Rosamund had looked forward to spending the time with the other ladies indoors or walking in the formal gardens, where some spring flowers were already coming into bud. But she was not unduly disappointed when the Reverend Strangelove asked her to go riding with him.
“Robin and Christobel are to be of the party, too,” he said, bowing to her, “so it will be quite unexceptionable for you to accept, my dear Rosamund. Indeed, Christobel will need your presence as chaperone. Of course, on my great-uncle’s property there would be nothing improper anyway about a respectable widow riding alone with a man of the cloth. But even so, I would not wish to disturb your tender sensibilities or invite censure from any of my esteemed relatives or those of the Earl of Wetherby.”
“I shall be glad of the fresh air and exercise, Toby,” Rosamund said before escaping to change into her riding habit. It was a beautiful day again.
The four of them rode together until they realized that they were close to the village and might as well ride the extra mile to enter it. Christobel remembered that she needed some new yellow ribbon to trim the ball gown she intended to wear for her grandfather’s birthday ball. The Reverend Strange-love decided that the vicar would undoubtedly be hurt if he knew that a fellow member of the cloth had been in the village and had not called on him.
Robin escorted Christobel to the shops while Rosamund agreed to accompany the Reverend Strangelove to the vicarage.
They decided almost immediately not to stay long as the vicar was from home and the vicar’s wife, who was within two months of a confinement, was clearly feeling unwell. Even so, by the time Toby had delivered several speeches in which he assured himself that Mrs. Crutchley would be far more comfortable left alone and then paused while she assured him that she was delighted to entertain visitors, almost an hour had passed. There was no sign of Robin and Christobel. They must have grown tired of waiting and returned home.
However, the marchioness’s barouche was driving along the village street and stopped at their approach.
“Well met,” Lady Gilmore said, smiling at them. “Are you coming from the vicarage? How is Mrs. Crutchley today?”
“Feeling rather tired, I’m afraid,” Rosamund said.
“But very gratified by our visit, Aunt,” the Reverend Strangelove added. “I do believe her spirits were lifted by a visit from a man of the cloth other than her good husband. And of course she was delighted at the condescension of the visit from Lady Hunter. Unfortunately, the Reverend Crutchley was from home.”
“And is just arriving back now, I believe,” Lady March said, looking along the street toward the vicarage. “Perhaps we should postpone our call until another day, Mama.”
“I should hate to disturb a poor lady who is close to a confinement,” Lady Wetherby said.
“I am sure the good lady would be deeply hurt to know that you had been in the village and had not seen fit to wait upon her, Great-aunt,” the Reverend Strangelove said.
“We will call for ten minutes,” Lady Gilmore said, “and persuade Mrs. Crutchley to accept the services of a couple of maids for a while. They have only their cook.”
“I shall take upon myself the privilege of returning with you, Aunt,” the Reverend Strangelove said. “The Reverend Crutchley will be disappointed to have missed the chance of a conversation with another man of the cloth.”
“I shall ride home,” Rosamund said firmly.
“It would be very rag-mannered of all of us to allow you to do so alone, my dear,” the marchioness said. “I have an idea that should be satisfactory to all of us. You must relinquish your horse to Justin, Tobias, and he will ride home with Rosamund. He has been extremely good in visiting all afternoon with us and charming all the ladies into collective sighs. It is time to reward him.”
Rosamund sat tensely in her saddle while Lana and Lady Wetherby laughed and Toby dismounted, having commended the marchioness on her good sense and Justin on his kindness in being willing to accompany her home.
Justin looked at Annabelle.
“Aunt Rosa should not be alone,” she told him gravely. And so her day was to be ruined, after all. Just when she had thought she was to go through a whole day without the oppression of his closeness, she was being thrust into his presence for a long ride of at least half an hour. He swung himself up into the saddle of Toby’s horse.
“Well,” he said after they had ridden along the village street and out onto a country road, “there is really only one thing to be done about this, Rosamund.” And he looked at her and chuckled until she joined in his laughter. “It is either this or cry, you know, and I hate crying. It seems such an unmanly occupation.”
“If Toby would only talk less and listen and observe more,” she said, “he would have persuaded everyone to leave the poor lady alone to rest.”
“In other words,” he said, “Toby is an ass. Do you promise faithfully not to marry him, Rosamund?”
“If you have a Bible on your person,” she said, “I will cheerfully swear on it.”
“He is going to ask you, you know,” he said. “Very soon, too. My guess is that he will want the announcement made at the birthday ball. And my second guess is that he will do the thing properly, on one knee. It might get sore, for I will wager that his proposal speech will last for at least fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t,” she said, laughing. “You are being unkind.”
“But quite truthful,” he said, “as you very well know. I wonder what sort of a pompous speech he would deliver when bedding you.”
“Neither of us will ever know,” she said, her laughter dying.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was in bad taste. Must we take this road? Can we go across country?”
“Yes, easily,” she said. “There is a gate into the pasture just a little farther along.”
