unbecoming interest in Miss Daventry must not be indulged.
Miss Daventry cleared her throat.
Bracing himself for the inevitable, Julian said, ‘I collect you have an objection, ma’am. Please state it.’
Miss Daventry’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not precisely an objection, my lord. An observation.’
Did she have to be so damned pedantic?
‘Yes?’ He didn’t like the snappish tone of his voice, but Miss Daventry seemed not to notice.
‘I don’t ride,’ she said.
‘Don’t ride? But everybody rides!’ Lissy’s disbelief was palpable.
‘Not everyone, Miss Trentham,’ said Miss Daventry gently. ‘I have always lived in a town and we couldn’t afford a horse.’
‘But Harry, I mean, Mr Daventry rides. He told me he had ridden since he was a child—’
‘Enough, Lissy.’ Julian was at a loss to explain the revulsion sweeping him. This was precisely why he had hired Miss Daventry—to demonstrate to Lissy the gulf between them. To force her to realise all she would be giving up. Now, hearing Miss Daventry explain the reality of genteel poverty with quiet dignity, he suddenly didn’t like it. The opposite side of the equation was laid brutally bare—Miss Daventry’s humiliation.
He had never intended to rub her nose in the gulf between herself and Lissy. If he were honest, it had not occurred to him. And yet, he could see Lissy thinking, looking at Miss Daventry’s dowdy appearance with new eyes, applying it to herself. And Miss Daventry seemed unperturbed.
Why wouldn’t she be? She’s had years to accustom herself to her station and you are paying her fifty pounds extra for the privilege of having her nose rubbed in it.
Part of him rebelled against this cold logic. Surely, even if only as part of her remuneration, she was entitled to some enjoyment in her life. It might ram the message home to Lissy all the faster, he told himself. Yes, that was it.
He looked across at Serena. She raised her brows, dearly.
‘We still have Merlin in the stables,’ he said, wondering what the devil was so entertaining.
She smiled. ‘Dear Merlin. I dare say he will be glad of a little outing. By all means, dear. I’m sure it will be very beneficial.’
Beneficial for whom? wondered Julian. Something about Serena’s smile had alarm bells clanging. He turned to Miss Daventry. ‘Ma’am, if you would care for it, you may ride Lady Braybrook’s old mount. He is very quiet, used to carrying a lady.’
Miss Daventry demurred. Of course.
‘Thank you, sir, but I will be more than happy to remain with Lady Braybrook. I—’
‘No, dear. Go with them,’ said Serena. ‘I would be much happier if you learned to ride. Lissy is for ever giving the grooms the slip when she rides out, but I fancy she will not be so rag-mannered with you! Especially if she knows you to be inexperienced.’ She shot a glance at her daughter. Who blushed.
In one final attempt to avoid her fate, Miss Daventry said, ‘But I have no riding habit!’
Serena—Julian silently blessed her—dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘Oh, pish! You may have my old one. It will be a little large, but the colour will suit you. It’s quite a dark blue, so you need not scruple to wear it despite your mourning. And there are any number of mourning gowns in my dressing room. Heaven knows I wouldn’t fit into most of them any more.’ She smiled ruefully at Miss Daventry, and added, ‘I have a tendency to put on weight sitting in this horrid chair. It would be better, of course, if I were not so fond of cakes and made more use of my exercise chair.’
Julian looked at Lissy. His sister was watching Miss Daventry, an odd expression on her face, as the companion accepted politely.
Chapter Five
Christy frowned at her reflection. The riding habit was slightly too large, but the wretched thing was almost flattering. She had an observable figure. Most of her gowns deliberately disguised that. Wearing gowns in any way related to one’s shape was, in the crudely expressed opinion of her former employer, ‘asking for it’. Too-large gowns—which were easier to button up unassisted— the caps, and the spectacles all helped. Not that the spectacles were mere disguise—she would trip over her own feet without them.
No one looked beyond a dull, shapeless gown, the cap and spectacles. They saw only the dowdy paid companion or governess. It was safer that way.
Only she had the uncomfortable sensation that, like his lordship, Lady Braybrook saw Christy, not Miss Daventry. She had been right about the habit suiting Christy. The deep blue gave a little colour to her cheeks, although that might be the country air. She fingered the braid up the front of the habit. It was beautiful, so elegant. She had never worn such clothes in her life. Perhaps it didn’t matter. She was still the companion- governess. Borrowed plumage did not make fine birds, she told herself as she went downstairs.
‘There you are!’
Lissy and Matthew were waiting in the hall, which Christy had learnt was the Great Hall. Apparently Amberley was very old indeed and the Trenthams had been here for ever.
‘You do look nice,’ said Lissy, and Christy bit her lip not to smile at the new hint of patronage. ‘The horses have been brought around. We have Mama’s old hack for you. He’s terribly quiet.’
‘Not a slug, though,’ put in Matthew. ‘You could have ridden another horse, but Julian said it was better to be safe than sorry. He said he didn’t want to bury you.’ Not a hint of patronage there.
‘An unwelcome expense, no doubt,’ said Christy.
Matthew grinned. ‘He didn’t put it quite like that.’ The grin turned impish. ‘It was more the inconvenience.’
Christy peered over the top of her spectacles at him, in a manner she had found to be very effective with youngsters. They never seemed to realise it was a bluff; that without looking through the lenses she could see very little.
Even so, she could see Matthew’s grin; and those blue eyes, very like his brother’s, continued to twinkle.
‘Julian’s outside, with the horses and Emma and Davy,’ said Lissy, cheerfully. Not at all as though this were the brother she had described as a tyrant the previous evening.
No doubt he meant to see them off, thought Christy, wishing she had not agreed to this ride. No doubt she would make a complete fool of herself. Wasn’t one meant to learn to ride as a child? Probably little Davy was more accomplished than she would ever be.
Sure enough, when Lissy and Matthew took her out on to the front steps, Davy was already mounted on a chestnut pony with a pretty head and lively eye. Emma was mounted on a bay. His lordship stood close by, holding the reins of a tall black horse, and a lead rein attached to the bridle of a sleepy-looking dappled grey. Not a horse, really. More a large pony.
Grooms held two other horses. Mentally counting, and looking at the quality of the black horse, Christy came to a dead halt at the top of the steps as an appalling realisation struck her. She had assumed a groom would accompany the riding party and attend to her instruction. Apparently not. His lordship was dressed for riding. Which meant…she gulped…he was planning to teach her to ride.
Schooling herself to reveal nothing, she met his lordship’s limpid gaze. And saw the glimmer of unholy amusement.
Drat him!
He knew, to a nicety, just how embarrassing she would find this and he was enjoying it!
His greeting confirmed it. ‘Miss Daventry—I’m sure you understand that I prefer to ensure your safety myself.’