A Curious Courting Read online

  “No, I shall call tomorrow."

  “Shalbrook is over that rise about half a mile. The entrance gates are a ways down the road.” Penrith had the most amusing vision of the two strong personalities meeting. To insure the success of his plan he said, “Really, Gareth, you have no idea what you're doing."

  “What harm can there be? The old lady can only refuse, and who knows? I can be very persuasive when I want."

  “No doubt."

  Chapter 2

  Shalbrook was a medieval manor house, complete with towers and battlements, but with no observable fortifications where it stood on its slight eminence overlooking the valley. As Mr. Rushton swept around the curve of the gravel drive in his curricle he noted the truly magnificent proportions of the building, and wondered how it had come into the possession of such an obscure family as the Easterly-Cummings must be. It had the presence of a peer's seat and a well-kept look which, in such a large structure, denoted the expenditure of vast sums of money in maintenance. No doubt the old lady kept half the neighborhood in her service, Rushton thought grimly as he reined in his chestnuts. Well, all the better, for even if she had inherited “pots of money” from her father, it was no small undertaking to manage such an estate.

  What the devil had gotten into Penrith to refuse to accompany him when he knew the old lady? She was sure to be a high stickler, and the proper introduction might mean a great deal in the transaction Rushton hoped to promote. He handed the reins to a liveried groom who appeared as the horses clattered to a halt, and traversed the innumerable stairs and terraces to the grotesquely out-size oak door.

  All the snow had been cleared from the walkways, an enormous task at this time of year and undoubtedly useless, he thought with amusement, as the skies were once again leaden and promised a new fall before the next morning. A formidable-looking butler appeared in answer to his rap upon the door, a sound which seemed to echo hollowly throughout the interior. Handing the butler his card, Rushton said politely, “I wonder if it might be possible to have a word with Miss Easterly-Cummings. I am a guest of Sir Penrith Southwood at Oak Park, and he has mentioned her to me."

  “If you will step this way, sir, I will enquire if Miss Easterly-Cummings is available.” The butler led Rushton into an antechamber which was dimly lit by the wintry light outside creeping past the monstrously thick walls to make its way through the narrow twin arches of the window. The chairs were comfortable enough, Rushton decided when the butler had excused himself, and the view over the valley was delightful, but the damp penetrated the outer walls, which were devoid of any ornamentation—no paintings, no knickknacks—and the room was chilly. During the wait Rushton considered the best possible way in which to put his request to the old lady, but decided that he would have to wait before meeting her to see where her weak points were.

  Not more than five minutes had passed when the door opened and a young lady entered. Obviously this was Miss Easterly-Cummings’ companion, and Rushton immediately rose and smiled. “I am Gareth Rushton, ma'am, and I wondered if your mistress might spare me a few moments of her time to discuss a matter of business."

  “Perhaps if you were to give me some idea of the nature of the business..."

  “If you will excuse me, I would prefer to discuss it only with Miss Easterly-Cummings."

  “I see.” The young lady stood calmly before him, frankly appraising his features and clothing without the slightest shred of discomfort. “You are a friend of Sir Penrith's?"

  “Yes, indeed. We have known each other for the past fifteen years, I dare say. I have frequently stayed at Oak Park but have never had the opportunity to call on Miss Easterly-Cummings."

  “And how is it that Sir Penrith did not accompany you?” Her puzzled frown caused her brown eyes to narrow somewhat, which put Rushton on his guard.

  “As to that, he had pressing matters this morning, and I was too eager to see Miss Easterly-Cummings to wait until this afternoon.” One really could not say that Pen had refused to call on a neighbor. “And besides, he knew that it was a matter of business which I had in mind."

  “Very well. If you will follow me, please.” She turned abruptly and led him through the medieval hall and down a corridor as cold as it was dark before opening a door and preceding him into a spacious chamber with a roaring fire blazing on the hearth. There were the same arched windows on two sides of this room, and the sofas and chairs were gaily upholstered in gold satin which matched the carpet, the whole giving an effect of warmth and comfort. “Please be seated, Mr. Rushton. I am, as you appear not to be aware, Selina Easterly-Cummings."

  "The Miss Easterly-Cummings?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes, Mr. Rushton. The only Miss Easterly-Cummings. Did Penrith lead you to believe that I would be other than I am?"

  Rushton's eyes betrayed his astonishment and he silently cursed Pen for playing such a prank on him. Now that he had made such a stupid error, there was little chance of convincing this young lady with her cool brown eyes and calm air of assurance to listen to his proposal to buy the land in the vale. But, dear God, it was no wonder that he had mistaken her for a companion. Although Miss Easterly-Cummings’ dark brown hair curled quite naturally, and her brows automatically arched over those distressingly frank brown eyes, and her nose was undoubtedly straight and patrician as that of an Easterly-Cummings should be, there was something to the set of her lips and the pointing of her chin which was decidedly provocative. It may have been this circumstance which led to her adoption of the most bizarre costume Rushton had ever seen on a young lady of position. Miss Easterly-Cummings of Shalbrook dressed routinely in high-necked muslin gowns of an inordinately depressing shade of muddy brown (varied only occasionally by a similarly deplorable yellowish-green creation of her own fashioning) and complemented this with the sturdiest of walking shoes.

  One would have thought that she spent her days hiking about the countryside, from the very substantial nature of these shoes, and so she often did, but she was wont to receive those morning callers who dared to invade her sanctum in the same fashion. The dowdy brown (or green) gown could not disguise her equally provocative figure, and she had recently adopted a scarlet shawl which was swathed about her as inelegantly as possible. Combined with the shawl, the gown and the shoes, it was perhaps unnecessary to go a step further, but she had done so, nonetheless.

  The linen drapers in Barton were provided with a wide assortment of fetching chip hats and wide-brimmed bonnets which the young ladies of the neighborhood sighed over for hours before determining which they would have. There were also, for the more elderly of the female population of the area, lacy caps to be had at a reasonable price. Even Mrs. Carstairs, now in her eighty-first year, had not the least difficulty in searching amongst the frilled pieces of linen to find a cap which was suitable for her age and dignity. Not so Miss Easterly-Cummings.

  The frivolity of such items was abhorrent to her very soul, it would seem, and she chose instead to effect a rather unnerving head-covering of muddy-brown fustian, trimmed with a white band, which for all the world gave her the appearance of a nun. And though this was not what she had had in mind originally, she was rather pleased with the effect, and made herself a matching cap from the remains of the yellowish-green fabric out of which she had made her gown.

  The total effect was of the height of eccentricity. Rushton could not believe that a rich young lady of obvious beauty could so distort her image. For a moment he was tempted to think that Penrith had somehow arranged with this woman to play a part which would throw him into utter confusion, and he regarded her searchingly. There was no wavering of the eyes, no flush of embarrassment, just that calm self-possession that surely proclaimed that she was indeed Miss Easterly-Cummings. “I fear Penrith allowed me to picture a much older lady,” he said at last.

  “Well, that was naughty of him, no doubt, but the matter is clarified now. You say you wish to discuss business with me, Mr. Rushton? I am at a loss to understand how that can
be."

  Mr. Rushton was never daunted for long. He had not been on the town for fifteen years without developing a great deal of polish in his manners, and, when added to his natural forcefulness, this produced a formidable personality. With a charming smile, he said, “Yesterday Sir Penrith and I were riding about the area in search of some land on which I might build a hunting-box. I have hunted the Pytchley, the Cottesmore and the Belvoir, but I have seldom had such sport as with the Quorn. My own home is in an area of Suffolk which is indifferent for the hunt, you understand, and I desire a location where I may indulge my pastime."

  On Miss Easterly-Cummings’ face there was a lack of interest so profound that Mr. Rushton felt a momentary spark of anger, which he carefully suppressed. It behooved him, he decided, to get to the point without further delay. “I saw a piece of land in the vale which would be the ideal location for my hunting box, and it is apparently not in use. Sir Penrith informed me, in fact, that the land belonged to you, though it is surrounded by Lord Benedict's lands. My purpose in coming to you is to ask if you would consider selling it to me.” Once again Mr. Rushton allowed his charming smile to spread over his features.

  “No."

  Long experience with women had suggested to Rushton that they were inveterate talkers. For a moment he waited to hear what explanation she would make, what qualifying statement she would attach to her simple negative. Once a woman started to make excuses, there was always the chance of poking holes in her reasoning and eventually accomplishing one's purpose. And if she did not essay into muddled explanations and excuses, she invariably fidgeted with her hands and shifted in her seat under his scrutiny. Miss Easterly-Cummings did neither.

  At length he commented, “I would be willing to pay handsomely for the land."

  “I have no interest in selling, Mr. Rushton.” She rose gracefully to her feet and offered him her hand. “I appreciate your calling and hope you will give my best to Penrith, Lady Southwood and Cassandra. I believe Cassandra is the only one still living at Oak Park with her mother, is she not?"

  “Yes,” he agreed as he shook her hand before watching her tug the bellrope.

  “No doubt she too will marry one day and move away,” Miss Easterly-Cummings suggested by way of conversation, as she eyed him speculatively.

  Between Sir Penrith and his youngest sister there were three other daughters, each one of whom, as she had arrived on the London scene, Mr. Rushton had, for his friend's sake, assisted to entertain. There had never been any question of his marrying any of them; they were not in his style, though certainly very agreeable young ladies who had the same sunny disposition as their only brother. Somehow Mr. Rushton received the impression that Miss Easterly-Cummings thought him a suitor of Miss Cassandra's, and found him wanting. He had in mind to set her straight, but the butler arrived to show him out before he could think of a way in which to deny such a ludicrous notion. His irritation with Miss Easterly-Cummings perceptibly grew.

  “Good day, ma'am. I appreciate your taking the time to see me,” he murmured with a note of sarcasm as he bowed to her.

  She returned no response but watched indifferently as he stalked from the room. When he was gone, however, a grin stretched her generous mouth and a gurgle of laughter escaped her. Stuffy sort of fellow, she thought, and it surprised her that Pen should have such a friend of no recent acquaintance. Although Sir Penrith was ten years her elder, she had known him well some years ago, being the same age as his sister Maria. Dropping onto one of the gold satin chairs, she sighed. Five years ago she had known most of the gentry in the neighborhood well.

  The door opened quietly and a teenage boy stepped into the room. “Is something the matter, Selina?” There was the merest trace of a limp as he crossed the colorful carpet to seat himself beside her.

  “Heavens no, Henry.” Her rich laughter escaped once again. “I have had a call from a guest of Sir Penrith's. A very stiff sort of person named Rushton. First he mistook me for my own companion, and then he was miffed that I would not sell the land in the vale to him. I suppose he is a suitor of Cassandra's, though she seems a bit young for him. He must be all of Pen's age, and what he would do with a merry little soul like Cassandra is beyond me. I can see them now at the breakfast table."

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she enacted the scene. “Cassandra would be dressed in a round dress of jaconet muslin over a pale peach-colored sarsnet slip, made high with a triple fall of lace at the throat. A pure vision of the shepherdess with a leghorn hat (with a wide brim, of course) swinging in her hand. She would say, “Oh, Mr. Rushton, it is the loveliest day! We must certainly walk in the park, for every bird on the estate is singing the sweetest song.’ And he would grunt at her, ‘My dear Mrs. Rushton, can you not see that the day is fine for shooting? Birds! Yes, of course, there are birds. I shall bag any number of them in two or three hours.’”

  “You are absurd, Selina,” the boy chuckled. “Did Sir Penrith tell him you would consider selling the land?"

  “No, I don't think so. Actually, I think it was rather a joke of Pen's. Mr. Rushton arrived obviously believing that Miss Easterly-Cummings was an aged lady."

  “And so you are, my dear cousin,” he retorted, flipping the cap off her head. “Who would believe you were three and twenty when you insist on wearing that hideous item. You know, Selina, you cannot hide your light under that bushel. You are an extremely handsome girl,” he remarked gallantly.

  “Silly child!” she returned as she reached down to retrieve the ugly cap. “What does a sixteen-year-old know of feminine beauty? You can hardly brush your own hair!"

  “Now that's doing it a bit too brown, Selina.” He grimaced as she carefully restored the cap to her brown curls. “Do you have any special reason for not selling the land?"

  A flicker of caution passed over her eyes but he did not notice. “I have no need to sell it, and it's rather a charming spot, don't you think? Where else would we go for our picnics?"

  “Dozens of places, I dare say, but it is nice. Did this fellow wish to build a house there?"

  “A hunting-box. He's been riding with the Quorn, I take it, and thought to provide himself with a small residence in the area. That may all have been a diddle, of course. Perhaps he simply wishes to offer Cassandra a house not so far away from Oak Park. He mentioned that his home was in Suffolk.” She glanced at the case-clock in the corner and lifted a brow inquisitively. “Have you finished the Homer already?"

  “Well, no. The thing is, I feel a little restless this morning, Selina. Thought I might ride out for a bit. Would you like to come?"

  “The snow...” she began hesitantly and then smiled at him. “Yes, Henry, of all things, I would like a ride."

  Mr. Rushton left Shalbrook in rather a dudgeon. Of course, the young lady had every right not to sell her land if she did not want to, but she could at least have been pleasant about it. Perhaps explained why she wished to retain it, or at least excused her abruptness. Instead of following the road straight around to Oak Park, Rushton turned at the gates so that he could once more pass the vale. He halted the curricle and sat for some time gazing into the small valley between its two rounded hills. Right there in the clearing would be the ideal spot for his retreat. Surely that was a stream meandering through the property, partially hidden with snow-covered bushes as it now was. He could perfectly envision how the land would look in spring, the bare branches disappearing under the new growth of luscious green leaves, the meadows beyond as richly colored. But even now, under its cloak of snow, it was one of the most delightful spots he had laid eyes on. Drat the girl! What use had she for it, with all of her land on the other side of the road?

  In summer the heat would shimmer around the hills on either side and flowers would decorate the borders of the woods. And surely in fall the maples would be aglow with color from that special sharpness in the air. Damn! It was all too real to picture a house in such a setting. He dropped his hands and allowed the chestnuts to move forward at
a brisk pace. There must be some way to convince Miss Easterly-Cummings to sell the land.

  Before searching out Sir Penrith, Rushton politely conveyed Miss Easterly-Cummings’ greetings to Lady Southwood and her daughter. The ladies were seated in the winter parlor, companionably chatting while they worked lace on large pillows.

  Lady Southwood sighed. “Such a dear girl. A pity she does not go out in Society anymore, but there, I fear she has become a trifle ... unusual in her dress. She and Maria were the greatest of friends many years ago, and certainly Selina showed no sign of such eccentricity then. Two hoydens they were, though,” she chuckled. “Forever following Penrith about when he had become far too conscious of his dignity to bear it. Many were the times when he would come stomping in to say, ‘Really, Mother, it is too much! Can you not keep better track of Maria and her friend? I was driving Miss Sotherby about the lanes near her home, and what should I find but the two of them up an apple tree giggling at us.'” Lady Southwood seemed to recall herself abruptly. “But that was years ago, Mr. Rushton, and I have no doubt my reminiscences are the greatest bore to you."

  “No, no, not at all,” he swiftly replied. “How old were the girls then?"

  “Oh, I should think eight or ten, but it was years before they behaved properly,” she admitted with a rueful shake of her head. “And to think of Maria with two children of her own now."

  Cassandra turned her merry blue eyes from her mother to Mr. Rushton. “Does she wear that awful brown dress at home? And the religious-type cap?"

  He laughed. “Yes, indeed, with a scarlet shawl and the sturdiest walking shoes I have laid eyes on, I promise you."

  “Well, that is going a bit far,” Cassandra said cryptically. “One would think that at least in her own home she might dress as she pleased."

  Her mother turned startled eyes to her. “Whatever do you mean, Cassandra?"

  Confused, Miss Southwood waved an airy hand. “Not a thing, Mama. It is rather chilly weather for a muslin dress, though, is it not?"