He laughed. “Thank you for the offer—for both offers. But London is the last place I want to go. And if I want a pretty woman, or any woman for that matter, I will find one for myself. I do not, though, as it happens.”
But, surprisingly, he looked forward to riding with Mrs. McKay two days hence even though Beatrice would be with them. Perhaps it was because a widow still in deep mourning seemed a safe enough companion. His life had been almost entirely womanless for longer than six years. Apart from his sister and his sister-in-law, and his fellow Survivor Imogen, he had had virtually no dealings with any lady in all that time. He had been celibate for longer than six years.
It would all have seemed incredible at one stage in his life. He had fancied himself in love half a dozen times before being sure of it with the colonel’s niece. And he had enjoyed a lusty sex life with women of another sort.
No longer, though.
But he missed the companionship of women. It was something he would like to have again, provided there was never any question of courtship. There could be no such question with Mrs. McKay. She still had eight months or so of mourning to live through before she could consider remarrying. And she would not consider him anyway, even if she were free to do so. She had just buried one husband who had been incapacitated by war. She certainly would not be tempted to take another.
She was a safe female companion, then. And he looked forward to seeing her ride—if, that was, nothing happened to prevent the outing. Inclement weather, for example. Or her sister-in-law’s intervention.
“When I wrote to Father today,” Matilda said, “I omitted all mention of your visit to Robland Park yesterday, Samantha. I thought about it last night and was forced to the conclusion that it was not a totally unpardonable breach of etiquette for you to return a call that had been made upon you last week by a countess, though I do wish you had waited until I could accompany you.”
Samantha kept her head down as she worked a new flower into the design of the cloth she was embroidering.
“I daresay Lady Gramley was gratified to see you,” Matilda added.
“I hope you sent my love to your mother,” Samantha said at the same moment.
“I did,” Matilda told her, “since you directed me to do so when you came to my room after breakfast to inquire after my health. I did not mention your visit, Samantha, because Father might see the matter differently from my more liberal view, and I would not wish to make you the object of his displeasure.”
Samantha wove the silk thread invisibly through her work at the back of the cloth before cutting it and changing to a different shade. She seethed at the condescension of Matilda’s words. She ought to just keep quiet until the subject was changed. But why should she? Anyway, Matilda was going to have to know her plans.
“Lady Gramley was not at home,” she said. “Sir Benedict was just returning from a ride and was kind enough to keep me company in the garden for a while so that I would not have to drive back home immediately.”
“It is to be hoped no one saw you there, Samantha,” Matilda said. “Perhaps now you understand the folly of acting impulsively and contrary to the advice of your husband’s sister.”
“We had a very pleasant conversation,” Samantha told her. “I am going riding with him tomorrow. He is going to have a horse from the Robland stables brought over for me.”
Some imp of mischief led her to omit adding that Lady Gramley would be riding with them. She looked up when there was no immediate response to her words. Her sister-in-law was gazing back at her with red-tipped nose and ashen face and cold eyes.
“I must very adamantly advise you against such a thing, Samantha,” she said. “Indeed, I take it upon myself to speak even more strongly on behalf of Matthew and Father. I forbid you to do this.”
“Matthew liked me to ride,” Samantha said, lowering her head to her work again. “If hecouldspeak now, I daresay he would tell me to go, since he no longer has need of me in the sickroom. I need air and exercise. Quite desperately.”
“Then I will walk with you in the garden,” Matilda said.
“No, you will not,” Samantha told her. “That is a very bad cold you have. You need to stay by the fire and out of drafts. And I need exercise that is more vigorous than a stroll in a confined area. A walk is not enough. I want toride. And that is what I will do tomorrow. Oh, dear, did I say the forbidden word?”
Tramp, who had been lying in the shaft of sunlight that beamed through the window, looking for all the world as if he were comatose, had scrambled to his feet and was now standing before Samantha’s chair, making pathetic little whining sounds and gazing fixedly and hopefully up at her.
“I used the wordwalk, did I not?”
His tail wagged. Yes, indeed, she had.
“Oh, very well.” Samantha got to her feet. “We will go into the garden and find a stick for you to chase. Though that is not a fair game at all, you know, for you never throw the stick formeto chase.”
“Samantha,” Matilda said sharply before her sister-in-law could escape from the room to fetch her bonnet and cloak. “I must categorically forbid you to go riding tomorrow. You may say, if you will, that I have no power to command you, but indeed I do. I stand as Father’s representative here.”
Samantha stopped and turned to face her. “Idosay that you have no right to command me, Matilda. It is insufferable that you would try. Your complaints and advice I will listen to. You have every right to express them. You have no right totellme what I must do, or, more important, what I mustnotdo. Nor does the Earl of Heathmoor. He is notmyfather.”
Though he did own the home in which she was living.
She stayed outside in the garden for longer than an hour, to Tramp’s great delight. She was feeling very close to the end of her tether. The past five years had been difficult ones, but though Matthew had been a demanding, often querulous patient, she had made allowances for his pain and discomfort. Besides, he was her husband. She had not been happy during those years, but she had been too busy and usually too exhausted to feel any great unhappiness.
The four months of her bereavement had been difficult ones too in a different way. They might have been less difficult if she had been able to respond to the very touching outpouring of sympathy and good wishes of neighbors with whom she had had no chance to become well acquainted before Matthew’s death.
She might have made some friends, or at least a few friendly acquaintances, during these months. She had not been allowed to accept the overtures of her neighbors, however, and she had meekly given in to Matilda’s directions on what was correct. She could do it no longer. She was beginning to feel quite mutinous.
