Stupid thoughts. She smiled more dazzlingly than she had intended at the Reverend Strangelove, who had approached to help her into the saddle, and set her foot in his cupped hands. She had been willing. And what did her feelings have to do with anything? He had told her quite openly even before they had adjourned to her bedchamber that he was about to be betrothed, that he did not wish to give her any wrong impression. And she had replied that all she wanted was a very brief affair.
This was no time to be feeling aggrieved. She had no grievance.
“Might I be permitted to say, Lady Hunter,” the Reverend Strangelove said, drawing his horse close to hers, “that you look quite dazzling in that riding habit?”
“You may,” she said gaily, touching him on the arm with her riding crop, “provided you call me Rosamund, Toby. The other sounds ridiculously formal.”
“Rosamund,” he said, bowing from his saddle. “I shall take this favor as a mark of personal regard. It is my sincerest wish, as I believe your brother may have prepared you to hear, that more than one happy announcement will be made during these two delightful weeks of my uncle’s birthday celebrations.”
“And it is my sincerest wish,” she said lightly, smiling at him, “to take this horse to a gallop before we reach Winwood Abbey.” She nudged her horse into motion.
He had asked Annabelle to go riding with him, Lord Wetherby was thinking rather ruefully, so that he might have some time alone with her, some time to get to know her better. He had not expected that on her grandfather’s land and within a week of their betrothal they would have to worry about chaperones.
As it had turned out, they had eight chaperones. He could not suppress a smile of some amusement, despite his chagrin. House parties were designed to bring people together, he supposed.
He did succeed in keeping Annabelle and himself at the head of the group and in conversing with her the whole way to the abbey. She was neither silent nor morose, he discovered. It was really quite easy to talk with her—except that at the end of the more than half an hour it took them to reach Winwood Abbey, he felt they knew each other no better than when they had started. Their conversation had been on quite impersonal matters.
The abbey was in ruins, though it was still possible to guess at its former splendor. Certainly it was situated in very picturesque surroundings, in a valley with a river flowing by and hills rising on either side.
“Grandmama and Grandpapa always organized picnics here in the summer,” Annabelle said.
But their conversation was interrupted. The Reverend Tobias Strangelove was as good as his word and approached to give the earl a history of the abbey.
“It was sacked during the time of the dissolution of the monasteries,” he explained. “A great blot on the history of our religion and civilization, my lord, one for which we must rightly feel deep shame and remorse, though it was our ancestors, of course, who were directly responsible. Ah, Joshua has a good idea, I see. Shall we dismount, too?”
Lord Wetherby resigned himself to the inevitable as he swung down from his saddle and lilted Annabelle down from hers. From one trial, though, he was to be released, he found almost immediately: Josh had come up behind Rosamund and set his hands at her waist.
“Toby is going to give Justin a history lesson?” he asked, winking at the latter. “Come exploring with me, then, Rosamund. I have been riding with Christobel and discover that I have heard quite enough giggles and shrieks to last me for one day.”
“Exploring as in climbing walls and balancing along the tops of them?” Rosamund asked. “I beg to be excused, Josh. I will stroll sedately with you, though, if you wish.”
“I wish,” he said, grinning. “Come too, Annabelle?”
“Thank you,” she said, “but I will stay with his lordship and Tobias.”
More than once Lord Wetherby had asked her to call him by his given name. She had not yet done so. She took his arm now and listened attentively to the monologue that the Reverend Strangelove launched into. The earl covered her hand with his own and patted her fingers.
Lord Wetherby wondered over the following half-hour what it would be like to sit through one of Strangelove’s sermons. It was not an experience he craved. At least here there were other things to look at: Robin Strangelove sitting on a low wall, flanked by Pamela and Christobel; Josh clambering up on a higher wall, grinning down at Rosamund, and then stretching down a hand to draw her up after; Lord Carver standing in a stone doorway, gazing up at its Gothic arch and saying something to Eva that threw them both into fits of laughter; Josh limping along the top of the wall until he swayed and had to leap for the ground; and Rosamund, arms out to the sides, walking safely right along it and then laughing down at Josh.
“Yes, quite magnificent, indeed,” he said to the Reverend Strangelove, not quite sure what he was appreciating.
Robin and the girls were standing at the head of what had been the nave of the church, looking along the line of broken pillars toward the grassy knoll where the altar had stood. Carver and Eva were strolling along to join them. Josh and Rosamund had disappeared behind the high wall into a copse of trees.
Annabelle drew her arm from the earl’s and wandered off alone.
“Indeed, yes,” he said. “Quite astounding.”
“Of course,” the Reverend Strangelove said, “there are not many young people today, my lord, who have your commendable interest in antiquity.” He glanced at the main group—the girls were all sitting on different pillars while Lord Carver stood on another and Robin was stooping down on his haunches, talking to Christobel. “But then they have the high spirits of youth, and who are we to condemn?” He smiled indulgently at his relatives.
“I certainly would not do so,” Lord Wetherby said.
Josh and Rosamund still had not come back into sight. Annabelle had disappeared too.
There was something quite fascinating about the altar of the old church, it seemed, something that the Reverend Strangelove had just that moment recalled and must confide to his lordship. His lordship meekly followed him to the grassy knoll. There Eva was unwise enough to approach and show interest in what was being said.
Lord Wetherby strolled along the nave. Where were they? Those trees were conveniently dense and secluded. He had probably taken her there deliberately. He fancied her, he had admitted quite openly just two evenings before. And they clearly got along together famously. They were probably out there somewhere, kissing and fondling.
And it was none of his business whatsoever, he reminded himself, unclenching his fists behind his back and strolling on. What he should do—and what he would do, in fact— was find Annabelle and occupy himself kissing and fondling her. It was about time he moved their relationship at least one step forward into something more personal than they had yet shared.
