Sarah Mallory - Regency Surrender - Infamous Reputations - The Chaperon's Seduction / Temptation of a Governess

What on earth am I thinking? I am Ellen’s chaperon. I do not wish to draw attention to myself.

But at that moment her gaze fell upon Richard Arrandale and she knew that she was not being quite honest. Phyllida glanced again at her stepdaughter. Ellen was looking particularly lovely today, her eyes sparkling, her countenance so animated that Phyllida thought no man would be able to resist the attraction. She would have to keep her under close scrutiny. She passed the gentlemen in the party under quick review. Lord Wakefield and his son posed no threat, she decided, but Messrs Fullingham and Arrandale were a different matter. They were both fashionable men with considerable address and Phyllida had no intention of allowing either of them to spend time alone with Ellen.

* * *

This was not a problem until they reached the first stretch of open ground where Lord Wakefield indicated it would be safe to gallop.

‘Our route lies along the road here,’ explained Lady Wakefield, ‘so those of us who do not wish to race may walk on at a respectable pace. The rest of you may gallop over to that copse yonder and back again.’

‘But there will be no racing,’ Lord Wakefield reminded them.

‘Actually I think I will remain on the road,’ said his son, drawing closer to Penelope Desborough.

Lord Wakefield turned his attention to the other two gentlemen. ‘We have a long way to go,’ he barked. ‘I do not want to be turning back because one of you young dogs has broken his neck.’

He frowned so direfully at Mr Fullingham that the young man flushed.

‘No, no, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.’ His glance flickered towards Ellen who was trotting up. ‘Especially when we will have ladies with us.’

‘Oh, do not hold back for me, I want no special treatment,’ replied Ellen, laughing.

‘Your stepmama may not agree with you,’ said Lord Wakefield.

Ellen looked around, her brows rising when she saw Phyllida approaching. ‘Oh, are you coming with us Philly?’

The surprise in her tone irked Phyllida and roused a tiny spurt of rebellion.

‘Coming with you?’ She kicked her horse on. ‘Catch me if you can!’

Sultan was fresh and leapt forward without a second bidding. Phyllida heard the cry of delight from Ellen and a startled call from Lady Wakefield for her to take care but she ignored them both. She felt suddenly, gloriously free as the gelding flew across the turf. She glanced behind. Three riders were following, Ellen’s grey mare galloping beside Mr Fullingham’s bay but in front of them and closing fast upon her was Richard Arrandale on the black hunter. Phyllida turned back, crouching lower over Sultan’s neck, urging the horse on. She could hear the hunter thundering up behind her. The copse was approaching all too quickly, but she did not want to rein in Sultan. Her only relief during her year of mourning and self-imposed exile at Tatham Park had been her early morning gallops. She had missed them when she had come to Bath and now she wanted the feeling of excitement to go on for ever.

‘Don’t pull up,’ Richard shouted. ‘We’ll go on to the barn yonder!’

It was madness. She was setting a poor example to Ellen, but with the wind in her face and the exhilaration of the ride firing her blood, Phyllida could not resist prolonging the race. She touched her whip to Sultan’s flank and they shot past the copse and on towards the barn in the distance. Above the thud of Sultan’s hoofs she was aware of the hunter closing up. The black nose was at her shoulder. She pushed Sultan on, urging him to make one last effort and they thundered past the barn neck and neck.

The horses slowed and Phyllida straightened in the saddle, unable to hold back a laugh of sheer delight.

‘Impressive, Lady Phyllida.’ Richard had brought his hunter alongside and was grinning at her. ‘And unexpected.’

She met his eyes, still exhilarated by the race. The glowing, soaring elation intensified when she saw the admiration in his glance. She could not stop smiling at him. They were very close, his muscled thigh encased in tight buckskin was so near that she might reach out to touch it. Phyllida was startled to realise how much she wanted to do so. How much she wanted him .

The urge to smile disappeared. In a panic she dragged her gaze away and stared determinedly between Sultan’s ears.

She said remorsefully, ‘It was very bad of me. Lord Wakefield expressly forbade us to race. And then to extend it here, out of sight of the road.’ The pleasure of the moment had subsided and she bit her lip, suddenly mortified at her lack of decorum.

‘Console yourself with the fact that the others did not follow us,’ said Richard. ‘They are obediently waiting at the copse even now. Shall we go back?’

‘I suppose we must.’

His look was searching as they turned about and Phyllida realised she had sounded quite regretful. Heavens, she hoped he did not misunderstand her and think she wanted to keep him by her side. She rushed into an explanation.

‘It is a long time since Sultan has raced against another horse. When Sir Evelyn died the family thought it would be best to sell all the horses except Sultan and Ellen’s mare.’

‘Surely that was your decision?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

And it had been her decision, but she could acknowledge now the pressure that had been brought to bear, while she was still coming to terms with her loss. It was not just from Sir Evelyn’s family, but her own, too. She had been brought up to believe that a man must be head of the family and his word was law, that she should always bow to his will, but marriage had changed her. She had enjoyed being mistress of her own house and had grown more confident under Sir Evelyn’s benevolent protection. He had encouraged her to think for herself.

Her parents had died by the time Phyllida became a widow, but her family had descended upon her, discussing with Sir Evelyn’s relatives what would be best for her and it had taken all her newfound strength to stand out against them. Thank goodness she had not allowed them to persuade her to give up Sultan, or to sell Tatham Park.

* * *

Richard was silent, watching the play of emotion on Lady Phyllida’s countenance. The excited glow died from her eyes and her cheeks lost their hectic flush. He thought there was a shadow of sadness about her. She was thinking back to her dead husband, perhaps. Did she miss him? Had she loved him?

Richard shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the thought. A sudden and unfamiliar feeling swept through him. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. To make her happy.

* * *

The others were waiting for them at the copse, keeping their horses in the shade of the trees. As Phyllida and Richard approached Ellen called out, ‘Philly, are you all right? When I saw you racing on I wanted to follow but Mr Fullingham thought we should wait here, since this is where we agreed to stop.’

‘We were afraid Sultan had bolted with you,’ added Mr Fullingham.

‘No such thing,’ said Richard. ‘We were enjoying the race and decided to go on.’ He glanced at Phyllida. ‘It was my fault, and I beg your pardon.’

‘I knew you were in no danger, Philly,’ said Ellen comfortably. ‘You were always a clipping rider, I had forgotten just how good you are!’

Phyllida chuckled and shook her head. ‘It was most irresponsible of me, but I cannot deny that I enjoyed it.’

Ellen looked back towards the road. ‘I think we should be getting back to the others. I am not sure how much they will have seen...’

‘Not the race to the barn,’ said Richard. ‘That would have been screened by the copse.’

Ellen giggled. ‘Then we shall not tell them how reprehensibly you both behaved.’