Page 22 of The Cornish Bride

This was a pleasing reaction. “Oliver Featherstone. He’s a friend of Fitz’s and a captain in the militia. The West London Militia. He looks so dashing in his regimentals, Morvoren! But of course, being in the militia, it’s not quite full time, so when he met me in the park, he wasn’t in uniform. But he strikes a fine figure in his tailcoat—quite the dandy.”

Morvoren’s brow puckered in a small frown. “He’s a friend of your cousin Fitz?”

Ysella nodded, the worry that this was not a fact that would endear her beau to either Morvoren or Kit leaping to the forefront of her mind. “He introduced us. At the Denby House ball. I told you already how Lord Flint, Fitz’s uncle, was showing off his new young wife. So unseemly, really. I had to feel sorry for her, being paraded like a prize heifer. But you know Flint. Not an ounce of consideration for common decency. But he does throw a wonderful ball. Even better than the one at Denby Castle last year. Fitz was in his regimentals, as was Captain Featherstone.”

Morvoren nodded and her frown deepened.

Ysella bit her lip. Was it the mention of Fitz or his uncle that had brought that expression to Morvoren’s face? Why mention of either of them should do that, Ysella had no idea. She herself was fond of Fitz, who could be such fun in a rather wicked way, and she’d once thought to pair Morvoren off with Lord Flint, who’d shown great interest in her at the Denby Castle ball.

With a little internal shake, Ysella ploughed on. “And you’ll never guess what.”

Morvoren’s brows rose. “You’re right. I won’t. What?”

“Oliver, I mean Captain Featherstone,” Ysella blushed at her mistake. “He’s here in Wiltshire. At the Castle Inn in Marlborough.”

More frowning. “He is? How on earth do you know that?”

Ysella shifted in discomfort. This conversation wasn’t turning out quite in the way she’d planned. Morvoren was supposed to be pleased for her—over the moon if possible. And yet, her expression, since the mention of Fitz, seemed to betray suspicion and disquiet. Not that Ysella was gifted in reading people’s expressions, but this one was difficult to ignore. “I, er, I went out for a ride yesterday morning, after I heard you were on the mend, and I, um, I happened to meet him.” Probably best not to divulge that she’d invited him to come down here in order to call on her.

Morvoren’s eyes narrowed.

Ysella shifted again, acutely aware that her sister-in-law knew her all too well.

“And did you take a groom with you?” Much too well. No one else would have assumed Ysella had escaped unchaperoned onto the estate. Well, Kit might have, but he was otherwise engaged.

“Um… no…”

Morvoren sighed, but amusement twinkled in her blue eyes. “Ysella, you are just what Kit calls you—a minx. Did you know Captain Featherstone was going to be out riding yesterday morning? Did you know he’d be staying at the Castle?”

Ysella made a moue, something that had frequently extricated her from tight spots with Kit in the past. It didn’t work on Morvoren.

“Ysella, did you invite him down?”

Ysella bit her lip and scowled. “Well, perhaps I might just have hinted,” she admitted, in a feeble attempt to remain evasive but not tell an outright lie.

Morvoren giggled. “Oh Ysella, no wonder Kit despairs of you. You are quite incorrigible. Does nothing sway you? Not even the fact that you might have been inviting him to pay a visit on a household in mourning?”

Ysella had the grace to blush. Hotly. “Oh,” she mumbled. “I was sure it wouldn’t be a house in mourning. I didn’t for a moment believe you would die.”

“All the same,” Morvoren rejoined, some of her old asperity back in her voice, “you took an enormous risk. And then you rode out by yourself, without a groom, and had a secret rendezvous—with a man!”

“I didn’t arrange the rendezvous,” Ysella protested. “It just sort of happened. A lucky coincidence that Oliver—Captain Featherstone that is—should be out riding in exactly the same spot. We met in the village. I’d ridden down there so I could give Lochinvar a gallop up the long track. You know. Where you and I used to gallop before you began to increase and Kit so meanly stopped you riding.”

Morvoren scratched her head. “What will we do with you? Despite everything, you manage to behave like a hoyden at every turn.” This was strong approbation, but the amusement in Morvoren’s voice, mixed with exasperation, softened it.

Inspired by this apparent softening to more confidences, Ysella continued. “We had a race. He had a rangy bay, and of course I was on Lochinvar who is the fastest in our stables and out to hounds. But those lazy grooms haven’t been exercising him properly while I’ve been in London, and Oliver won the race. Poor Lochinvar just wasn’t fit enough. I shall be working on that while I’m down here.”

Morvoren pursed her lips. “A race? Well, at least he didn’t come across you in your boy’s clothes. There’s a blessing in that.”

Ysella chuckled. When Morvoren had first come to Ormonde, Ysella had prevailed upon her to teach her to ride astride, for which both of them had purloined some of Kit’s old clothes. He’d discovered this, of course, but been persuaded to allow them to continue once a week, in his company, until Morvoren’s condition had prevented this. “I very nearly wore them,” she admitted with a grin. “It was just luck that I didn’t.”

Morvoren shot her a frown of recrimination, and her eyes narrowed again as though a thought had suddenly occurred to her. “And was there a wager on this race? If I know you, there was.”

Ysella dimpled at the memory, heat surging up her throat to her cheeks. “Just a small one.”

Morvoren regarded her in silence for a moment. What was going through her head? Had she divined the nature of the wager? Did she possess mind-reading powers? Or was giveaway guilt written over Ysella’s face? Her cheeks grew warmer by the moment.

“I think I’d rather not know the nature of your wager,” Morvoren said, at last. “If I don’t know, then I won’t have to decide whether to tell Kit.”

A good plan. Ysella smiled, and dropped her bombshell. “I invited Captain Featherstone to call today.”

“What?”

“He asked if he could call on me… on us, I suppose, and I said yes.”

“Good heavens,” Morvoren spluttered. “You’d best go and inform your mama and Kit of your social plans. They may not be too pleased. Good luck with that.”