Mary nodded and inquired if she should request the carriage be brought around. Gwen asked her not to be such a ninny, saying they would make their call at their usual hour.
“Depend on it,” she said, “to do anything out of the ordinary would only cause comment and make Catherine suspicious, which we would not want to do."
"Shouldwe not tell Lady Harth the truth of Catherine’s position? It cannot be right to allow her to make plans based upon false assumptions,” Mary suggested later that afternoon as they drove through the village of Umberfife to Fifefield, the Burke estate.
“Nonsense,” Gwen replied, scarcely glancing at Mary seated opposite her in their carriage. “What right does she have to make such assumptions? It would be worse if she thought her to be rich and she wasn’t. No one will sneer at money and pedigree, my dear.”
“Do you remember, Mama, when Ralph and I were first married and made that visit to his family? It was easy to see they did not care for Ralph’s choice for a bride, and Lady Harth made sure I knew it. She is Ralph’s eldest sister, but not at all like my dear Ralph in temperament.”
Mary paused as she cocked her head to the side, remembering. “Though, in all honesty, I do feel her haughty nature is assumed in self-defense,” she said, smiling.
“Self-defense?” Gwen asked, astounded.
“Yes.” Mary blushed and looked guilty, for she hated to speak ill of others. “She is, well, she is clumsy. There is no other way toput it. Since she is prone to breaking things by her clumsiness, she has adopted a formidable mien to hide behind and haughtily pretends none of her accidents happen.
“ . . . And hardly anyone else tried to be kind to me,” she continued with a sigh. “Aldric, Ralph’s oldest brother, was under the thumb of his first wife, Lily. A more domineering, hateful woman I could not imagine. She looked down her nose at me and made the most hateful comments that Lady Harth echoed, for they were bosom-bows. Penelope, Ralph’s other sister, tried to be pleasant, but she was breeding and spent much of each day in her room. I was never so miserable.”
Mary smiled suddenly, a faraway look reflected in her soft brown eyes. “Lady Harth’s loudest complaint was that I was a nobody, that even Penelope had the sense to marry a baronet.”
“What? Mary, do not tell me you have allowed that woman to continue in her misguided beliefs for over twenty years!” Gwen said.
Her daughter shrugged helplessly. “You remember how Ralph was. He loved a good joke, and he thought the fact that I was really the daughter of a baronet was terribly funny. I was quite overwhelmed. All I wanted to do was run away. If Ralph had not remained by my side, and if his youngest brother, Glendon, had not been there to keep us in laughter, I doubt I would have survived it.” Mary’s voice choked on her last words, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Gwen sniffed. While her daughter might feel a miserable stay with Ralph’s family was worthwhile if it gave him amusement, she thought otherwise.
“Pardon, Mama, did you say something? I’m afraid I wasn’t attending,” Mary said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
“No, merely an old woman muttering to herself. No, don’t question me further. See, we’ve arrived at Fifefield Manor,”Gwen said, feeling the rush of pride she always experienced when she visited the Burke estate.
The house Sir Eugene Burke’s grandfather had purchased for his line was in keeping with his character. It was a large, three-story, gray stone edifice built in the late sixteenth century. The estate had changed hands several times before it came into Burke’s keeping, and each owner made changes to suit his whims and needs. Consequently, the house belonged to no era but commanded respect and mention in the guide books because of its unique design and its illustrious owner.
When the footman handed her down from the carriage, Gwen looked away from the house toward the stables, from which the real fame of the Burkes derived. The Burke name was a byword in the sporting community, for Burke horses were known as excellent mounts for hunting and pleasure. A Burke horse was not a horse to be ridden by just anyone. It took a competent rider to handle such a high-strung, vibrant animal. This added to the horses’ value. They were treasured possessions, and often family heirlooms were sold by an impecunious individual in order to maintain the animal.
Gwen’s breast swelled with love when she saw her handsome son by the stable courtyard archway. He was in serious discourse with a gentleman of Corinthian proportion and elegance, who was attired in a prodigiously modish, multi-caped greatcoat, with a high-crowned beaver set rakishly atop glossy black locks. The men were turned away from her, obviously studying the horse being put through its paces in the training paddock.
Gwen’s eyes narrowed, and she raised a hand to shield them from the winter sun’s glare. Could it be? Her breath whistled through her teeth, clouding the cold air before her with white vapor.
Thatboyon the horse was Catherine! And in front of a member of the ton!
Gwen grabbed Mary’s elbow and propelled her toward the house. “Look at that hoyden! Lady Harth’s letter was well-timed.”
Mary pulled against her mother so she might see. A timid “oh” escaped her lips; then she turned to her mother and resolutely straightened. “We did grant her permission to ride astride, so we must be complacent about the breeches. It would hardly be seemly to raise her skirts to such heights.”
“Yes, yes, I am aware of that,” Gwen returned testily. “But not in front of strangers!”
“What?”
“Look, there by the stable archway."
Mary cringed. “Maybe, Mother, he won’t recognize her as a girl, dressed like that, with her hair tucked under her hat,” she offered weakly, shoving her hands deep into her muff.
Gwen harrumphed and raised her skirts to climb the steps before the house. “Just pray he’s looking more at the horse than the rider. If this London venture’s to be any success, we don’t need any rumors circulating.” She continued to grumble under her breath as she passed through the doorway into the hall.
Mary followed meekly, risking one last glance in the direction of the stables and paddock. She bit her lip in helpless frustration when she saw the elegant gentleman gesture toward the paddock. Then, compressing her lips in determination, she went into the manor house.
Sir Eugene Burkewatched the horse and rider with pride. “So, Stefton, what do you think?” he asked the gentleman standing next to him.
The Marquis of Stefton folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’ll own I prefer a gray or a black,” he said. “However, that horse could cause me to make an exception. Have you coursed him?”
