Page 23 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Ten

Captain Oliver Featherstone called at Ormonde Abbey at precisely three o’clock in the afternoon, having ridden down from Marlborough on his flashy bay in the continued good weather. Ysella, who had been standing sentry at the window overlooking the front drive, spotted his figure in the distance. With a squeal of delight, she rushed first to inform Morvoren that her beau was on his way, and secondly down the stairs into the drawing room to join Mama, who was engaged in stitching a bonnet for young Master George.

Neither Mama nor Kit had been at all pleased that she’d invited a gentleman caller, although this time, forewarned by Morvoren’s reaction, Ysella omitted to mention his friendship with Cousin Fitz. That would not have endeared him to Kit in any way, and she dearly wanted Oliver to make a good impression on her brother. After all, he’d said he had to have her, and that must mean only one thing. That he intended to offer for her hand. Perhaps he would do it today. How exciting that would be.

But Kit had taken umbrage and gone out onto the estate with Sam Beauchamp visiting their tenants and was not yet returned. Why he had to do that on a day when a very important question might need posing escaped Ysella. But gone he had. Brothers. They were a law unto themselves and most irritating.

Sam, who’d been there when Ysella had announced to Kit the imminent arrival of a beau from London, had bestowed a look of misery on Ysella that must surely have been on account of his not wanting to visit all those tenants. Ysella could only agree with that sentiment. Very boring that would be, even if most of them happened to be nice people. Ysella was glad, yet again, for having been born a girl without the responsibilities her brother had inherited.

Snatching up her own sewing—a nightgown to match the bonnet but without so much embroidery required, which was lucky as Ysella was very bad at embroidery—she sat down beside Mama with the intention of pretending she’d been industriously occupied since luncheon. Mama, who had also expressed annoyance in no uncertain terms at Ysella issuing invitations to a house of sickness, gave Ysella a reproving frown. Both she and Kit had been forced to agree that sending a messenger to Marlborough to avert the visit was unthinkable, but that didn’t mean they’d given it the seal of their approval.

A five-minute wait brought Bannerman to the door, opening it to allow Oliver to enter. “Captain Featherstone, Milady,” he said to Mama.

Oliver swaggered into the airy room, his presence filling it, or so it appeared to Ysella. His resemblance to one of her idealized romantic heroes seemed even greater in this setting. Her bosom physically heaved at the sight of him, more handsome than ever with his gently curling hair arranged in an upsweep of curls that added to his already impressive height. This time, he wore an impeccable blue tailcoat over buff breeches, with the points of his collar even higher than they’d been in London, making it hard for him to turn his head. His top boots still shone, but were lightly flecked with mud from his ride over from Marlborough.

He swept a flamboyant bow to Mama. “Lady Ormonde, charmed to make your acquaintance once again. I swear you get younger every time I see you.”

Ysella suppressed an unladylike snort. What a lie. No one could get younger, so he was just being flattering, and it was a mistake, because Mama was not susceptible to that kind of flattery. She should have warned him.

Mama held out her hand, which he took and kissed. “How perfectly lovely to see you again, Captain. And so soon…” Both her tone and her arched eyebrows insinuated the inappropriateness of his visit, and Ysella’s forehead furrowed. This might be more difficult than she’d been anticipating.

“Won’t you take a seat for a few minutes,” Mama said, her clipped words suggesting a few minutes was all the time he would be allowed to stay for.

Oliver flicked the tails of his coat out of the way, and perched on one of the stiffly upholstered chairs, his eyes resting on Mama still. A wise move. Although, the thought of Mama catching a glimpse of the hot gaze meant for her made Ysella stiff with fear. The niceties of social etiquette needed to be adhered to for Mama’s sake, even if in private. But Ysella was aching for Oliver to take her in his arms and bestow another kiss like yesterday’s upon her. Inside her satin slippers, her toes curled in delight at the thought and a warm glow suffused her. The memory of that kiss and how it had felt had grown in her imagination out of all proportion.

“Are you passing through on your way somewhere?” Mama asked, managing to stitch and regard Oliver at the same time.

He shook his head. “Not quite. I’ve taken a room in Marlborough—at the Castle Inn. It came well recommended by a friend, and I’m finding it most comfortable.”

“Do you have acquaintances in the locality that you intend to visit?” To Ysella’s oversensitive ears, Mama’s voice sounded stiff with reproach. Or was that her imagination? Enough to put off the most ardent of beaux. Would she be this forbidding if Oliver were to have a title to his name, or, like Meliora’s boring husband, a lucrative career? Although, of course, he might be heir to a title she didn’t know about. Just because his father was a bishop, it didn’t mean he had no claim to an aristocratic lineage. An interesting thought.

Oliver nodded. “In a way, although I doubt very much my particular friend is in residence. Captain Fitzwilliam Carlyon of Denby Castle. I believe he is your nephew.”

Oh no. Now Mama would tell Kit that Oliver was a friend of Fitz’s. If only she could have warned him not to mention it.

A small smile twitched at the corner of Mama’s mouth. She had a soft spot for Fitz, as did Ysella. She’d once told her daughter that a man who was a rake, as Fitz was, commanded an undeniable attraction for the ladies, perhaps leading them to hope they might reform him. “Dear Fitz,” Mama said, with a slightly wistful smile. “I believe he is on leave from his regiment and in London at the moment, for the season. I’m sure I saw him at the Denby House ball looking handsome in his regimentals.”

Oliver nodded. “You did indeed, Lady Ormonde. And it is due to him that I’m down here in Wiltshire. I told him I fancied some time in the country, and he was kind enough to describe to me how beautiful Wiltshire is. I might ride over to Denby Castle in a day or two, if it takes my fancy. Just to see if it’s as lovely as Fitz informed me.”

A tiny nub of worry formed in Ysella’s heart, as Oliver demonstrated his adeptness at telling lies, something Mama, and Papa when he was alive, had always drummed into her was to be abhorred, whatever the cause. Not that she always adhered to that rule herself. But this must be the sort of expedient lie that didn’t matter so much, taking the place of a truth Mama could not hear. She must never find out that Ysella had invited Oliver down here herself. She’d think it far too forward.

Mama managed another rather forced smile. “You have chosen the loveliest of seasons, although at the moment the weather is a little inclement for my liking.”

An idea seized Ysella. “Might I ride out with Captain Featherstone a few times—to show him the country?” She looked from Mama back to him. “My brother, Lord Ormonde, has set up some obstacles in our woods. They make a ride so much more fun. I love to jump and my horse is agile as a cat.”

Mama frowned. “I don’t think Captain Featherstone will have the time to ride out with you, Ysella. Will you, Captain?” To Ysella’s deep annoyance, everything about her tone implied the answer she expected should be a “no.”

He met Mama’s challenging gaze. “I could make time, if it would amuse Miss Carlyon.”

Mama’s eyes flashed a warning. She did not like to be crossed.

This was not going the way Ysella had planned. Why was Mama so hostile to Oliver? She needed to do something. A glance at the long windows gave her an idea. “Would you care to see our gardens and hothouses, Captain Featherstone? We’re very proud of our pineapple plants.”

Mama frowned.

Oliver, however, smiled and nodded. “If Lady Ormonde doesn’t object. I have a particular fascination for hothouse growing.”

Did he? That was news to Ysella, but as it provided a good excuse to escape from the drawing room, she wasn’t about to complain.