Secrets in the Regency Ballroom. Joanna FulfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
more difficult than he had anticipated, for the child was withdrawn and shy of him. Though he spoke to her with the utmost gentleness he had hardly been able to get half a dozen words out of her. He had tried telling her stories about the animals in India that he thought she might enjoy but, though she heard him quietly, she had offered no response. Moreover, she ate very little and slept badly. Clearly the disruption of recent months was taking its toll on her. More than once he had been overwhelmed with a sense of inadequacy.
Claire had known what to say, he recalled. From the first she had instinctively known how to get past the barrier that Lucy had been protecting herself with. He sighed. He had spoken more harshly than he should have done, but her words had touched a nerve. At the same time, he acknowledged, she was offering him an opportunity. Could it work?
After the unfortunate interview in the salon, Claire had seen Marcus only twice in the following week, and that was when he had come to the schoolroom. As usual he had stayed only a short time, just long enough to see what his niece was doing and to ask about her progress. When he had spoken to the child it was always in a tone of quiet encouragement, but this had never elicited more than a few shy words from Lucy. Seeing it, Claire had been saddened. Were the two of them destined to remain polite strangers?
She had said nothing at all to Lucy about the matter of a pony. Marcus had promised to speak to Trubshaw, but would he remember? He was very busy. She wouldn’t raise the child’s hopes only to see them dashed. Nor would she raise the subject again with Marcus himself. It was too loaded a topic now. He had made no reference to their conversation and his manner to her was one of polite aloofness. It seemed that she and Lucy were both to be relegated to the periphery of his affairs.
It came as a surprise, therefore, when a footman came to the nursery to say that His Lordship desired Miss Davenport and Miss Lucy to attend him in the stable yard after luncheon. Hearing the summons, Claire felt the first faint stirrings of hope. Had he kept his promise?
‘Why does Uncle Marcus want us to go to the stables, Miss Davenport?’
‘I don’t know, dear. We must go and find out.’
When they arrived, the Viscount was already there, talking to Trubshaw. Seeing their approach, he greeted them both and then nodded to the groom. The man promptly disappeared into the stable and emerged a few minutes later leading a grey pony. Understanding the implication, Claire felt her heart soar even as her critical eye took in the details of the new arrival. A sturdy, shaggy little creature, the pony stood approximately twelve hands high. He had a bushy mane and tail and gentle brown eyes. A perfect choice, she thought, and her face lit with a smile for she could not but remember when she had been given her first pony. The memory was bittersweet.
Beside her Lucy’s eyes widened.
‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he, Miss Davenport?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘May I ride him one day, do you think?’
‘You had better ask your uncle,’ she replied.
For a moment her gaze met his. Then Marcus looked down at the child and smiled. ‘Of course you can ride him. He’s yours.’
‘Mine? To keep? Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
Too overcome for speech just then, she flung her arms round him and hugged him. Taken totally by surprise, Marcus felt himself redden and then somehow, rather awkwardly, his arms were round the child and he was hugging her back. Then together they walked over to the pony.
‘His name’s Misty,’ he said.
Lucy looked up at him. ‘I like his name. It suits him.’
‘Yes, I think it does.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Er…’ Marcus looked at Trubshaw for help.
‘Ten, my lord,’ replied the other.
‘He’s older than me,’ said Lucy.
‘That’s so he can teach you how to ride, miss,’ replied the groom.
She nodded thoughtfully, then looked at her uncle. ‘Can I ride him now?’
‘Why not?’ He lifted her up and sat her on the pony’s back. ‘Hold on to his mane. That’s it.’ He looked at the groom. ‘Take her for a walk around the yard so she can get used to him.’
As they set off he watched for a moment or two and then glanced back at Claire only to see that she was already looking at him, her face lit with a dazzling smile. His heart missed a beat and for the second time that afternoon he was taken totally by surprise. She was more than a pretty girl, he realised then. Furthermore, the expression in those glorious eyes was joyful and tender and its warmth was directed at him. The effect was to take his breath away.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Marcus collected himself quickly. ‘He’s hardly bloodstock,’ he replied, ‘but he’s quiet and steady enough for the child to learn on.’
She nodded. ‘Lucy adores him already.’
He followed her gaze back to the child and the pony, and then he smiled, too. ‘I believe she does.’
‘It will be hard to keep her away from him now, but he will be so good for her, I know it. He’ll build her confidence like nothing else could.’
‘Yes, I think he will, and for that I owe you my thanks. If you had not mentioned the idea, it might not have occurred to me.’
‘I’m very glad I did.’
‘So am I.’
The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and the grey eyes looking into her face held an expression she had never seen there before. It disturbed and excited in equal measure, like the memory of his lips on her neck and throat. The recollection sent a shiver along her skin and she was more than ever glad he had known nothing of it. Besides, she reflected, in his fevered dream he had been kissing someone else.
Just then Lucy returned, bright-eyed and smiling, from her short excursion. Marcus lifted her down.
‘Can I ride him again tomorrow?’ she begged.
‘Yes, I don’t see why not,’ he replied. ‘If Miss Davenport doesn’t mind.’
He looked over the child’s head and met Claire’s eye. Lucy looked up anxiously.
Claire laughed. ‘No, I don’t mind.’
‘Will you teach me how to ride properly, Uncle Marcus?’
‘If you wish.’
‘Oh, yes, please.’
‘Very well, but I warn you now. I shall expect you to try hard.’
‘I will try hard, I promise.’
She tucked her small hand into his and gave the other to Claire. Then they walked back to the house together.
‘Will Miss Davenport come riding with us too, Uncle Marcus?’
‘If she wishes to,’ he replied.
The grey eyes rested on Claire. Her heart leapt. It would be wonderful to ride again. She had always loved it, but the opportunities had been few and far between in recent years for it was a pursuit that found little favour with her aunt. Equally quickly she knew it would not be possible to take up the invitation. She had no riding clothes and no means of getting any either with the few meagre shillings remaining to her.
‘I’m afraid I cannot,’ she replied.
‘Why not?’
‘I regret that I have no suitable costume.’
‘I see.’
Much to her relief he didn’t pursue it. In any case, she realised, he must have understood how the case was. He had seen every