Sherida, page 6
The mare could go; she stretched herself into a canter, her stride gradually lengthening. 'I'll race you to the thicket ahead!' Sherida called, then bent over her horse's neck, seeming almost to wheedle more speed out of her.
Roland's mount, though a clear two hands taller than the mare, could not keep up, and he had the doubtful pleasure of seeing his cousin, clinging to her mare's neck like a limpet, draw level with the thicket a clear two lengths ahead of him.
Then disaster struck. They were slowing down in the almost tunnel-like quiet of the thicket, when a flutter of movement caught Roland's eye, but even as he turned his head to see what it was a small dog, appearing from nowhere it seemed, ran right under Sherida's mare. The animal gave a startled whinny, bucked, and then kicked out viciously, and the little dog sailed through the air, to land in an unmoving huddle on the grass verge, some six feet away.
Sherida, without a thought, scrambled out of the saddle, almost throwing the reins to Roland. 'Hold the mare while I see if the dog is killed,' she said.
But the mare had been severely frightened, and she resisted Roland's attempts to bring her under control, bucking and rearing and squealing all the while, in a way which gave the lie to his earlier description of her.
The dog did not move as Sherida bent over it, but when she began to lift it, it curled its lip menacingly and uttered a little growl. She paid no heed to this, however, recognising it for what it was, the result of pain and fear more than a show of real affront. Settling it comfortably in the crook of her arm, she turned, to find Roland still having the greatest difficulty in subduing the mare. She walked towards them, but her mere approach, with the dog in her arms, made the mare show the whites of her eyes, and the lashing hooves warned her not to get too close.
'I think I'd better get this brute back to the stables,' Roland said breathlessly. 'My dear cousin, can you forgive me for deserting you so? I dare not let you try to remount.'
At that moment a voice behind Sherida said, 'Excuse me, ma'am, are you in some sort of trouble? May I assist you?'
Turning sharply, Sherida looked straight into the romantic countenance of Lord Byron.
'Oh, my lord, forgive me for not shaking hands,' she said, smiling up at him. 'But this little dog is hurt, and I must hold him gently.' She turned back to Roland. 'Off you go, Cousin,' she said encouragingly. 'I'll make my way back to Albemarle Street now, if Lord Byron will be good enough to escort me.'
Roland made off, still struggling to subdue the mare, and Sherida turned back to her companion, to find him eyeing her curiously. Suddenly, his brow cleared. 'Letty Craven's daughter! Am I right?'
Sherida laughed, nodding her agreement, then the smile died out of her eyes and she said anxiously, 'Do you know about dogs, sir? Is he much hurt, do you think?'
His lordship gently felt the dog's legs, shoulders and lean, shivering flanks. 'No bones broken, but he's bruised, and may have internal injuries. You can't carry him all the way back to… Albemarle Street, was it? You are my publisher's near neighbour. I'll summon a hackney—the road is not two minutes' walk from here, even for me.'
So with Lord Byron limping slowly beside her Sherida returned to the road, where his lordship hailed a passing hackney. He helped her inside, gave the jarvey on the box the office to take them to Albemarle Street, and after bidding him drive slowly because of the dog's possible injuries, climbed in and sat down beside Sherida.
'What caused your horse to shy, Miss…er…'
'Miss Sherida Winyard,' Sherida said demurely. 'It must have been the dog, I suppose.'
His lordship, who had turned so that he faced her, shook his head. 'I think not. I had the impression that your horse had turned its head before the dog suddenly appeared. In fact the dog almost catapulted into the roadway, or so it seemed to me.'
'I suppose he was chasing a bird, because I'm very sure he did not attack the horse's hooves, the way ill-bred animals sometimes do.' She patted the little dog's head.
'Perhaps everything just happened quickly,' he agreed. 'Now Miss Winyard, I've seen you somewhere before, I'm sure of it.' He appeared to ruminate, his dark eyes fixed broodingly on her face. 'I know! Driving with McNaughton in the park!'
'Yes. I'm staying with Lord McNaughton,' Sherida said.
'Indeed? And your mamma was Letty Craven! An adorable woman! I could write a poem to her eyebrows! In fact, I probably have.'
Two things occurred to Sherida at this point. The first was that Lord Byron's gaze was speculative in a way she did not quite like, the second that her mentor had told her that his lordship was a married man whose reputation did not bear close inspection. His next remark, indeed, confirmed her worst doubts. 'And I could write a poem to you, in that riding habit,' he said, his eyes raking her figure in a way which caused her to wriggle uncomfortably. 'Or out of it!'
'I don't think you should say things like that to me,' Sherida said, her face hot. 'Lord McNaughton wouldn't like it.'
This turned out to be an unfortunate remark. 'Oho, so that's the way the land lies!' He patted her knee and she tried to draw back, but she was wedged into a corner and the dog prevented her from moving far. 'I didn't know Greville had taken to robbing the nursery for his cheres amies, but since he has, I must discover for myself where your attraction lies.'
Before she could do more than utter an inarticulate protest, she found herself seized in his arms and ruthlessly kissed.
Sherida did not stop to consider why Lord McNaughton's kiss had stirred her so profoundly, nor why she found Lord Byron's embrace so distasteful. She used her free hand to slap his head resoundingly—she could scarcely slap his face, for it was pressed against her own—and then proceeded to kick him briskly in the shins. To add to his discomfiture the little dog, objecting to finding himself abruptly squeezed between his benefactress and her companion, bit him in the shoulder, and the jarvey suddenly shot back his little trap-door and shouted reassuringly down at them, 'almost there, sir and Miss!'
Lord Byron, doubly attacked, released her and Sherida jumped to her feet and stumbled down on to the flagway almost before the cab had drawn to a halt. She heard the jarvey shout but knew her tormentor would have to pay the man before he could follow her, so she was up the front doorsteps and hammering on the knocker before he could have climbed down, let alone fumbled for change in his purse.
The door opened so abruptly that she almost fell into the hall and Lord McNaughton, for it was he, had to step aside as she stumbled over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind her.
CHAPTER FIVE
'What on earth are you doing?' his lordship demanded crossly. 'I was in the breakfast parlour, quietly eating ham and eggs, when I heard a commotion outside. And then you emerge from a hackney, hatless and dishevelled, with a skinny cur under one arm. Really, Miss Winyard, you continually surprise me!'
'Oh! My hat!' Sherida exclaimed. Then, shrugging, 'I suppose Lord Byron will return it.'
Lord McNaughton had been striding back to his delayed breakfast, but at that remark he spun round, catching her by the shoulder.
'You've been in a hackney cab with Lord Byron? Are you mad, child, or just determined to ruin yourself? I told you the other night of his reputation…' He looked at her more closely. 'A riding habit?'
Sighing, she said wretchedly, 'Do look at the poor little dog first, sir, before you begin to lecture me. I think he may have internal injuries—Lord Byron said it was possible at all events—and he should be attended to at once.'
He took the dog from her arms, feeling the little creature's skinny body. 'I don't think anything is broken, and nor do I think he has internal injuries,' he said shortly. 'He can have my ham and eggs, for I've lost my appetite—that will do him more good than a medical inspection.'
He stood the dog down with surprising gentleness, and placed the plate under its nose. The dog, stunned by such good fortune, did nothing for a moment but contemplate the dish warily. Then, throwing caution to the winds, it fell on the food, swallowing in great gulps, cleaning the china with such energy that it seemed likely he might presently devour the plate as well as its contents.
'And now, have some coffee,' Sherida said, pouring hot milk and coffee into the finger bowl and placing that before the little animal. 'I think you were right, sir, he needed food more than surgery.'
'Quite. And now sit down, Miss Winyard, and explain yourself, if you please. I suggest you start right at the beginning, for I want a round tale, and no shilly-shallying.'
'Well, I went riding with my cousin Roland,' Sherida began in a placatory tone. 'He hired a horse for me, a gentle little mare.'
'And you were thrown?'
She followed his gaze. What with carrying the dust-covered dog, repulsing Lord Byron's energetic advances, and losing her hat, she could see how his misapprehension came about.
'No, I wasn't thrown. The little dog ran under the mare's hooves, and got kicked. I dismounted to see if it was badly hurt, and gave my horse's reins to Cousin Roland. But the mare seemed to go mad, Lord McNaughton!'
'I can sympathise with her,' he said blandly, 'for you have a similar effect upon me. Go on.'
'Oh, dear! Well, anyway, she wouldn't let me mount again, especially since I was carrying the dog. And then Lord Byron came up and said he would escort me home, but of course he could not walk all the way to Albemarle Street, could he, sir? So he hailed a hackney and put me into it. I did not realise at first that he intended to accompany me, and even if I had I should not have objected, for you said he was a friend of yours!'
'And so he is, but… However, I said a round tale, Miss Winyard. Carry on!'
'Well, then he said he had known and admired my mamma, and written verses to her eyebrows, or some such fustian. And then he made a very ungentlemanly remark.'
The silence from her interlocutor was marked. She added with reluctance, 'He said he would like to write verses to me too, in this riding habit—or out of it.'
Lord McNaughton passed a hand across his mouth, and for a moment she hesitated. Was he daring to laugh? But he said quite solemnly, 'Go on,' so she felt obliged to proceed.
'And I said he should not say such things to me, for Lord McNaughton would not like it.'
This time his groan, followed by a shout of laughter, was unmistakable. She stiffened, but he said, 'Don't poker up, little one! Can you not understand George's misapprehension? I suppose he thought —but there, he had no right to think any such thing of a young lady living under my mother's roof. And then what happened?'
'He grabbed hold of me and started to kiss me,' Sherida said crossly. 'And so I slapped him, and kicked him, and this dear little dog bit him, and when he let go of us, I got down and ran indoors.'
He turned from her to contemplate the table, and she saw his shoulders shake. In a small voice, which quivered despite herself, she said, 'It was very horrid for me, sir, and not at all a laughing matter.'
He turned to face her, his face grave once more. 'No, I quite see it must have been frightening for you. But have you learned your lesson this time, Miss Winyard? Did I not tell you that you must not find yourself alone with experienced men?'
'Did you not tell me that it was quite proper to drive with a man?'
He groaned. 'It is quite proper in an open carriage , you goose! But never, never travel in a closed carriage with a man. Dear God, a hackney, against which all little girls are warned as soon as their come-out approaches!'
'Well, no one said anything to me,' Sherida said obstinately. 'My mother never mentioned hackney coaches once!'
'No, because…'
'Because what?'
He walked back across the room to stand before her chair, an undecided expression on his face. 'Miss Winyard, when I first knew you were coming to stay in Albemarle Street, my mother and I talked about what you should know and what it was not necessary for you to know. We reached an agreement which I now believe was wrong. So I am going to take it upon myself to tell you something.'
She was gazing up at him with wide-eyed expectancy, but despite his declaration he seemed unwilling to continue.
'Tell me what, sir?' She asked, when the silence seemed to have lasted long enough. 'May I keep the little dog, do you suppose? He would be good company for Lady McNaughton and for me.'
'Of course you may.' He seemed to make up his mind. 'Miss Winyard! Your mamma was a very pretty and delightful woman, who married four times. And she was by no means averse to flirtations between marriages. In fact. Miss Winyard, it must be your first endeavour to make people realise that you are not another Letty Craven. Do I make myself clear?'
Sherida sat very still. It explained so many things. Lord McNaughton's attitude when first they'd met, Roland's taking her out on to the terrace, even Lord Byron's crude attempt at seduction in the hackney coach. And though she shrank from the thought, perhaps Lord McNaughton's kissing her on the terrace had been more in the nature of a test than a punishment. To see whether she would respond, throw herself at his head!
Well, thank goodness she had not done that. She pushed from her mind the sweetness of his embrace and tried to remember, instead, how she had resented it.
Her stillness seemed to worry Lord McNaughton, for he tilted her chin up so that he could look into her face. 'Never mind, little one! Very few of us have saints for parents, and you must have realised that my own mamma is far from perfect! But have I made you see, do you now understand, why you must behave with discretion?'
She met his eyes steadily, though her own were huge with unshed tears.
'I wish I'd known before,' she said quietly. 'You and your mamma have been so good. But I promise you…'
He took her hands and brought her to her feet. 'No! Promise nothing, and then you will disappoint no one. But bear it in mind, won't you? And now you'd best go to your room and change your habit, and I'll go in search of George and wrest your hat from his clutches, and take him to task for treating you like a chere amie!'
Sherida nodded, picked up the little dog and made for the door. But as she was crossing the hall she turned, and smiled resolutely at Lord McNaughton over the animal's silky head. 'We shall do very well, once we're both cleaned up,' she said. Then a real smile spread across her face. 'I must change my habits, as well as my habit. Good morning, sir!'
And she turned and swept up the stairs with a great deal of dignity for one so small, leaving him smiling ruefully after her.
For several days after her encounter with Lord Byron and the subsequent revelation of her mother's reputation, Sherida felt low and depressed, but such a state of affairs could not last, especially after Lady McNaughton had done her best to assure her protégée that Lady Letty had been, at worst, a trifle indiscreet, but by no means the abandoned flirt poor Sherida had begun to suspect.
'Letty and I were great friends as girls, though later, we moved in different circles,' she explained. 'I gather from Greville that he told you Letty was a flirt. Well, dear, I have to admit that she was, but then so was I! And perhaps because your mamma married four times, she was more at ease with gentlemen than most females. Gentlemen loved her gaiety and wit, but she never behaved in a way which should make you ashamed of her, I promise you.'
'Was she unfaithful to her husbands?' Sherida asked baldly.
Lady McNaughton winced, but answered frankly enough. 'No dear, never unfaithful. It was more between husbands, if you follow me. When she was choosing. And there was a period, between her second and third marriages, when she was what you might call fancy-free for two or three years. She was very gay then, and it made people think her somewhat light-minded. But you've no need to blush for her; it was just that when she was deciding which gentleman to choose for her next husband, she sometimes threw her cap over the windmill a little.'
Sherida could not help wondering how one could throw one's cap over the windmill 'a little', but after a good cry, she had sufficient commonsense to realise that whatever her mother's behaviour had been it could not have been really bad, or she herself would not have been welcomed to Almack's with open arms, nor found a great many very high-nosed ladies so eager to introduce her to their sons. In this she erred, but fortunately she did not realise that to a great many mammas, her fortune, her name, and her pretty looks were sufficient to offset any recollections of her mother's behaviour.
One other thing took her mind off the late Lady Letty; when Lord McNaughton came back from seeing Lord Byron, he brought not only her hat, but a disquieting story.
'George is in a great worry over your accident,' he told her. 'He says he got the impression that someone propelled the dog into your horse's path, in the hope, perhaps, of causing it to shy and throw you. Or it might have been meant for Roland's mount, of course. But if George is right, a dangerous trick was played upon you, which might easily have led to tragic consequences.'
'Oh, what rubbish! No one in their senses would do such a thing!' Sherida exclaimed, opening her eyes wide. 'Lord Byron is letting his imagination run away with him, and thinking himself to be living a romance, as well as writing them! You might tell him, by the by, that I intend to name the little dog for him. Beau Byron, I shall call him!'
'What, that mealy-mouthed cur?' Lord McNaughton exclaimed, temporarily distracted. 'I don't think I'll tell George any such thing.' And then, returning to the point, 'I must say I incline to your point of view, because it seems unlikely you've had time to arouse such enmity in anyone's breast here in London that they would try to harm you. But foolish tricks have been perpetrated by friends, eager to see one look amazed! I thought I'd better warn you.'
Sherida thanked him, albeit a trifle impatiently. It seemed absurd to think that anyone would play such a trick, and soon enough, the mounting excitement of constantly attending a variety of social events put the whole matter out of her mind.
The weather, which had been showery and cool for a week, suddenly seemed to blossom into glorious spring, and as the promised evening at Vauxhall Gardens drew near, she looked forward to it with unalloyed enjoyment. Roland had been attentive, but not embarrassingly so, and she found she could enjoy his company when the censorious eyes of Lord McNaughton were not upon her. Taking a leaf from Lady McNaughton's book, she treated Roland with an easy friendship, so that he found it difficult to place himself upon too romantic a footing with her without seeming foolish.
