couldn’t possibly impose. Indeed, I am perfectly happy to take a walk along the cliff top when I need fresh air.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s so,” Stephen said, visibly relieved, seeing his wife’s color mount to an alarming shade of puce. “But should you ever wish to ride, Mistress Hathaway, there’s an old mare in my stables who needs a little gentle exercise. Jackson, my head groom, told me so the other day. A perfect mount for you, nice broad back, gentle gait. You just take her out whenever you wish. I’ll tell Jackson. He’ll make sure you have an experienced groom to accompany you.”
“You are too kind, Sir Stephen,” Alex murmured, dropping her eyes to her plate.
But not before Peregrine saw the look of horror cross her face at Stephen’s description of the mare and his solicitous offer of a guiding hand. He smiled to himself. Mistress Hathaway had no more interest in riding a sedate, broad-backed, elderly mare than he would have had. So where had she learned to ride? A bookish childhood spent in an impoverished country vicarage wouldn’t usually provide much access to spirited horseflesh.
“Ladies.” Maude rose abruptly from the table, her color still high. “Let us withdraw.”
With relief, Alexandra followed Lady Douglas from the dining room. She glanced longingly at the stairs, wondering if she could make a discreet escape, but Maude instructed sharply, “You must play for us, Mistress Hathaway.”
Playing in the drawing room after dinner and making a fourth at whist were two tasks that had somehow devolved upon her, and Alexandra could see no way of avoiding either without causing serious offense and making her position even more uncomfortable. She didn’t need to antagonize Maude any more today.
“Of course, ma’am.” She sketched a curtsy in subdued acknowledgment and followed the ladies into the drawing room, where she took her place at the pianoforte.
She didn’t consider herself more than an adequate performer, but Maude and her company seemed to have no complaints. If, indeed, they listened, she thought with a dour smile. She selected a Bach prelude, which would provide a pleasant background to their chat, but after five minutes, Maude called, “We’d prefer something livelier, Mistress Hathaway. One of those French folk songs, perhaps, or a country dance. That music is so dreary.”
Without expression, Alex put aside her music and flexed her fingers.
“Do you have music? May I turn the page for you?”
She looked up, startled once again by the almost silentappearance of Peregrine. A quick glance around the drawing room told her that he was the first of the gentlemen to leave the port decanter. “There’s no need, sir. I know the music by heart.” She began to play, acutely conscious of the man standing at her shoulder, a teacup in his hand. She could feel his eyes upon her, could sense the long, supple lines of his body as he leaned closer. Every inch of her was suddenly vibrantly aware of his physical presence, and she almost had to catch her breath.
Her fingers slipped on the keys, and she took her hands away, pressing her fingertips to her temples.
“Won’t you go on?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head, staring down at the black and white keyboard. “There’s no need. No one’s listening.”
“I was.”
“You’re too kind, sir.” Her voice was distant as she rose from her stool. “But I’m sure you’ve heard many superior performances.”
“Maybe so.” He could see little point in denying it. She wouldn’t believe him, anyway, and she clearly had no interest in flattery.
“So, who’s for cards?” Stephen came in on a wave of port, his inebriated guests crowding behind him. “What shall it be, gentlemen? Bassett, piquet, backgammon?”
“Chess,” Peregrine said suddenly. “Mistress Hathaway, I challenge you.” He bowed.
Despite her earlier perturbation, Alexandra felt arush of excitement. Chess was her game. She played a good
“Yes, I’m sure that’s so,” Stephen said, visibly relieved, seeing his wife’s color mount to an alarming shade of puce. “But should you ever wish to ride, Mistress Hathaway, there’s an old mare in my stables who needs a little gentle exercise. Jackson, my head groom, told me so the other day. A perfect mount for you, nice broad back, gentle gait. You just take her out whenever you wish. I’ll tell Jackson. He’ll make sure you have an experienced groom to accompany you.”
“You are too kind, Sir Stephen,” Alex murmured, dropping her eyes to her plate.
But not before Peregrine saw the look of horror cross her face at Stephen’s description of the mare and his solicitous offer of a guiding hand. He smiled to himself. Mistress Hathaway had no more interest in riding a sedate, broad-backed, elderly mare than he would have had. So where had she learned to ride? A bookish childhood spent in an impoverished country vicarage wouldn’t usually provide much access to spirited horseflesh.
“Ladies.” Maude rose abruptly from the table, her color still high. “Let us withdraw.”
With relief, Alexandra followed Lady Douglas from the dining room. She glanced longingly at the stairs, wondering if she could make a discreet escape, but Maude instructed sharply, “You must play for us, Mistress Hathaway.”
Playing in the drawing room after dinner and making a fourth at whist were two tasks that had somehow devolved upon her, and Alexandra could see no way of avoiding either without causing serious offense and making her position even more uncomfortable. She didn’t need to antagonize Maude any more today.
“Of course, ma’am.” She sketched a curtsy in subdued acknowledgment and followed the ladies into the drawing room, where she took her place at the pianoforte.
She didn’t consider herself more than an adequate performer, but Maude and her company seemed to have no complaints. If, indeed, they listened, she thought with a dour smile. She selected a Bach prelude, which would provide a pleasant background to their chat, but after five minutes, Maude called, “We’d prefer something livelier, Mistress Hathaway. One of those French folk songs, perhaps, or a country dance. That music is so dreary.”
Without expression, Alex put aside her music and flexed her fingers.
“Do you have music? May I turn the page for you?”
She looked up, startled once again by the almost silentappearance of Peregrine. A quick glance around the drawing room told her that he was the first of the gentlemen to leave the port decanter. “There’s no need, sir. I know the music by heart.” She began to play, acutely conscious of the man standing at her shoulder, a teacup in his hand. She could feel his eyes upon her, could sense the long, supple lines of his body as he leaned closer. Every inch of her was suddenly vibrantly aware of his physical presence, and she almost had to catch her breath.
Her fingers slipped on the keys, and she took her hands away, pressing her fingertips to her temples.
“Won’t you go on?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head, staring down at the black and white keyboard. “There’s no need. No one’s listening.”
“I was.”
“You’re too kind, sir.” Her voice was distant as she rose from her stool. “But I’m sure you’ve heard many superior performances.”
“Maybe so.” He could see little point in denying it. She wouldn’t believe him, anyway, and she clearly had no interest in flattery.
“So, who’s for cards?” Stephen came in on a wave of port, his inebriated guests crowding behind him. “What shall it be, gentlemen? Bassett, piquet, backgammon?”
“Chess,” Peregrine said suddenly. “Mistress Hathaway, I challenge you.” He bowed.
Despite her earlier perturbation, Alexandra felt arush of excitement. Chess was her game. She played a good
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