather not, Lady Chevenley. Truly, I’d be just as happy staying here and reading.”

  Mr. Richmond groaned. “Oh, if I only had a golden guinea for every time I’ve heard that!”

  Lady Chevenley tossed him a cross look. “Christina is quite at liberty to read if she so chooses.” She turned her attention to her nephew then. “And what about you, Robert? Are you still intent upon remaining on the ground?”

  “I am.”

  Jane gasped, suddenly remembering something. “Oh, and I promised to ride with you later on, didn’t I?”

  He smiled. “You did, but I release you from the promise.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am, but if your conscience troubles you, I’m sure Christina will oblige by riding with me in your place.” His gray eyes rested on Christina.

  Jane looked at her as well. “Oh, would you, Christina? Oh, please say you will, otherwise I shall not be able to go, you know I won’t.”

  Christina looked reluctantly at Robert. “Do you really wish me to ride with you?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.” He smiled.

  “Then of course I’ll accompany you.” But she didn’t want to; indeed it was the last thing she wanted.

  The others left the table immediately to prepare to drive to Grenfell Hall, but as Christina rose to follow them, Robert called her back.

  “If you think I’ve trapped you into the ride, Christina, then you’re quite right. I make no apologies, because we have to talk in private, and I can think of no place more private than the high moor.”

  “We don’t have anything to say to each other,” she said quietly, looking unwillingly at him.

  “On the contrary, we have a great deal to say.”

  “I would rather not. I just want to leave it as it is.”

  “I’m not prepared to allow you to do that, Christina.”

  She looked pleadingly at him. “Robert, I’m ashamed of—”

  “Ashamed? Christina, you have nothing to be ashamed about.” He seemed about to come toward her, but at that moment there was a discreet tap at the door and Campion came in.

  “Excuse me, my lord, but the rector of Darchford has called.”

  “Oh, very well,” replied Robert, more shortly than he otherwise might. “I’ll be there directly.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Christina moved determinedly toward the door as the butler began to close it, but Robert spoke again. “We are going to talk, Christina.”

  She didn’t say anything, but hurried on out.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  An hour after the carriage had set off for Grenfell Hall, Christina was ready and waiting in her room for word from Robert that his interview with the rector was over. She paced nervously, her riding crop tapping in the palm of her hand.

  Her riding habit was made of beige corduroy, its beautifully tailored jacket trimmed with black braiding, and there was a flouncy ostrich feather curling down from her black beaver hat. It was an outfit stylish enough for Hyde Park, but she was too agitated to feel stylish.

  The thought of the coming few hours filled her with great unease. What a fool she’d been to succumb to emotion, for that moment of weakness was costing her very dearly. Why had she departed so far from her firm purpose to conceal her feelings for him? It had been an act impetuous enough for Jane, not sober, commonsensical, usually wise Christina. Guilt struck through her again as she thought of her sister.

  There were steps approaching, and then Campion knocked. “His lordship awaits, madam.”

  “Thank you, Campion,” she replied, pausing to compose herself as best she could. Please let her carry this off wit
h at least a little panache, let something be salvaged of her pride. Taking a deep breath, she left the room.

  Robert was waiting in the hall. He stood by the fire, his top hat, gloves, and riding crop lying on a table. Hearing her on the staircase, he turned quickly. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting,” he said, speaking quite naturally because there was a footman by the main door.

  “That’s quite all right,” she replied as evenly as she could.

  “We won’t delay any longer,” he said, putting on his gloves and picking up his hat and crop.

  Reluctantly she accepted the arm he offered, and they emerged from the house into the crisp sunshine, where two grooms waited with their horses. Robert’s mount was a large, rather mettlesome bay, hers a strawberry-roan mare that quite obviously had some Arabian blood.

  The thought of the ride was suddenly too much, and as Robert prepared to assist her to mount, she turned urgently to him. “Couldn’t we say it all here?” she asked quietly, keeping her voice low so that the grooms wouldn’t hear.

  “We need to be private, Christina.”

  “Please, Robert.”

  He shook his head, putting his hands firmly to her waist and lifting her onto the saddle. Their eyes met briefly as he handed her the reins; then he turned to mount his own horse, pausing only to tap his top hat on before riding away from the house. Christina hesitated a moment, then urged the mare after him.

  They rode down through the park, and as they neared the lodge they heard the roar of the swollen river as it swept beneath the bridge and then over the rapids downstream of the little island. The noise echoed out of the trees, and as the horses crossed the bridge Christina saw how dirty with churned-up mud the water was. Broken branches swirled on the swift current, twisting like corkscrews beneath the arches of the bridge.

  Robert’s bay was uneasy about the river, tossing its head and fighting the bit until it reached the far side of the bridge, but then it moved easily upstream along the track that ran along the riverbank toward the high moors.