A Country Miss in Hanover Square. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
his mouth for an instant—and it had done his horses little good to have their mouths sawed at in that way!
‘What on earth do you think you were doing?’ he thundered, tossing the reins to his groom and jumping down to confront her. He hardly noticed her pale face or trembling hands. ‘That was a damned stupid thing to do! I could have killed you!’
‘Had you not been driving so carelessly, it would not have happened,’ the girl retorted, eyes flashing. She tossed her long hair, giving him a look filled with contempt. ‘These country roads are not made for such haste, sir. I had no idea that you would suddenly come round that corner like a bat driven out of hell….’
‘You must have heard the sound of my wheels,’ Harry retorted, though he knew that she had some right on her side. ‘What on earth possessed you to dash across the road in that way?’
‘I saw some primroses I wanted,’ the girl replied. ‘This is a quiet road, sir. No one ever drives the way you were driving.’
‘Possibly because they are none of them able,’ Harry retorted. Even as he spoke he realised that he sounded petulant and arrogant, which was far from his nature. ‘You should be more careful when crossing the road near bends in the road, miss…’ Harry belatedly became aware that she was rather lovely. Her hair had been tossed by the wind and looked like spun gold, and her eyes were so clear that a man might drown in them. He found himself staring like an idiot. ‘Forgive me, I do not know your name.’
‘Nor shall you,’ the girl replied, giving him a haughty stare. ‘Sir, I find you arrogant and rude and I shall say good day to you.’
Stunned, Harry watched as she ran from him, scrambled over a stile at the side of the road and set off swiftly across the fields. He came to himself in that instant, realising that he had handled the situation badly.
‘I am sorry…’ he called after her. ‘I was anxious because I might have killed you. I did not mean to be so harsh.’
The girl did not falter or look back. Harry continued to watch her for a few moments, then he shook his head and climbed back to the driving box. His damnable temper had let him down. It was not often he lost it, but for some reason he had done so this morning. Instead of shouting at her, he should have made sure that she was none the worse for her fright. For a moment he was tempted to go after her, but he was in a hurry; he had promised to meet his friends at a mill held locally at a certain time and was already late. He frowned as he began to drive at a slightly more sedate pace. It was obvious the girl was unharmed, but he had not made the proper enquiries. He ought at least to have asked if she needed his assistance, though it was self-evident that she did not.
A little smile touched his mouth. She had answered him with spirit. Clearly she had not suffered an irritation of the nerves, as most of the young ladies in town might have, had they been subject to such a display of bad manners from a man who was generally considered to be one of the politest men in society. However, from the look of her clothes and the way she had been roaming the countryside without a hat or a companion, she was just a country girl—possibly the daughter of the local vicar. It was unlikely he would ever see her again, and, while he felt a certain regret, the incident was soon pushed to a distant corner of his mind.
Susannah stopped running when she was out of breath. What a bad-tempered man the driver of that phaeton had been! Had he been a little more considerate, a little caring in his manner, she would have apologised, for she knew herself to be partly at fault. However, he had come round the bend at such a pace that it was a wonder he had managed to stop at all. She was fortunate that she had not been trampled beneath his horses’ hooves. If she had not felt so startled, she might have admired the way he handled his horses, which were clearly high spirited. However, the way he had shouted at her had put all thought of apology from her mind.
Frowning, Susannah sat down on a fallen log to recover her composure before going home. As her nerves ceased tingling, she suddenly saw the amusing side of the affair and laughed. It had been quite an adventure, and she had often longed for something of the sort. However, in her dreams the gentleman would smile and speak softly, making her heart beat faster. Her heart had indeed slammed against her chest, but from fright rather than pleasure. Now that she had begun to feel calmer, she remembered that he had been rather handsome—if you liked arrogant, rude men! She tossed her head and put the incident from her mind as she approached the cottage they had taken after poor Papa died. She must hurry; she had been out a long time and her mama would be looking for her.
Susannah walked into the cottage, carrying a basket of herbs and wildflowers she had picked in the hedgerow. Her fine gold hair had blown all over the place and her cheeks were pink from the fresh air. She looked beautiful, if untidy, and not quite the proper young lady. Her looks were misleading—she had been taught her manners and was in truth a well-behaved girl, though spirited and inclined to be reckless at times. She took her precious finds into the large kitchen, setting them down on the scrubbed pine table. The smell of baking was everywhere, tantalising and tempting. She felt hungry, her mouth watering at the thought of such a treat. Her hand was reaching towards a plate of cakes that were still cooling when Maisie walked in. Maisie had once been her nurse, and now she kept house for Mrs Hampton, turning her hand to anything that needed doing, because they could no longer afford the luxury of servants.
‘Now then, Miss Susannah,’ the woman grumbled. ‘You leave them cakes alone. Your mama has the Vicar and some friends coming for tea this afternoon, and I’ve used the last of the butter. At least there’s none to spare for more baking.’
‘Can’t I have just one?’ Susannah pleaded, her stomach rumbling with hunger. ‘I haven’t eaten since first thing this morning.’
‘You should have been here for your luncheon instead of wandering about the countryside like a hoyden.’ Maisie looked at her with disapproval, which masked the deep affection between them. ‘Go and change your gown before anyone sees you. It will be time for tea in an hour or so. You can wait until then.’
‘I’m hungry now,’ Susannah said and snatched a warm and chewy oat biscuit, fleeing from the kitchen with Maisie’s scolding ringing in her ears.
She sighed as she went upstairs to change out of the old gown she had worn for her walk. She had managed to get grass stains on the hem again, and there was a small rent where she had caught it on some briars, so it was a good thing she had chosen this gown. It was important to conserve her best things for special occasions these days. They had just enough money to live on and pay Maisie her meagre wage, but Susannah had no idea what they would do when they needed new clothes.
Everything had changed after her father died, for he had lost his estate by making unwise investments and at the gaming tables. Mama had a little money of her own, which she had inherited from her father, but the income was scarcely enough to keep them.
‘I do not know what to do, Susannah,’ her mother had told her when they moved from their comfortable house to this modest cottage. It had seemed bare and poor compared to the comfortable house they had been forced to leave, but somehow they had managed to turn it into a home. ‘If I release what little capital I have, we could afford a Season in town for you, but then we should have nothing left.’
‘And if I did not take, you would have given up your living for nothing,’ Susannah said. She was a good-natured girl and had accepted their downfall into poverty with good grace. ‘No, Mama. We shall manage as best we can. Perhaps I shall meet someone—a prince!—who will love me for myself and carry me off to his castle. I shall have jewels and beautiful clothes, and you will never have to worry again.’ Her smile was unconsciously wistful.
Mrs Hampton shook her head sadly at her daughter’s flight of fancy. ‘You are very pretty, my darling, but things do not often happen that way. I dare say someone will offer for you, but he may not be to your liking.’
‘You are thinking of Squire Horton, I suppose.’ Susannah pulled a face, for the Squire was past forty, a generous kind gentleman, who had buried two wives and had a brood of boisterous children. She appreciated his qualities, but found him rather large and a little too dull for her quick mind.
She