Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations. Sarah Mallory
was no doubt that Ellen was indeed in demand. The parties and entertainments, together with Ellen’s dancing, singing and Italian lessons, gave Phyllida little time for leisure. Ellen thrived upon the activity and Phyllida made sure she was always accompanied whenever she stepped out of the door. However, she soon discovered that even the presence of Ellen’s maid did not keep Richard Arrandale away. She was in the morning room waiting for Ellen to return from her dancing lesson when she saw him pass the window with Ellen on his arm. He left Ellen at the door but Phyllida watched in growing alarm as he raised Ellen’s fingers to his lips before striding away.
Phyllida was dismayed at her reaction to this gesture but she was honest enough to admit that the emotion uppermost in her was envy. She stifled it immediately, composing herself as Ellen burst into the morning room with her sunny smile quite undimmed.
‘Did I see Mr Arrandale at the door with you?’ Phyllida kept her voice light, determined not to show undue anxiety.
‘Yes. We met in Wood Street and he insisted upon escorting me home. Was that not kind of him?’
‘Yes, very.’
She said no more at the time, but as the conversation moved on Phyllida knew she must speak to Matlock about the matter.
* * *
However, when she did so Matty’s response was typically blunt.
‘What would you have me do, my lady? Miss Ellen greeted him like a friend and I could hardly forbid him to walk with us. And even if it had been in my power I would not have done so, for nothing is more certain to make a spirited girl want something than to tell her she can’t have it.’
Phyllida nodded. ‘I am well aware of that, Matlock. And Miss Ellen is definitely spirited.’
‘But nothing untoward happened,’ added the maid. ‘I can assure you of that, ma’am. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised in Mr Arrandale, after all I had heard about the man.’
‘Oh, Matty, pray do not tell me you are falling under his spell, too.’
The older woman gave a grim little smile.
‘No, no, I’m too long in the tooth to be taken in by a handsome face, my lady, but credit where ’tis due, the gentleman never said anything out o’ place while he was escorting Miss Ellen. And he made no attempt to lower his voice to avoid my hearing it, either.’
‘Well, perhaps there is some good in the man, after all,’ murmured Phyllida, but she added, her suspicions not completely allayed, ‘Or perhaps he is playing a deep game.’
Phyllida had still not made up her mind about Richard Arrandale by the time they rode to Farleigh the following Monday. Her groom Parfett brought the horses around from the livery stables, warning that they were very lively since they had not been ridden for some time. Phyllida was soon in control of Sultan, her own rangy chestnut gelding, but she watched anxiously as Ellen’s spirited grey mare pranced and sidestepped playfully.
‘No need to worry about Miss Ellen,’ said Parfett, observing Phyllida’s frown. ‘You know there wasn’t a horse in her father’s stable she couldn’t master. She’s at home to a peg.’
As if to prove him correct, the mare quickly grew quiet under Ellen’s confident handling and they set off to meet up with the rest of the party at Laura Place, where they found the Wakefields already mounted and waiting for them.
‘Our little riding party has grown to nine, Lady Phyllida,’ Lady Wakefield greeted her with a cheerful smile. She waved her hand towards the pretty brunette talking with Julia and Adrian. ‘Mrs Desborough has allowed Penelope to join us, and Mr Henry Fullingham came up to me just yesterday and begged to be allowed to join us. Here he comes now, with Mr Arrandale.’
Phyllida looked back to see the two gentlemen approaching. Surely it was not merely her fancy that of the two men, Richard had the advantage? It was not only his superior height, nor the way his blue riding coat moulded to his form. He looked relaxed and at home in the saddle, completely in control of the powerful black hunter he was riding. She thought it could not be a livery-stable horse, and this was soon confirmed when Mr Arrandale rode up to Lady Wakefield as the party prepared to set off.
‘I do not know the country,’ he said. ‘Will we be able to give the horses their heads? I was going to hire a hack, but in the end I sent for my hunter. He has been eating his head off at Brookthorn Manor and could do with the exercise.’
‘There are a couple of places one can gallop, although Wakefield and I will not do so,’ replied the lady. ‘And I should warn you that Miss Desborough and Julia are rather nervous riders, so I pray you will not encourage them to join you.’
Phyllida knew Ellen was anything but nervous and would undoubtedly wish to gallop across the country with the gentlemen. She made up her mind that if Lord and Lady Wakefield would not accompany them, then it would be up to her to do so. She patted Sultan’s glossy neck, reflecting that neither she nor her mount would consider it a penance to career across the countryside.
They rode out of Bath at a sedate pace. Mr Fullingham and Mr Arrandale both looked as if they would like to ride with Ellen but she remained happily between Phyllida and Penelope Desborough. Phyllida considered the picture they must make. Penelope’s plum-coloured habit was sober enough, but Ellen’s sky-blue velvet with its matching hat was quite eye-catching, and there was no doubt that the colour accentuated her flawless complexion and shining curls. Phyllida thought her own dove-grey habit must look very dull by comparison and was obliged to stifle a pang of regret. She felt a little envious, then scolded herself for such nonsense. As a girl she would never have been confident enough to choose bright colours, even if Mama had allowed it. She glanced again at her kerseymere skirts. She was out of mourning now, there was no reason why she shouldn’t order a new riding habit. Something a little more...showy.
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