July
1818
The sun beat down relentlessly on Jenefer’s
head as she made her way up the drive to Lord Summerhey’s fine Palladian house.
She sighed.
Doubtless it was a waste of time and
effort, but she had to try.
She knocked, and found herself
confronted by a very grand footman.
“I’ve come to see the Marquis,” she
said. “It’s a matter of business. My
name is Miss Hellyer.”
“I will see if his lordship is at
home; please wait,” said the starchy butler, motioning her into the grand
vestibule.
Jenefer sighed in relief at the
coolness of that marble-clad room. She
judged that the walls here were real marble, not the painted faux marble
favoured by many. Pink-shot panels were
surrounded by frames of darker pink breccias, light against the general grey of
the wall, and the floor was in marble tiles of dark and light grey. A grand, white staircase sprang away to upper
floors, and sundry doors opened off the vestibule. Jenefer tentatively sat down on one of the
delicate Louis Quinze chairs.
She jumped up at the sound of an
amused voice.
“Well, you don’t look like a
Paphian.”
She felt suddenly very conscious of
her old, out-of-date cotton gown, her darned gloves, and felt certain that the
speaker could even see the darn on her stocking toe, under her heavy brogues.
She was aware that her capote bonnet had been out of date for many years.
“Sir, I am not a Paphian,” she said.
The man who emerged from the shadows
was tall; so very tall! Jenefer was a
small, neat person with the dark hair of her Celtic forebears, and she barely
reached his collar-bone! For the rest, he was unremarkable, if described, and
yet he had a presence which filled the room.
His face was as swarthy as any farmer or sailor, making his tow-coloured
hair and piercingly bright blue eyes the more startling. He was casually dressed, but the fabric was
of the finest, and did not hide his broad shoulders and slim hips. His neck tie was a casual knot, of no
recognisable style, but it suited him.
“No, I believe I said I did not
think you were. I wondered who you might
be, and what you might want.”
“I came to see the marquis; are you
he, or has he sent you to get rid of me?”
“Why, if I planned to get rid of
you, I would hardly ask what you wanted, would I?”
“No, I suppose not, but it might be
a politely conventional question posed before an equally polite but definite
brush-off,” said Jenefer, candidly. “You didn’t say if you were the marquis or
if you were an amanuensis.”
“No, I didn’t, did I?” his eyes
sparkled with near malicious humour.
“Treat me like an amanuensis and tell me why you want to see the
marquis.”
“Well, sir, it is because the
marquis loves horses, and I hoped he would be amenable to help save the Exmoor
ponies,” said Jenefer. “Any man who has
been written about in the news for having severed connexions with his mistress
because she was cruel to her horse cannot be all bad.”
He blinked.
Whatever he might have expected,
this was not it.
“Why on earth do the Exmoor ponies
need saving?” he demanded.
“Oh, it is the fault of that horrid
man, John Knight, who has bought the royal forest, now it has been sold
off. He wants to put it all to the
plough, to the detriment of all the livestock, and those farmers who have had
rights of forage for their pigs and kine, but he’s also driving off the
ponies,” said Jenefer, passionately.
“Indeed? They are the oldest breed of British pony, I
believe,” he said.
“Yes, and it would be a shame if
they just were captured and domesticated and bred with other ponies, so that
heritage was lost,” said Jenefer. “Oh,
please, will you ask the marquis if he will help? I ... horses and ponies trust me, so I could
help with rounding them up, but I ... I have no monetary resources to help,
Papa’s pension does not go far.”
“He is a soldier?”
“A sailor, he was second lieutenant
on a frigate, but he was blinded in a magazine explosion. He was lucky to survive, though he has often
said he wished he had not done so,” said Jenefer softly.
“He is lucky to have a loving and
caring daughter. And as for telling the
marquis, why, you have done so quite adequately.”
She stared.
“You are the marquis? But I asked,
and you said you were an amanuensis.”
“No, Miss Hellyer, I told you to
treat me like an amanuensis. I thought I
might get further if you weren’t about to gush.”
“I don’t gush, my lord; I have what
many people in your position would consider a deplorable lack of
gushiness. If there is such a word.”
“Well, there is now, if there wasn’t
before,” said the marquis. “Well, here you
see me, Neville Summer, Marquis Summerhey, do you really think I cannot be all
bad?”
“Well, as an animal-lover, I am
biased,” said Jenefer, candidly. “The
vicar, however, denounces you roundly as a womaniser and a misogynist, though I
should have thought that posited an oxymoron.”
Neville gave a harsh bark of
laughter.
“He means, you innocent little doe
... you look remarkably like a doe, you know, big brown pleading eyes, and
somewhat untamed for all your docile appearance ... that I look on women only
for my own entertainment. Those I pay attention to, anyway.”
“Do you?”
“On the whole, the ones I have met,
yes,” said Neville. “Most of the females I know are either irritating or
stupid, except for the ones who are both irritating and stupid.”
“Dear me,” said Jenefer. “You appear to have had as limited experience
with women as I have had with men, since most of the men I have met are either
annoying or tedious, save for those which manage to be both annoying and tedious.”
“Touché, Miss Hellyer,” said the
marquis. “Yes, I have met our worthy neighbours, and most of them are as dull
as ditchwater. I take it that any kind
of season is out of the question?”
“On my father’s pension? Yes. He was a younger son, and sadly devoid of
rich uncles with a desire to leave any money to him. But it is not an uncommon state of
affairs. When he was still in the navy,
he was able to keep a wife and child well enough so long as we were not extravagant,
and Mama was never extravagant, being a curate’s daughter. However, I have resigned myself to the
inevitable, and I am hoping to have books on the wildlife of Exmoor
published. Or I was before the wildlife
was placed in jeopardy. I am a competent
artist.”
“Perhaps the production of such a
book will also prompt more people to do their part in facilitating the wildlife
before this fellow, what was his name? Gets it ploughed.”
“John Knight; he’s an ironmaster
from Wolverly,” said Jenefer with distaste. “Do you think it would help? I will put all my savings into having it published
in that case.”
Neville frowned.
“Will you permit me to sponsor it,
as my effort towards saving the wildlife?
I also have contacts which can more easily find a publisher.”
“Oh, sir, if you will, but I must
pay you back.”
“You shall do so, when it is selling
well enough to do so,” said the marquis, hoping that she had not overestimated
her ability as an artist. Wildlife books
sold readily enough if well illustrated. But she seemed not to be the sort of
young lady to exaggerate her abilities.
“And I will see about having some of the ponies moved to my own
land. May I drive you home?”
“I do not like to impose, but if the
offer is genuine, not politeness, I will gladly take you up on it,” said
Jenefer. “It is a six mile walk, and in
this heat it has been trying.”
“Good grief, Miss Hellyer! You must partake of some refreshment before
returning as well; I supposed you to have come up the drive only, from the
village,” Neville was aghast. “No, do not protest; please come into the salon
through here, and I will ring for tea and biscuits.”
It was not unpleasant to have so
masterful a host, reflected Jenefer, and one who was sensible to the exertions
of a long walk in the sun. She supped
tea, and nibbled some delicious biscuits of various types, chatting about the
animals of the forest.
“I do have my commonplace book,” she
said, shyly. “I was going to show
pictures of the ponies, to melt a hard heart if I had to do so.”
“Then pray show it to me,” said
Neville.
Jenefer got it out of her large
reticule, and he perused her sketches.
“You really are very good,” he
said. “And some nice botanical studies
too; do you include those in your book?”
“Yes, sir, for the flowers and
insects are as much a part of the forest as the animals,” Jenefer replied.
“ And a shame if we lost any of
them. There are many kinds of grouse already which have died out in the forest,
as well as the wild boar,” said Neville.
“Although I cannot say I regret the boar.”
“They are said to be a trifle
aggressive,” agreed Jenefer.
Neville had ordered his curricle to
be set up and a groom to ride along on the back when he ordered tea, and when
Jenefer was refreshed, he led her round to the stables.
The sound of cursing and neighing
was to be heard before they went into the stable yard to see several hands
trying to hang on to a black steed, which was rearing and thrashing at them
with its hoofs. One of the men raised a
whip.
“Not
if you plan to keep your job,” bellowed the marquis. The man backed off guiltily, and the horse
reared up again, and seemed likely to run straight at Neville.
Jenefer walked forward.
“Now what’s all this, old boy?” she
said.
The plunging hoofs cycled once ...
twice ... and came down.
“So I should think,” said Jenefer,
severely. “What are you up to, frightening
everyone like that? Are you frightened,
old fellow?”
The horse nickered.
“I think that was agreement,” said
Neville. “What happened?”
“He broke out of his stall again, my
lord,” said the groom, gaping as Jenefer went up to what had been moments before
an equine demon, patting his nose. “I
dunno how the lady did that.”
“It doesn’t matter; what matters is
that she has Bellerophon calm for the first time since we have had him,” said
Neville.
“What has happened to him?” Jenefer was petting the big horse.
“He belonged to a female who was
whipping him,” said Neville. “The one you mentioned.”
“Oh,” said Jenefer. “He is such a softy, but I think he is afraid
of the stall. I don’t know what she has
done, but I think he associates the inside of a stable with a bad
experience. Perhaps she whipped him
worse inside so nobody would see. I
don’t think he is a horse who would do what he is told without wanting to do it
as well.”
“Miss Hellyer, if you can gentle
him, he is yours,” said Neville.
“I wish I could accept, but I must
decline, for we do not keep any kind of horse,” said Jenefer, blushing at
having to confess her poverty.
“Then I will leave standing orders
that you may ride him any time you wish,” said Neville. “He needs exercising, and if your papa will
permit me to escort you, I will be happy to pick you up, oh, three times a
week, say, to ride off his fidgets. He
won’t let me on him.”
“She’s had some paramour of hers
whip him, hasn’t she?” blurted out Jenefer.
“So that she doesn’t have to do the exercise for herself.”
Neville’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“During her reign in my protection?”
he said, in a quiet, dangerous voice.
“You are not suggesting it was me?”
“Obviously not,” said Jenefer. “And
I wager whoever did it had to tie him.
He went for you when he saw you, not because he saw you as the
tormentor, but because you are dressed as a gentleman and you have a high
beaver. I suspect the woman was playing
you false. Someone who would hurt an
animal would do anything.”
Neville frowned.
“I did seem to run into Attenley
rather frequently,” he said. “And he has
a cruel streak. I don’t say you’re wrong.
I must approach Bellerophon without the hat.”
“With due respect, my lord, I
suggest you come to the stables without hat or coat to make his acquaintance,
for any gentleman expecting to undertake exercise would take his hat and coat
off, and he would see that happen.”
“Do you think he could be so
intelligent?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, sir, horses can be
very clever indeed,” said Jenefer.
“Very well. For now, as the weather is set fair, he can
go in the paddock,” decided Neville. “Will you lead him?”
“Gladly,” said Jenefer.
“Two of you, bring a manger out for
him,” said Neville. “Through here, Miss
Hellyer. And my thanks for your aid.”
“I am glad to be of some use,” said
Jenefer. “How fortunate it is that my bonnet is quite antediluvian in its
antiquity, and devoid of feathers, so that I did not remind him of that female,
for I cannot think that she even aspires to be a woman, never mind a lady.”
Neville laughed.
“It must be the first time in
history that a woman has been glad of an old bonnet,” he said. “May I suggest
that you continue to wear it to ride, rather than a riding hat?”
“Oh, I do not possess a riding hat,
nor a habit; but I will make do with a morning gown and this, my one bonnet,”
said Jenefer. “Bellerophon, he’s a Greek
hero, isn’t he? There’s a ship named Bellerophon and the men call her ‘Billy
Ruffian’ which is the best some of them can manage.”
“Yes,” said Neville. “But then, sometimes it is the humour of the
men, I suspect, not ignorance which changes names; I heard of ship captured
from the French which had been named ‘La Merle’, the blackbird, but a sailor
who had picked up French when captured suggested calling it the ‘Merde’, which
... dear me, I forgot what I was going to say.”
“You were about to forget the
presence of a lady and admit to a name which has a very questionable meaning,”
said Jenefer. “I do not know what it means, but I do know
that it is not a very proper word.”
“No, quite so,” said Neville.
“The marquis asked you to go riding
with him? Why?” asked Lt. Hellyer,
sharply.
“To exercise the horse nobody else
can go near,” said Jenefer.
The Lieutenant frowned.
If he had not known of his
daughter’s extraordinary gift with horses and ponies, he might have thought it
a very strange excuse indeed, but he did know, and he also knew that the
marquis was horse mad, and had been so from a very early age.
“Very well; but take care,” he said.
“Best of fathers,” Jenefer kissed
his cheek. “He’s hardly likely to be
setting up a dowdy little country mouse as a flirt, so you need not worry about
that.”
“I wish you were not dowdy,” sighed
her father.
“But if I were not dowdy, you would
worry more, and so would Bellerophon. My mount,” said Jenefer.
It was exhilarating to ride
Bellerophon, and if Jenefer’s ankles showed more than was decent, in an
ordinary round gown, the longest one she owned, then the marquis did not
comment. Bellerophon seemed to be
enjoying himself too.
“I’ve set in train the removal of
some ponies,” said Neville. “Will you be
able to help me with them in a week or so?”
“I’d be delighted,” said
Jenefer.
“I’ll tell your father, then; he
will, perhaps accompany us so you are chaperoned,” said Neville.
“He’d probably think that a good
idea,” said Jenefer. “I told him that you were hardly likely to set up as a
flirt a dowdy little country mouse, but fathers are supposed to be
over-protective.”
“Now from anyone else, I would
assume that to be a means to get me to demur about your self-description,” said
Neville. “You, however, I think meant it
without any expectation of being told otherwise.”
“Indeed not, sir; for it is the
truth.”
“So is ‘item: two lips, indifferent
red’, if you know your Shakespeare.”
“I do; but Twelfth Night is quite
silly in parts. I can’t see what Viola
saw in Orsino, he was an idiot.”
“Granted; but to my mind the best
man there, which isn’t saying a lot, is Feste the jester.”
“It’s a better name for Bellerophon,
you know, Feste; he’s more of a jester than a martial hero. He puffed up his girth to test me, and has
been messing about changing feet to lead off to see how much it upsets me.”
“Well, we shall change his name
then,” said Neville. “You are a pretty
girl, and it’s not your fault you are dowdy, since I collect you are handier
with a paintbrush and pencil than with a needle.”
“I can mend and darn, but I have no
enthusiasm for trying to copy a gown from a magazine, for I know that cheaper
material will not look as well for the style, and I will lose all enthusiasm to
see something look tawdry. I would
rather be dowdy than tawdry.”
“Bravo, Miss Hellyer, you are a
woman of integrity. Would you accept pay
for exercising Bel – Feste, I should say?”
“No, because it also gives me
pleasure. Besides, what does it look
like, if you pay me?”
“A good point. Supposing I asked my housekeeper to sort out
some of my mother’s gowns for you, including a habit which might be a little
out of date, but which would be better than a round gown, and asked you to
accept them as a thank you token?”
Jenefer flushed, and considered.
“I think you should ask my Papa,”
she said.
“I will do so,” said Neville.
Whatever the marquis said to Lt.
Hellyer, Jenefer did not know, though her father said that she was lucky to
have found a patron who cared about her reputation.
“Nobody can make comments if you are
dressed in the late marchioness’s clothing,” he said. “They will not be the
sort of clothes a man buys for a mistress.
I am sure you will make them over adequately, so the marquis can ride
with you without worrying that people will remark on how you are dressed. Having a title like ‘secretary of the horses’
is also a good idea.”
“Yes, Papa,” murmured Jenefer, who
had no idea that she held such a title.
The late marchioness had been a
stylish woman, but the gowns were now a few years out of date, so Jenefer was
much relieved. Anything too stylish and
modern would have been a problem. She
now possessed two riding habits, a plain beaver riding hat, York tan gloves,
and riding boots of Spanish leather in addition to sundry day gowns, a couple
of pelisses and one full dress gown; presumably the marquis felt he might need
her to present a plan for the ponies to other people willing to help.
The boots were a little large, but
this was better than being too small, and Jenefer wore them with an old pair of
soft pumps on inside them, which made them fit perfectly. The marchioness had, it seemed, had a fuller
figure too, and that meant that her clothes might be readily adjusted. It was very nice to have some virtually
unworn morning gowns, silk stockings by the score, several pairs of gloves, and
gowns for the winter too. Jenefer
suspected that one reason to buy her clothes was that the marquis was ashamed
to be seen with her in public, when rounding up the ponies; or perhaps, being
more charitable, was ashamed for her.
Several sets of his late father’s
smallclothes and a coat which was not too antiquated, were also sent for Lt.
Hellyer, who sighed, and said that one should not look a gift horse in the
mouth, and that charity was a blessing to those who practised it, even if the
proud disliked receiving it. He and
Jenefer crafted a polite note of thanks to the housekeeper for her kindness in
arranging old clothes for those who had need of them, and the housekeeper, a
Mrs. Forbes wrote back, saying that nothing was too good for a hero of the wars
against the French and his family.
“That makes it easier to accept,”
said Lt. Hellyer. “A gift in thanks for
service is a gift, more than it is a hand-out.
And I confess, I am happier that his lordship has seen fit to gift me
too, for then, the clothes for you are less to be remarked upon.”
“He is very clever like that, I
think,” said Jenefer.
A number of local gentry and a few
smart Londoners gathered for the collection and removal of the ponies, and
Jenefer flushed to find herself the object of scrutiny through a quizzing
glass.
“Ah, Timothy, allow me to introduce
you,” said Lord Summerhey. “The Viscount
Winteringham, Miss Hellyer. They called
us Summer and Winter at school and thought it funny. Miss Hellyer is my secretary of horse, Tim;
she has a talent with equines, which is how come you see her riding Feste,
previously known as Bellerophon, without any trouble. She’s working for me to record the wildlife
and circumstance of Exmoor before it vanishes altogether, because as you know I
draw as well as you do.”
“Which is to say, not at all,”
admitted the viscount, cheerfully.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hellyer; but don’t be surprised
if Neville shows you no consideration at all for your sex, he seems to be treating you like a lad.”
“Why, sir, I would rather that than
suffer the insult of having him treat me as a plaything,” said Jenefer.
“Wouldn’t say you don’t have a good
point,” said Winteringham. “Speaking of
insults, Nev, I’d be careful if I was you around Taunton, Levrington is
rusticating with his uncle, and apparently is swearing vengeance on you for
what he calls stealing a valuable horse.”
“Oh, he bought it for the fair Ella,
did he?” said Neville. “So she was
playing me false! Well, I gave her fair
value for Feste; I didn’t whip her.”
The Exmoor ponies were happy to trot
after Feste, when rounded up, and if Neville shook his head in wonderment that
they just followed Jenefer, he said nothing and rode with the others keeping
the small herd from breaking and running.
Soon they were established on his land, in his own tracts of forest and
moorland.
“Well done, Miss Hellyer,” he
said.
“Oh, I hardly did anything,” said
Jenefer.
He laughed.
“Except calm the ponies enough to be
able to actually move them.”
“Oh, well, it was not hard,”
“Permit me to be impressed,
anyway. You are a most remarkable woman,
Miss Hellyer.”
“Well, you may be impressed if you
really insist on it, my lord,” said Jenefer. “I don’t think that Feste is,
however. He was laughing at the ponies,
you know.”
“He probably regards them as
thoroughly plebeian beings,” said Neville, chuckling.
“From his point of view, they are, I
suppose. But also beautiful,” said
Jenefer.
Jenefer found herself riding alone,
having been collected by a groom, the next time she exercised Feste.
“His lordship popped into Taunton,
miss,” the groom informed her.
“I hope he avoids that fellow
Leverington,” said Jenefer.
“Oh, his lordship don’t need to
worry about him,” said the groom. “A man
like that ain’t no match for his lordship, nowise!”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said
Jenefer.
She rode largely on Summerhey’s own
lands, but gave Feste some work on the roads, so he would not be too used just
to grass, on the rides around the marquis’ estate. She was trotting along one road when a loud
report sounded as her hat was ripped from her head, the fastening under her
chin pulled so violently she gagged, and lost her balance, falling heavily to
the ground.
“Good Gad, what have we here?” a
sneering voice said, as a man left the bushes, holding some kind of gun. “You ain’t Summerhey; what are you doing on
that horse?”
“I work for Lord Summerhey, as an
illustrator; he gave me leave to ride Feste,” said Jenefer, fighting waves of
nausea. Her hip was badly bruised and she was jarred from the fall.
“Feste? That stallion is Bellerophon, I’d know him
anywhere, and Summerhey stole him,” sneered the man. “Well, well, so the Heartless Marquis has a
pretty little thing who looks as demure as an innocent in his love nest; I think I’ll take something from him.” He started to undo the fall of his breeches.
Jenefer screamed, and grabbed a
handful of dirt, to throw in his face.
He cried out, and started back, then
reached for the riding crop she had dropped.
“It appears you need schooling,” he
said, raising it.
Jenefer gasped as there was the
sound of thundering hoofs and Feste, eyes rolling, reared up behind her
attacker, and came down on the man, trampling him into the dust. The man screamed, awfully, once, and then was
silent.
Feste came over to Jenefer, and
whickered gently. She stroked his nose.
“Oh, Feste, I am sorry, but I do not
think I can get up yet. Oh dear! And there is the sound of another vehicle!”
she added, hearing the clop of hooves and the rumble of wheels.
Round the corner came a phaeton, and
Jenefer almost passed out in relief, recognising Lord Summerhey’s greys.
He pulled up.
“Jenefer! Miss Hellyer! What happened?”
“Oh, Summerhey! I ... I think that is Leverington, and he
shot at me, and I fell, and he ... he was going to ... to despoil me,” said
Jenefer. “But Feste saved me!”
Neville jumped down, and took a look
at Leverington.
“Quite dead,” he declared. “And no loss to the world. And fortunately, unlike dogs, nobody puts
down horses which have killed, as it is held to be an accident. Are you badly hurt?”
“I think my wrist is broken, and I
am much bruised,” said Jenefer.
“I will take you back to my
housekeeper, and will send for your father to stay with me,” said Neville,
picking her up.
Jenefer clung to him, trying not to
cry.
“Jenefer!” he said. “I am not like that swine, but I do so very
much want to kiss you better.”
“Now I have stopped feeling
nauseous, I cannot think of anything nicer,” said Jenefer, blushing.
Fortunately the road was not
frequented by many travellers, and Neville was able to kiss his lady quite
thoroughly.
Jenefer sighed in satisfaction as he
lifted his lips.
“Am I really good enough to be your
mistress?” she asked
“Be damned to that! You’re going to be my wife!” said
Neville. “And you can publish the damn book,
which is what I’ve been to Taunton over, as the Marchioness Summerhey.”
“That will look very pretty on the
title page,” agreed Jenefer. “Do you really want to marry me?”
“I do; and I’m tempted to have Feste
as my groomsman,” said Neville.
“He would prefer that to being my
page,” said the future Marchioness Summerhey.
