Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding. Helen Dickson
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leave the gathering with Octavia and with Lydia engaged in conversation with a group of ladies, in view of his earlier rudeness and feeling that some form of polite apology was now required of him, he’d decided to follow.
His face was soft and his eyes warm and adoring when they dwelt on his young sister. Octavia was twelve years old, but she had the mind of a child half her age. While ever he was able he would see that she was cherished and that nothing would harm her. At these times his father’s legacy and the responsibility of his inheritance weighed heavily upon him.
He had to give Miss Mortimer her due, for in the short time she had been at Chalfont House she had transformed Octavia. And now here she was, helping his sister combat her fear of horses. No one had been able to get her within yards of one before.
He walked closer, drawn compulsively to Miss Mortimer and to the enchanted child she was bringing, by her own efforts, to everyone’s notice. His footsteps made no sound on the grass and she was speaking, unaware of his approach. He stopped to listen to her, bewitched by this new picture of Miss Mortimer in her sapphire-blue dress. What a proud, spirited young woman she was, he thought. He hadn’t expected her to blossom into this lovely young woman, simply by shedding those unflattering clothes she wore. Perhaps he had disliked the dismal gowns so much—and her violet eyes reminded him of Lily—that it had tainted his view of her.
‘And when you feel confident enough,’ Jane went on, completely oblivious to being observed, ‘I am sure your brother will teach you to ride and then you will gallop through the fields and the wind will blow away your bonnet and you shall be as free as the lark which soars in the skies.’ Her eyes turned in the direction of the open fields surrounded by thick woodland, dotted with hedges and fences that were used to train Chalfont’s horses for the hunt. Her voice was soft and dreaming.
‘I used to ride once, Lady Octavia. Where I lived for a time, my father and I would ride out together. Sometimes I would ride on and go like the wind. My father would call after me—dear Father, urging me not to go so fast. But I didn’t care. I was free. It was wild where I rode and beautiful and there was no one to tell me what I must do or say or think when I rode alone. You will feel like that when you can ride. Would you like that, sweetheart?’
Sweetheart? She had called his sister sweetheart! Christopher Chalfont was known as a hard man, a stubborn, iron-willed man, but he stood now, immensely shaken, terribly moved, feeling more than he liked to feel. He moved closer, mesmerised by the lovely picture the woman and the child created.
He watched her unconscious grace and poise as she moved to stand behind Octavia. Apart from her face and slender hands and lower arms not an inch of flesh was exposed and not a single hair escaped that severe bun. In the soft light her profile was all hollows and shadows. There was a purity about her, something so endearingly young and innocent that reminded him of a sparrow. He tried to envisage what she would look like if the little sparrow changed her plumage and became a swan, and the image that took shape in his mind was pleasing and also troubling. Feeling compelled and at liberty to look his fill, he felt his heart contract, not having grasped the full reality of her appeal until that moment.
Octavia looked from the horse to the face of the woman, understanding little but responding to the joy in Miss Mortimer’s voice.
* * *
Suddenly Jane became completely still—a young animal which is aware instinctively of danger—then she turned slowly, Octavia turning to look with her, into the face of Christopher Chalfont. Octavia laughed, the horse forgotten, and ran towards him.
‘Why, good heavens, Lord Lansbury, you gave me quite a start,’ Jane gasped. Except for her treacherous heartbeat, which insisted on accelerating the closer he came, she retained her control. ‘You came upon us so quietly I did not know you were there.’
He smiled, placing his arm about his sister’s shoulders. Octavia was clinging to his leg and looking up at him adoringly. ‘Is that not how one learns the secrets of others, Miss Mortimer, and sees things which otherwise one might miss? If one steps carefully and quietly so that no one can hear or see one’s approach the most enlightening facts are frequently uncovered. It can be quite rewarding—as now. I am amazed to see Octavia so close to the horse. She’s shown nothing but fear of them all her life and now here she is, stroking the nose of one quite unafraid.’
‘And is that not a good thing?’
‘It most certainly is. I don’t know how you did it, Miss Mortimer—but I thank you. My sister is lucky to have you.’
Jane smiled. ‘I think we both might be lucky, Lord Lansbury.’
He dropped his arm when Octavia moved away to stand at the fence, where the horse still stood waiting for another pat. Finding herself alone, she merely stood and gazed at the mare. She made no attempt to pat it again, but nor did she move away.
‘Are you enjoying the party?’ Christopher asked.
‘Yes, very much.’
‘Yet I noticed how you seemed to prefer to stand on the fringe.’
‘The truth is,’ Jane said a little shakily, ‘that as a woman of limited importance, I was scared to death of being among so many important people.’
‘You were?’ he said, sobering. That she would feel like that had never entered his head. ‘They won’t harm you and I am the last person in the world you’ll ever have to fear.’
His words and his tone made her limbs quake and her heart hammer. His dark hair was tousled and she was filled with the impulse to run her fingers through its waves. Gazing openly at him, she decided she liked the crinkles at the corners of his eyes caused by smiling. He had lovely eyes and she wondered if he knew it. Then, pulling herself together, she wickedly chose that moment to lift her head and turn the full impact of her brilliant smile upon him. Lord Lansbury stepped back in amazement.
‘I am the proverbial wallflower, Lord Lansbury. I am happy doing that. I confess to feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. I’m unused to such a grand gathering. When I came out of the house it reminded me of a tableau set up to tell a story. I find it rather awe-inspiring, fascinating and compelling to stand on the edge of a gathering such as this and simply watch everyone—how they react with each other.’
‘You really are the most unconventional woman,’ he said, his lips twitching.
‘I suppose I am to someone like you, Lord Lansbury. A conventional person would not have crossed swords with a perfect stranger in front of so many people as I just did.’
‘The defence of your father was not just a conventional notion of justice. In order to protect a loved one’s reputation what you did was quite understandable.’
‘Nevertheless I frequently find the rules of social etiquette and convention tiresome to the extreme, but they are rules which must be obeyed.’
Tilting his head to one side, he said, ‘Did you really travel by camel train?’
‘Yes, I did—the Silk Road—the southern road from China to northern India.’
‘I am impressed, Miss Mortimer,’ he remarked with a lazy, devastating smile. ‘You are full of surprises. What a truly remarkable achievement for a young woman.’
‘I was just twelve at the time.’
‘And you rode camels.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘And elephants?’ he asked, distracted by a strand of hair brushing against her cheek and resisting the temptation to brush it away.
‘I did,’ she replied, unaware of the path along which his mind wandered, ‘although they are not such temperamental beasts as the camels, which are not at all easy to ride. They also spit.’
He feigned surprise. ‘I cannot imagine anyone, man or beast, getting the better of you, Miss Mortimer. Were you not afraid?’
‘Not at all, although with deserts and mountains to traverse, the route from China