"Excellent! I knew you'd arrive in good time with Sir Hugh handling the ribbons. Welcome to Combe Park, Miss Armstrong. Will you allow me to show you around?"
Their tour of the house and the barns and outbuildings took over an hour. Nell was delighted with what she saw, and intrigued by the earl's obvious pride and pleasure in the property. And though he referred frequently to having an excellent manager for his horse business, they never met the man and Nell suspected that Lord Westwick was himself responsible for the thriving nature of his endeavors. She had never seen so many fine animals in one place in her life.
"So, which is it to be?" the earl asked at length. "Miss Ginny is gentle and mild-mannered. Socrates is much more spirited, but would not unseat a lady, no matter what the provocation. Now, Lightning here is fast and unpredictable. I think perhaps Sir Hugh might enjoy that challenge."
As Sir Hugh bowed his head in acknowledgement, Nell walked back to a loose box they had passed a few minutes previously. The horse within thrust her head over the gate and gave Nell a push with her nose. The sign on the loose box designated her as "Rising Star," and she was an unusual shade of gray. Nell rubbed the horse's forehead. "Tell me about her," she suggested.
Lord Westwick gave Nell a sharp look. "We've had a little trouble with her," he admitted. "She's fast, but she doesn't like the stable lads riding her. She doesn't throw them; she just doesn't cooperate."
"Could I ride her?"
The earl looked torn. "If you'll excuse me, I have to admit I have my doubts. I have no idea how well you ride, my dear, and Rising Star is, as I say, a bit troublesome."
"I have been told that I ride as well as my mother did."
The earl's gaze narrowed. "As well as Margaret? Who told you that?"
"Finch. Did you know him?"
"I did, though he had only recently been hired when . . . Well, you may try Rising Star if you wish. Most likely she won't try to throw you."
Sir Hugh had listened to this interchange with apparent interest. For a moment Nell thought that he might object. She met his gaze with a questioning one of her own, and he merely shrugged and said, "Then we shall both be on challenging horses, Miss Armstrong."
Lord Westwick had three horses saddled, as he was joining them on his favorite mount, a bay gelding named Whisper. Rising Star objected to the bridle and she objected to the sidesaddle, but she eventually accepted both. Before allowing the earl to toss her up onto the horse Nell stood for several minutes stroking and talking to Rising Star, whose ears flicked wildly back and forth. When Nell was eventually seated firmly in the sidesaddle, Rising Star danced sideways for a minute before settling down. Nell found the two gentlemen watching her anxiously.
"Come, she'll do better if we work out her fidgets," Nell informed them serenely. "Surely she would rather have a good run than amble about the paddock."
"Undoubtedly," Lord Westwick agreed. "So, if you are ready..."
Because the farm was used for breeding, raising and training a variety of horses, there were many trails and tracks in the area. Nell was especially enchanted by the one they took, which skirted a lake for half a mile, and then plunged into a wood where the sunlight filtered dazzlingly through the trees. The three galloped along the lake, slowed their horses through the wood, and once again raced across an unplanted field as they circled back toward the stables.
Rising Star was an exhilarating ride. None of the horses at Longstreet Manor had her speed or sheer vitality. Nell could tell her control over the animal was tenuous; there was a streak of wildness in Rising Star. But at each point when she might have broken free, the mare allowed herself to be drawn back by Nell's firm hand on the reins. That, too, was an exciting experience.
When Nell climbed down in the stable yard, she was glowing from her adventure. Lord Westwick, who had assisted her to alight, said, "She's yours."
Nell stared at him. "I... I don't understand."
"I'm giving you Rising Star, Miss Armstrong. I've never seen her perform that way. She deserves to be yours."
"But she's a valuable animal!"
The earl looked quizzical. "I've lost valuable animals in card games, my dear. Much better to see that one is owned by someone who will recognize and elicit her true potential. If she stayed here at Combe Park, we would be constantly plagued by her misbehavior, and if someone else owned her, I could not be certain of her treatment."
"You are exceedingly kind, but I could not possibly accept her," Nell protested.
"Whyever not?" Lord Westwick hooked his arm with hers and motioned for Sir Hugh to follow them. "I've arranged for tea in the Gold Parlor, since we're all in our riding clothes. My wife always insisted on that, and I've continued the policy. When you get to be my age, it's not so easy to break longstanding habits. But you're young, my dear, and needn't cling to useless principles and wasteful proprieties."
"In addition to those useless principles and wasteful proprieties," Nell insisted, "there is the small matter of my being quite unable to afford a horse in Bath. At Longstreet Manor I might perhaps overcome my principles enough to add one more mouth to the small selection of horses we possess, but that is scarcely the case here."
"Of course it isn't," the earl agreed cheerfully. "You won't have to take care of her in Bath, Miss Armstrong. I shall simply have her moved to my stable there, where she will stay, ready for your use at any time, until you remove to Westmorland once again."
"Or she might join my horses," Sir Hugh suggested. "Another mouth won't be noticed there, and I think perhaps it would be easier for Miss Armstrong to explain riding a horse from my stable than one from yours, sir."
"Ah, yes. Miss Longstreet's aversion to me might cramp Miss Armstrong's ability to ride when she pleased, might it not? A very good suggestion, Sir Hugh."
"No, it is not," Nell protested. "I could no more accept such a favor from Sir Hugh than I could such an extravagant gift from Lord Westwick."
"Perhaps she's right, Westwick. Rising Star had best stay with Emily and John's horses. There could be no whiff of impropriety about that."
Lord Westwick hesitated slighted, looking a little concerned, but eventually he nodded. "Very well, with the Holmslys' horses then."
Nell, who was apparently not to be consulted about this matter, allowed herself to be ushered into the Gold Parlor. It was a bright but casual room with shining parquet floors and mullioned windows. The tea tray had already been set out, along with a large silver plate of tempting delicacies. Nell was asked by the earl to pour their tea, which she did with her usual efficiency. By the time she was able to sit back and take a sip of her own tea, the discussion had moved on to other matters. Though she was too polite to interrupt, she had by no means accepted the men's pronouncements on what was to become of Rising Star.
Sir Hugh was querying the earl on how he managed his seat in Westmorland when he never went there. "I get urgent missives from my estate agent whenever I'm away for more than three days," he protested. "You say you’ve scarcely been to Westmorland in forty years!"
"When it became clear that my wife and I weren't going to have any children, I turned the place over to my presumptive heir, with the understanding that if that situation changed to his disadvantage, I would procure a similar property for him. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it has served very well."
The earl set his teacup on a small table and helped himself to a treacle biscuit. "For many years he has been secure in the knowledge that it will legally be his property, and he has been an excellent steward."
Nell wanted very much to ask him why he had never returned to Westmorland. Surely being rejected by his fiancée could not have been so distressing that he would give up his own home. "Did Lady Westwick not care for the Westmorland countryside?" she finally asked.
"We both preferred Bath," he replied with a decided finality. Then he smiled at his guests. "But I could not resist Combe Park when it came up for sale thirty-odd years ago. Horses have always been a passion with me. My wife understood that, and was more than agreeable about this place."
"Everything about it is exceptional," Nell said. "A truly delightful setting, a charming house, and such a thriving stable. Which, I might add, is not going to lose Rising Star on my behalf."
"Ah, we shall see," the earl replied, shaking a playful finger at her. "At least for the time being, you will allow me to make her available to you in Bath, as a favor to an aging fellow who would get great pleasure from the service."
This offer Nell could not refuse, and so she graciously accepted, saying, "You are too good to me, Lord Westwick. It will be entirely my pleasure to ride her."
* * * *
Sir Hugh took it upon himself to arrange for Rising Star to be accommodated in his brother-in-law's stables. His sister was delighted, but wondered aloud, "You don't think Lord Westwick is smitten with her, do you? Dear Nell must be more than thirty years younger than he is!"
"No, it is merely a kindness, Emily. The poor man is still grieving for his wife, for heaven's sake."
"Yes, so I thought. But Nell might very easily turn a man's head, you know. She has that rare combination of countenance, good humor, and practicality, to say nothing of a touch of feyness."
"Feyness?"
Emily nodded thoughtfully. "There's something dreamy about her. An odd kick to her gallop, as Papa used to say. I like it."
Hugh liked it, too, but he was not going to advise his sister of that fact. "You like her because she finds you charming," he teased.
His sister laughed. "Well, there is that. And she likes little Walter. Which is a great deal more than one can say for her aunt!"
"Yes, indeed. Have you by any chance met my godmother's friend Mrs. Dorsey?"
"I'm quite sure Miss Longstreet has no friends, Hugh."
Her brother grinned. "Well, this is an old and long-standing acquaintance, I believe, formed in girlhood during their London season."
"It's hard to believe that Miss Longstreet was ever a girl," Emily mused. "And, no, I haven't met a Mrs. Dorsey. Why do you ask?"
Hugh considered how much would be wise to divulge to his curious sister. "There's something havey-cavey going on with Miss Longstreet, and it has a connection to Mrs. Dorsey, though she seems a perfectly pleasant and decent sort of woman."
"Unlike your godmother," muttered Emily as she set a stitch in her embroidery.
"Quite. But Miss Armstrong is concerned that her aunt is plotting some mischief."
Emily's head came up sharply from her work. "Since when has Nell taken to confiding such things in you? She has told me nothing of this."
"Perhaps that is because of your penchant for rushing in to solve everyone else's problems, my dear sister. I believe Miss Armstrong--Nell--does not wish to precipitate any action on her aunt's part by confronting her with her suspicions."
"As though I would confront that old harridan! She would tell me to mind my own business, or worse!"
"Precisely. Nell," he said, enjoying the sound of her name on his tongue, "told me on our drive back from Combe Park that Mrs. Dorsey had mentioned in passing that Miss Longstreet had once been engaged to marry Lord Westwick."
"Never!" Emily looked truly appalled. "I cannot believe that even as a young man the earl could have been so lacking in judgment. And why would she have turned him off? Answer me that."
"I cannot. It is possible, I suppose, that Mrs. Dorsey is mistaken. But somehow I doubt it. What Nell wondered, and I can see her point in this, is whether any of Mama's old correspondence with Miss Longstreet might have survived. It was the three of them--Mama, Miss Longstreet, and Mrs. Dorsey--who were such bosom beaux at the time. If indeed Miss Longstreet was engaged to Lord Westwick, it would surely have been discussed in their letters, along with the reasons for the termination of the engagement."
Emily's brow wrinkled in concentration. "Mama did save her correspondence with a few people. I have no idea whether Miss Longstreet was one of them, though it would seem likely since she was your godmama. When Mama died... I don't know, Hugh. Perhaps the letters were destroyed. Or they might have been relegated to the attics. It is years ago, and I was not fully grown. The Fallings housekeeper at the time is likely the one who would know, but she has retired, has she not?"
"Three years ago. I could write to her, but her memory was failing when she left. It might be simpler to have Mrs. Luther make a search of the attics."
"Do," Emily urged. "I would give a great deal to know the whole of this story."
"So would I."
Chapter Twelve
Though Nell had attempted to query her aunt about Mrs. Dorsey's visit, the stubborn woman would say nothing more than "She's gotten quite old." No use pointing out that Mrs. Dorsey was no older than Aunt Longstreet, of course.
A few days after her visit to Combe Park, Nell set down her cup of chocolate at the breakfast table and regarded her companion with curiosity. "Don't you wish to pay Mrs. Dorsey a call, Aunt? I'm sure she would love for you to see her house. The whole of it is like a conservatory, there are so many plants. Shall I arrange to take you there this afternoon?"
"I'm perfectly capable of arranging to get myself anywhere I wish," Rosemarie grumbled. "In fact, I may very well decide to visit Gertrude this afternoon, but I shall do so on my own. Surely you can find something more interesting to do in Bath than visit with two old ladies."
"Well, if you won't be needing me, I believe I shall go riding with Emily Holmsly later on."
"You would do better to make friends with more serious ladies, Helen. Mrs. Holmsly is no more than a social gadabout."
"I'm fond of her. And I long for a ride."
"You can ride in the country. Here in town you might pursue more sophisticated interests. Go to a museum, visit an art exhibit, study the architecture."
"Ah, but I might develop a taste for that kind of amusement," Nell teased, "and what would I do when we are back in the country?"