ANNE ASHLEY

Lord Exmouth's Intentions


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a charming thatched cottage.

      He reappeared a few minutes later, the woman at his heels this time, desperately striving to keep up with his long-striding gait, while attempting to offer her grateful thanks.

      ‘Not at all, my good woman. Only too pleased to be of assistance,’ Robina heard him say, before he doffed his hat, and came hurriedly across the road towards her.

      ‘My dear girl, I cannot apologise enough!’ There was an unmistakable flicker of concern in his eyes as he clambered up on the seat and relieved her of the reins. ‘What on earth must you think of me, deserting you in such a fashion! I sincerely trust you weren’t too nervous at being left in charge of the greys?’

      ‘Not at all,’ she assured him. ‘I frequently tool Papa’s one-horse gig when at home.’ She caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, but didn’t attempt to enquire precisely what he had found so amusing, and merely asked for an account of what had taken place.

      ‘You saw what happened, I am ashamed to say, but there was little I could do to avoid your witnessing that unfortunate encounter.’ He gave the greys the office to start, once again handling the spirited pair with effortless ease. ‘I am not accounted a violent man, and yet I would be the first to admit that I have an almost pathological hatred for persons who inflict needless cruelty. It wasn’t sufficient for that oaf to pass by the gate of the donkey’s former, caring owners each day, he must needs stop to torment those children further by abusing a creature they both love, and had looked upon as a pet.’

      ‘How dreadful! I’m very glad we happened along. And now the donkey, I assume, has been restored to its former owners.’

      ‘Not quite.’ His smile was decidedly rueful. ‘He now belongs to me. I decided, all things considered, that it would be for the best.’

      Robina managed to keep her countenance, but it was an effort. It was quite evident that he wasn’t precisely enthusiastic over this latest acquisition, and she could not resist the temptation to tease him a little.

      ‘I have observed during my weeks in London that it is not unusual for a gentleman of—how shall I phrase it?—an eccentric nature to indulge in rather queer starts from time to time. I suppose you suddenly discovered that you had need of a beast of burden?’

      ‘I am beginning to discover that there is a strong teasing element in your nature, my girl!’ The swift, narrow-eyed glance he cast her managed to betray both amusement and faint exasperation. ‘No, you provoking little baggage! I did not suddenly take it into my head that I wished to own such a creature. And if you dare to tell another living soul, you’ll regret it! I would become a laughingstock, and the talk of the clubs for weeks!’

      She did not suppose for a moment that he would care a jot what the world at large said or thought about him, but she gave her solemn promise none the less, before demanding to know why he had taken it upon himself to make such an odd purchase.

      ‘Because I discovered that it was in fact that poor woman’s idle husband who sold the beast, before calmly going off and leaving her and their children to fend for themselves. She hasn’t seen him since and doesn’t expect to. There is, however, always the chance that he’ll turn up again, like the proverbial bad penny, and repeat the procedure, leaving her without the means to transport her goods to market, and depriving the children of their pet. So to overcome this possibility, I have given her a letter which states that, on condition she takes good care of the animal, she has my full permission, as its owner, to use the donkey to transport her goods to the local market, but on no account must my property be sold without my written consent.’

      How exceedingly kind and considerate he was! Robina decided, as they rejoined the post road and she caught sight of her ladyship’s carriage in the distance. He had been generous to three perfect strangers and no less generous towards her.

      By demanding only friendship, he had now made it possible for her to enjoy the weeks ahead without fear that at the end of her stay she would be asked for recompense.

      So why then, she wondered, a frown of puzzlement creasing her brow, wasn’t she feeling deliriously happy at this precise moment? Furthermore, why had she suddenly developed this peculiar hollow feeling deep inside?

      Chapter Three

      Robina, still very much enjoying the novel experience of having her hair expertly dressed each day by Lady Exmouth’s skilful abigail, sat quietly before the dressing-table mirror, contemplating yet again how much her life had changed since she had left rural Northamptonshire behind her on that cold day in early March.

      For a simple country girl, accustomed to comfort rather than luxury, and to lengthy periods of solitude, given to quiet reflection, or the pursuit of some useful occupation whereby she might be of some benefit to her fellow man, it was quite surprising the ease with which she had conformed to a hectic and purely social life, where the pursuit of personal pleasure was the only thing that need concern her to any degree. Her mother’s presence, understandably, had been a steadying influence during those heady weeks in London. Since her arrival in Brighton no restrictions had been placed upon her whatsoever. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, she was being thoroughly spoilt by the darling Dowager and her no less considerate son. And she was shamefully loving every moment of it!

      ‘It’s simply no good at all. It must stop!’ she announced, with as much determination as she could muster, and without really realising that she had spoken her guilty thoughts aloud until she happened to glance up and noticed the middle-aged abigail’s slightly puzzled expression in the dressing-table mirror.

      ‘What’s the matter, miss? Don’t you care for this style any longer? We can always try something different if you’d prefer.’

      ‘I have no fault to find with the way you dress my hair, Pinner,’ Robina hurriedly assured her.

      ‘Well, that’s a blessing, miss!’ One could almost sense that the highly skilled and conscientious servant was suppressing a sigh of relief. ‘For one dreadful moment there I thought you were going to ask me to cut it. And that I would never willingly do,’ she announced, easing the brush almost reverently through the long shiny dark strands. ‘Beautiful, it is, and a sheer delight to dress, miss, just like the rest of you. There aren’t too many blessed with such a perfect figure as yours. You’re an abigail’s dream, Miss Robina, so you are! You’d look wonderfully turned out in a scullery-maid’s apron!’

      ‘You’re the one who deserves the credit, not I,’ Robina countered, desperately striving not to allow this fulsome praise go to her head.

      As her father, the Reverend William Perceval, had always considered vanity amongst the very worst of sins, compliments were rarely uttered back at the vicarage in Abbot Quincey, and yet Robina, who had been taught to consider inner beauty far more meaningful than any shallow outward trappings, could not help but feel gratified by the compliment.

      ‘It is no good, Pinner,’ she announced, rising to her feet when the last curls had been carefully pinned into place. ‘I must face the fact that, unless I begin to exert a deal of self-control, I stand in the gravest danger of becoming thoroughly corrupted whilst I continue to reside under this roof. Why, I shall be of no earthly use to man or beast when the time comes for me to return to Abbot Quincey! I never used to think twice about mending a tear in a gown, or dressing my own hair. Now I wouldn’t even contemplate doing such a thing, and am more than content to sit back and allow others to do everything for me. Thoroughly indulged, I am, and loving it! What would dear Papa say?’

      It was all very well to make light of it, Robina decided, as the bedchamber resounded with Pinner’s highly amused chuckles, but really it was no laughing matter. She had adapted to this life of ease, this life of pure self-indulgence, as though she had been born to it, which of course was far from the truth. Although life at the vicarage could never have been described as one of drudgery, she had been expected to undertake a variety of light duties, which had included a certain amount of time given to the entertainment of her three younger sisters, ensuring that they didn’t get into