“I cannot ride.” The look of horror and dismay on his face was so amusing, she laughed. “Hah, now you repaymewith a look of repulsion,” she teased delightfully.
A rueful grin curved his lips. “I apologise. ’Tis true. I cannot imagine a worse thing. Have you never learned? Why has Stone never taught you?”
“I was a…sickly child, and my family thought it too much.” In reality, her father had been too much of a skinflint. “Benedict has tried to teach me, but…”
“Something tells me that your cousin has little patience for people that do not understand horses.”
“None, in fact. And for my first lesson, he brought out this…well, he said it was a ‘good little goer of a mare.’ She was enormous and kept moving as I tried to get on. Benedict kept saying it was easy, but I’m afraid I got annoyed and shouted at him. He didn’t speak to me for two days…so not all bad.” And she smiled.
“What did you say to upset him so?”
“I can’t repeat it. ’Twas most unladylike.”
He leaned forward slowly. “I won’t say a word. I promise,” he said with an abrasive whisper. She was sure he hadn’t meant to sound so wicked. EvenMiss Pikesworth’s Guide to Etiquettewould sound sinful read in that voice.
“I told him he was a surly old shag-bag and that he could take his bloody horrible bonesetter to the knacker’s yard.”
“What terrible words, Miss Trewent. Anyone would think you’d been in the army…or talking to Billy. Where did you learn such language?”
The asylum but she couldn’t tell him that, so drew back.
Her beloved Mrs Tadlow had started life as a barmaid, before being whisked away by her beau Bertie – Mrs Tadlow’s language had been as colourful as Rosalind’s current day dress, and she’d delighted in teaching it to an innocent respectable miss.
“Stablehands can be terribly loud,” she replied, but it sounded stilted, so she rushed on. “I will go and fetch more layers for the journey. I believe, though sunny, it’s going to be quite chilly. We will visit Miss Risley’s parents first, then onto the vicarage, after that the village and curate and then finishing off with the magistrate. Does that suit you?”
Lucas nodded so she rushed from the room, cursing her rambling tongue, Stone for involving her in all this and Lucas…well, for being Lucas.
He finished his tea feeling bemused. Miss Trewent had seemed so composed yesterday. Maybe it was his voice that had made her lose said composure; he’d been told that some ladies liked it. It merely reminded him of coughing half to death from burning smoke.
Today, she wore a cinnamon-coloured dress with a dark-red Indian shawl. It had given off a warm glow that even now had not been doused. Her delicately carved cheekbones looked to be made of ivory and yet her mouth was rosy and seemed to continuously curve upwards as she came out with more outrageous remarks.
Miss Rosalind Trewent made him want things that he shouldn’t and couldn’t have.
The carriage gently bumped its way from the estate grounds, the black painted iron gates glistening with dew on this cold but sunny morning. Behind the rumble of the wheels, Rosalind could hear the faint call of a doe from the parkland.
“Were you with Stone when he broke the news to the Risleys of their daughter’s death?” Lucas asked.
“No. He wanted to do it alone. I believe he felt rather guilty. After all, they had survived living in Manchester only for this to befall them in a sleepy village.”
The maid was peering out the window with a bored expression, minding her own business. Lucas sat opposite, his body swaying with the motion of the carriage, and Rosalind felt his unwavering gaze firmly fixed upon herself.
“What can you tell me about them?”
“Well, they’re pleasant people. Mr Risley liked the idea of being a teacher in a small country schoolhouse. He was a friend to Benedict’s old tutor, so somehow the contact was made. He can be a little dour.”
“Nothing wrong with dour.”
“You aren’t dour, just…” He raised a brow. “A bit reserved. I would imagine that you always think before you speak…or do.”
She must have been right as he ignored her comment.
“And Mrs Risley?”
“She can be a little snobbish. I believe she was governess to a duchess, and she doesn’t let you forget it. Mr Risley seems a little hen-pecked. I will tell you now that she doesn’t approve of me.”
“What could she possibly find to disapprove of?”
Rosalind narrowed her eyes. Was he teasing? That definitely sounded like teasing. “I’m sure she’ll tell you.”
