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

‘I am not interested in Tatham,’ he said roughly. ‘What about you , were you happy?’

She smiled. ‘Why, yes, why should I not be?’

‘Did you love him?’

The little hand resting on his sleeve trembled.

‘I did not dislike him, and that is very important.’

Her cool, reasonable response angered him. Smothering a curse he stopped and pulled her round to face him.

‘How old are you, Lady Phyllida?’

She blinked. ‘I am four-and-twenty, not that it is any concern of yours!’

‘No, but it concerns me that you should be dwindling into widowhood before you have even lived.’

‘Mr Arrandale, I assure you I am not at all unhappy with my lot.’

He shook his head at her.

‘I saw your face when we raced the horses the other day. How often have you felt like that? When was the last time you really enjoyed yourself, dancing ’til dawn, walking in the moonlight, being kissed senseless—?’

Her eyes widened at that and she drew away from him.

‘You should not be talking to me in this way.’ She looked around. ‘We—we are at Charles Street. Thank you for your escort. Forgive me if I do not ask you to come in.’

With that she left him, almost running the last few yards to her door, where she was soon lost to sight.

Damn, damn, damn! What was he thinking of? Richard turned on his heel and strode away. He was supposed to be making a friend of her, preparing the ground so that she would support him when he made Ellen an offer. Instead he was saying all the wrong things.

What in hell’s name had got into him?

* * *

September advanced and the invitations continued to flood into Charles Street, including an urgent message one morning from Mrs Desborough, inviting them to take advantage of the continuing good weather to drive out of town and enjoy a picnic that very day. The Wakefields were going, which made Ellen keen to go and even Phyllida found the idea too tempting to resist.

‘I always think these things are so much better impromptu ,’ declared Lady Wakefield as they made themselves comfortable on the rugs and cushions spread out upon the grass. ‘I am so pleased Mrs Desborough suggested it, and such a pleasant spot, too.’

Phyllida could not deny the spot was indeed delightful, a sloping meadow near the little village of Claverton, but she was not quite so happy with some of the company. Mrs Desborough had laughingly explained that Mr Fullingham had come upon her as they were about to set off.

She continued. ‘I had not the heart to say him nay, not when young Mr Wakefield had already asked Mr Arrandale to join us. After all, there is space enough here for everyone, is there not?’

‘And you have refreshments enough for an army,’ chuckled her fond spouse, eyeing the array of hampers set out before them. ‘But it is not only good food she has arranged for us, is that not so, my dear?’

‘Well, I did think that afterwards the young people might like to gather blackberries. The hedgerow is positively thick with them.’ She chuckled and beckoned to one of the servants who came forward. ‘You see I have brought three small baskets for you to fill, and to save you young ladies ruining your gowns there are aprons for you to put on.’

Lady Wakefield laughed. ‘Then there can be no objection. You have thought of everything, ma’am!’

* * *

They dined well on cold meats and cakes washed down with wine or small beer, but soon the effects of good food and the heat of the day took their toll. The party became less noisy and conversation began to die away to a soft murmur that Phyllida found quite soporific. Her eyelids were beginning to droop when she heard Penelope Desborough’s eager voice.

‘May we go and collect blackberries now, Mama?’

Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were nodding sleepily, their spouses already snoring gently in the warm sunshine. As the young ladies donned their aprons Phyllida glanced across at the hedgerow. It meandered away for quite some distance and she was suddenly struck with misgiving. Of course, the gentlemen might not go to help, but Mr Fullingham was already on his feet, followed quickly by Adrian Wakefield and Richard Arrandale.

She jumped up, which caused Mrs Desborough to exclaim, ‘What’s this, Lady Phyllida, do you wish to collect berries too? I made sure you would want to rest a little.’

‘No, no, I am not at all tired,’ Phyllida assured her.

Mrs Desborough sat upright, looking perturbed.

‘But there are only three baskets, and I have no more aprons, ma’am, your gown—’

‘Oh, that is of no consequence,’ she replied airily.

Ellen laughed. ‘I doubt if Matlock will agree with you, Philly! But never mind that. Here, you may have my basket, and I shall share with Penelope.’

The arrangements settled, they moved off towards the hedgerow.

Richard fell into step beside her.

‘Three gentlemen, four ladies,’ he murmured.

‘Even numbers are not required for berry picking, Mr Arrandale.’

‘Nor is a chaperon, Lady Phyllida.’

She put up her chin. ‘That, sir, depends upon the company.’

* * *

Ellen had stopped by the hedge and her voice floated across on the still air.

‘Adrian, will you help me and Penelope to fill our basket?’

Mr Fullingham stepped up. ‘Allow me, Miss Tatham—’

‘Ah, sir, I was hoping you would help Julia, because you see that she cannot quite reach those berries at the very top, there, and they look so delicious...’

He was subjected to a dazzling smile and Phyllida smothered a laugh as the gentleman went off to do as he was bid. She glanced towards Richard and saw that he was grinning at her. Caught off guard, she blushed and looked away, but her confusion increased when she heard Ellen’s next words.

‘That leaves Mr Arrandale to help Phyllida.’

That could not please him any more than it pleased Phyllida. He would surely protest. She waited, but after a brief hesitation he swept a low bow.

‘Your wish is my command, Miss Tatham.’

Phyllida glared at him and without another word she hurried away to begin filling her basket.

* * *

Mrs Desborough was right, the tall hedgerows were thick with ripe blackberries and Phyllida worked steadily. Her gloves were soon stained with berry juice and she had to take care to prevent herself from becoming caught up on the brambles. Richard Arrandale was only feet away from her. His body and the lush, straggling hedgerow hid the others from her sight although their voices floated to her from time to time. They were distant, unimportant. All that mattered, all that she could think of, was the man beside her. He had removed his gloves to pick the fruit and she found herself watching his long lean fingers as they gently plucked each soft, plump berry.

They worked in silence. Phyllida had placed the basket on the ground between them and was surprised at how companionable it felt. She was aware of the birdsong, of the hum of insects and the warmth of the sun on her back, but more than anything she was aware of Richard at her side. Occasionally he moved closer and pulled down the higher stems for her to collect the soft fruit, or held aside the thick branches so she could reach deep into the heart of the bush.

Clearly, it was her duty to keep Richard Arrandale away from Ellen, but there was no denying that she was enjoying herself, more than she had done in a long time. The thought surprised her and she realised how staid her life had become, not only the twelve months she had spent in mourning at Tatham Park but the years before that. Years spent running a household and looking after an ageing husband.

I became a matron at eighteen , she thought, as she reached between two long branches to pluck a few particularly juicy berries. I was caught up in the duties of being a wife and mother as soon as I left the schoolroom, with no time for frivolous pastimes.