Fenella Miller - A Country Mouse

“Then that is what you shall have. With the right garments and decent food inside you we will turn you into the most beautiful girl in Surrey. And if you break that jackanapes heart, it would do no more than serve him right.”

“Please, grandfather, I was only funning. I didn't mean it.”

“You did, my dear girl. I saw how he insulted you; you shall have your revenge. It's high time that young man was taught a lesson. He has had things his own way ever since he was in leading strings.”

Emily giggled, her wild idea now seemed a possibility. “I put myself in your knowledgeable hands, Grandfather. By the by, I do not really wish to be married at the moment. It was merely a ploy to gain some money for the family.”

“Excellent! I do not wish to lose you yet, my dear. I feel we are going to be the best of friends. We are two of a kind; you remind me of myself at your age.”

Neither of them mentioned that Sebastian was even more like his great-grandfather but they both thought it.

Emily decided to dine in her sitting-room, with the girls, that night. As she had no other dress, changing for dinner was an impossibility. Her mother was too exhausted, after all the excitement, and had retired to bed. She had no desire to eat on her own with her grandfather. Although cordial relations were now established, Emily was still finding it difficult to reconcile the two sides of the Earl of Westerham, irascible tyrant one moment and benevolent old gentleman the next. It was small wonder, she thought, Viscount Yardley had turned out so pompous.

Millie and Serena had gone off with Mary to explore their new home. They had already investigated the school rooms upstairs and found them admirable. Emily supposed a governess would have to be employed to continue their education. She intended to be far too busy learning how to be a polished lady of the ton instead of a country mouse.

Becoming bored with her book Emily rang for Jenny. “I'm going out for a walk; I wish to change into my brown walking dress and pelisse.”

“But that's so old, miss. You cannot wear such an outfit here.” Jenny was shocked to the core by such a suggestion.

“Fustian, Jenny. I have no other suitable for a long walk in the grounds. A mantua maker has been sent for from London but, until she arrives, and starts refurbishing our wardrobes, we must wear what we have, or stay shut up in our rooms all day.”

Stoutly shod in scuffed black half boots, an old chip straw bonnet rammed on her head, she was ready to venture out. Jenny was left behind. Emily did not consider that walking about the garden warranted a maid to accompany her.

A series of attentive young footmen sprung to attention at her footsteps and doors were opened and closed like clock work. It was lucky that she, unlike most of her sex, had been blessed with good sense of direction and an excellent visual memory. She arrived in the Grand Hall without getting herself lost once. The frosty faced butler, Penfold, materialized beside her.

“Is, Miss Gibson, going outside might I enquire?”

Emily almost looked round to see if Miss Gibson was accompanying her and was forced to cover her involuntary snigger by diving into her reticule. “I am intending to take a walk around the park before it gets too dark.” She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking the self-important gentleman for permission to go out.

“Will, Miss Gibson, require an escort on her perambulations?”

“No, she will not.” Emily hurried to the front door and two footman opened it with a flourish and bowed her through, like royalty.

She ran down the steps and her tinkling laughter was clearly heard by Sebastian, just returning from his ride, and about to take his magnificent chestnut stallion, Sultan, back to the stable yard. Instead he sent the horse skittering around the corner, scattering gravel and dirt, to investigate.

The sound of a horse approaching made Emily pause and she turned to face the noise. Judging by the stamping and the jangling, the animal approaching was large and spirited. Exactly the kind of horse she liked to ride herself.

Sultan danced, snorting, around the corner of the building, arriving at exactly the same time as she did. The horse, startled by her sudden appearance, half reared, and Sebastian swore loudly, expecting to have a fainting female collapse under his horse's massive hooves.

Emily laughed again, stepped sideways, and reached up to take the horse's bit. “Steady, old fellow. Nothing to get so excited about.” She placed her free hand on the stallion's nose and brought it down to her level. “You're a handsome boy, are you not?” She breathed, open mouthed into the horse's flaring nostrils, the odd action establishing an instant rapport with the normally savage beast.

Up to that point she had quite forgotten that the horse had not arrived alone. She had been so occupied making friends she had not heard his rider dismount.

“What the hell do you think you are doing? Do you want to be killed, you stupid girl?”

Emily found herself nose to nose with a furious man with blazing blue eyes. “How dare you speak to me like that? I am not a serving maid.” They glared at each other, her huge hazel eyes glittered with righteous indignation.

Sultan, resenting the attention being taken from himself, lowered his head and nudged Emily firmly on the back. The unexpected push sent her flying into a solid wall of muscle. Sebastian, unprepared was unable to brace himself and he lost his balance and they tumbled backwards on to the ground.

The language he used was quite new to Emily. Her landing had been far softer than his; she was safely cradled in Viscount Yardley's arms, he had taken the full brunt of the hard ground. The situation was ridiculous and Emily laughed.

“I think, sir, that you should moderate your language; my ears are burning.”

Sebastian's swearing ceased instantly. He grinned, quite unrepentant, and suddenly looked much younger and less intimidating. “And I think you, Miss Gibson, should consider your position; it is quite unseemly.”

At his words Emily immediately attempted to roll away but his arms tightened, holding her still. She could feel the heat flood from top to toe and hated her second cousin for causing her so much embarrassment.

“Please, release me, immediately. I wish to stand up.” Her voice was little more than a whisper and Sebastian realized, too late, that he had gone too far. This was no fast London debutante but a shy country girl.

With one lithe move he sat up, placing Emily on the ground beside him as he did so. Before she could attempt to stand he was up and taking her hands pulled her easily to her feet. He stepped back, his expression serious.

“I apologize, Miss Gibson; that was out of order. I treated you with disrespect and you do not deserve that.”

Emily glanced nervously upwards. What she saw reassured her. “I accept your apology, sir. It appears that we are destined to fall out every time we meet”

He smiled, his eyes warm with amusement. “Fall over, on this occasion, I think, Cousin Emily.”

Emily felt herself blush again, but this time it was for quite a different reason. To cover her disquiet she busied herself with the shaking out of her dress, glad she was not wearing either of her new gowns. When she had recovered her composure she answered, the tone as light as his.

“Let us hope our meetings in future are less hazardous, Cousin Sebastian.” For some reason she felt that her words might come to back to haunt her. 

Lady Althea opened her eyes and for a moment was not sure where she was. She gazed round the delightful chamber, decorated in the Oriental style. On the bed hangings, and the curtains, dark red poppies and lush green leaves rioted, the colours nearly as fresh as the day they were hung almost thirty years ago.

With a sigh of pleasure she sank back into the pillows, she was home, sleeping in the rooms she had occupied until she had defied her parents and married Peter Gibson. She could remember clearly the day she and her mother had selected the exotic materials still hanging here.

For the first time in two long years she felt contented with her lot. She believed she was finally turning the corner and could start to live her life without the support of her beloved husband. Still smiling, she leant over and gently tugged the bell rope. She would rise and take a bath. Using the bathing room again after so long would be a novelty.

Edwards appeared beside her. “Yes madam? Are you ready to rise?”

“I am, Edwards. But first I would like a bath. I do not intend to go down this evening so lay out an old gown, any will do.”

Her dresser beamed. “The water is on its way. I heard you sit up and sent word down. There is a note come up for you, my lady, will you read it now?”

Lady Althea held out an elegant hand, the veins showing blue through her pale skin. She unfolded the paper and seeing the contents laughed out loud. A sound Edwards had not heard for far too long.

“Excellent! The Earl has arranged for Madame Ducray to come down from town bringing a selection of materials and ready sewed gowns, for us to choose from. She will be staying at Westerham until all four of us have completely renewed our wardrobes. Is that not splendid news?”

Edwards nodded. “Yes, madam. It's high time you all had new gowns.”

The sound of clattering buckets was clearly heard from the adjoining bathing room and Lady Althea got out of bed with enthusiasm.