Page 50 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)
Clemons spoke before she realized he was beside her.
“Right sorry about that, my lady. I’d have told the lads to hold off had I knowed the lass was so nigh, but one of Sir Geoffrey’s hunters panicked in the storm and broke a leg.
The lad looking after it thought it were nobbut a bad sprain, but now the farrier says as how it’s broke, and we had to put the poor beast down. ”
“It was not your fault, Clemons,” she said, realizing she was trembling. “If our horses are saddled, let us go at once.”
In those brief fear-filled moments before she had seen that Cloud and Victor were safe, she had remembered Melissa’s words of the day before and Geoffrey’s angry comment about horse tricks, and she had not doubted for a minute that the man was capable of vicious, petty revenge, even against a child.
There was still no sign of him, and she did not inquire as to his whereabouts, not having the least notion what she might say to him or how she would act, but knowing full well that if she never laid eyes on the man again, she would not regret it.
They rode out of the stable yard, and as they approached the cliff path, she glanced at Charley, who had been unnaturally silent.
“A penny for your thoughts,” she said gently.
Charley met her gaze but did not speak for a long moment. Then she said, “I thought … That is, for just a minute, until I saw him, I thought maybe it was Victor. You know how scared he gets when it thunders, Aunt Daintry, and …”
“I know,” Daintry said, not waiting for her to try to complete the thought.
Soberly, Charley said, “What makes some houses comfortable and others not, Aunt Daintry? I don’t mean their furnishings; I mean the way they make a person feel.”
“The people in them, I suppose.”
“Uncle Geoffrey is horrid.”
In full agreement but aware that it would not do at all to enlarge upon the topic, she said, “You were in the wrong yesterday, you know. He was right to be displeased with you.”
“I know, but does he always want to hit people when he’s angry with them?”
“Some men are like that, darling.”
Another long silence fell, and Daintry did not break it. She had no desire to discuss Seacourt and thought it best to let Charley think her feelings through for herself.
The bright sunlight and the ocean scents wafting upward on the sea breezes cleared her head, making it a little easier to put the incident of the previous night behind her.
When the silver dun tossed its head, its dancing pace indicating that it was ripe for a run, she took herself firmly in hand.
“Shall we let them out? Cloud is champing at the bit.”
Their return journey was without incident, but Daintry’s interest in continuing the frequent visits to Seacourt Head had died.
So, it seemed, had Charley’s, for the child said nothing about returning to visit Melissa again before Christmas.
And however well intended their visits might have been, Daintry knew now that they might well have made matters worse for Susan in some ways.
Certain as she was now that Seacourt knew how Charley had helped his wife and child escape him that day on the moor, she thought it would be better for all of them if she and Charley played least in sight for a while.
And, in any case, with Christmas approaching and winter setting in with a vengeance, there was little opportunity to ride anywhere.
Davina and Charles returned from Truro barely speaking to each other, but Daintry discovered not only that Deverill had been one of the guests but that he and Jervaulx had left Cornwall for Gloucestershire, and she wished more than ever that she had gone to the house party rather than to Seacourt Head.
Lady St. Merryn seemed to take it for granted that her elder daughter’s family would join them for the holiday, but the harsh weather provided an excuse for Seacourt to keep his family home, and Daintry, though she missed Susan and Melissa, was not sorry.
A number of other guests did join them, however, including Lord Alvanley and Sir Lionel Werring, both of whom soon admitted that they had been invited to see the New Year in at Jervaulx Abbey.
Lady Ophelia took instant exception to the news. “Into the enemy’s nest, Lionel, that’s where you’re going,” she declared, fuming. It was the day after Christmas, and everyone had gathered in the drawing room after dinner.
Lady St. Merryn, sitting upright for once, suggested plaintively that the weather still was not suitable for travel.
“Not to worry, ma’am,” Werring retorted, holding out his wine glass for Medrose to refill. “Daresay we shan’t fall into a snowdrift, shall we, Alvanley?”
Alvanley’s eyes twinkled, and his cherubic smile lit his face as he said to Lady St. Merryn, “I doubt we shall get lotht on the main road to Gloucestershire, you know, ma’am.”
“I hope you do,” Lady Ophelia said tartly. “Serve you both right, going over to the enemy like that. You heard that wretch Jervaulx in court, Lionel, saying a woman must be better off with any husband, even one who tortures her, than on her own.”
“But, my dear Ophelia, that scarcely makes him your enemy, I hope,” the solicitor said blandly, “for I have said similar things to you on any number of occasions.”
“That is not the same thing,” she said. “One debates such things as a matter of course, but that courtroom was real. And prating utter drivel, Jervaulx dared to call it law!”
Sir Lionel swirled the amber liquid in his glass and said gently, “It is the law. Moreover, Jervaulx believes, as many do, that man is woman’s natural protector and defender, and one can scarcely blame him when the notion is as old as the Bible.”
“Very true,” Alvanley said. “Ever thince poor old Adam gave up hith rib to make Eve. There are great differences between the thexes, Lady Ophelia. You cannot dithagree with that, you know.”
“Try and see if she cannot,” St. Merryn said bitterly. “Must you prattle of our affairs to all and sundry, Ophelia?”
“Oh, pooh,” she said. “Lionel was there, and Alvanley has already heard the whole, for I told him myself. As to the drivel about Adam’s rib, any sensible person must disagree, since the Bible clearly was written by men as a fable to entertain other men.
Simple logic tells us God must have created woman first, since women, not men, give birth, but the writers of the Bible had to make up a way for a man to give birth in order to create an importance for him that otherwise he did not possess. ”
Lady St. Merryn gasped in shock, and Cousin Ethelinda twittered, “My dear Ophelia, such blasphemy! What would Reverend Sykes think of your saying such dreadful things about the Bible?”
“Reverend Sykes knows exactly what I think,” Lady Ophelia said.
“We have had more than one stimulating discussion about those very things, and he, I might add, has even admitted that women ought to have a good deal more say-so in this life. I hope someday to convince him that we ought to be allowed the same political and economic rights that men have.”
Testily, St. Merryn said, “Upon my word, Ophelia, what will you say next? Women are not equal to men and never will be. Even to suggest they should have such rights implies they are fit to assume power.” He laughed, and to her evident disgust, the other men laughed too. “Talk about something sensible, woman!”
Daintry wondered what Deverill would say, and decided he would most likely agree with her father.
Still, remembering some of their discussions, she thought he might at least be willing to discuss the matter, and at all events, it would be interesting to ask him.
She thought it was a pity he had left Cornwall.
Their guests departed for Jervaulx Abbey the next day, and heavy, intermittent rains settled in for several weeks. St. Merryn and Charles departed for Leicestershire, however, for the hunting season, leaving the ladies to their own devices.
Davina did not hesitate to make known her disgust at being left behind, but when Daintry asked if she would rather have accompanied the earl and Charles to their neat little hunting box at Melton Mowbray, Davina stared at her.
“Merciful heavens, no! I cannot imagine anything more uncomfortable, but it astonishes me that your great-aunt and her friends have not yet devised a way for ladies to enjoy themselves while all the men go hunting.”
The weather remained inclement for nearly two months, making everything gloomy, but at last it cleared to dull gray skies, and St. Merryn and Charles returned to escort their ladies to London.
Leaving Charley with her governess as was their annual custom, they departed the final week of February; however, the two-hundred-and-fifty-mile journey took two weeks to accomplish, because Lady St. Merryn insisted upon stopping frequently, either to recoup her strength with food and drink or to spend a night or two with friends along the way.
St. Merryn grumbled at the delays but made no attempt to countermand her instructions.
They reached the outskirts of the metropolis at last on a drizzly March afternoon, and Daintry, occupying the forward seat of the carriage opposite Lady Ophelia and Davina, was profoundly grateful to hear the carriage wheels rattle onto the cobblestones of Kensington High Street.
Her mother and Cousin Ethelinda occupied a second carriage all to themselves, while St. Merryn and Charles either rode or traveled in a third.
The fourth and fifth carriages contained their personal servants, and several other vehicles followed behind with all the baggage.