The Village Spinster (2 page)

With casual grace, Lord Kinsford stepped across to take the watercolor from her hands. He regarded it for several minutes without speaking, then set it down and picked up another from the stand. Pausing the longest over one of a riding party, he eventually returned them all to their place. “Delightful,” he pronounced in a voice at once surprised and pleased. “I had no idea Aria had the patience to sit as long as it would take to produce such artwork.”

“She’s quite absorbed when she’s working. I’ve known her to pass up a whole plate of cream cakes.”

“Goodness.” The earl smiled slightly. “Not a common occurrence, in my experience. I take it this enthusiasm does not extend to the pianoforte.”

‘‘No."

“Ah, well, one can only expect so much of a fifteen-year-old girl.” He bowed slightly to her. “I’ll take my leave, then, Miss Driscoll.”

Clarissa walked behind him to the sitting-room door and watched as he picked up his riding gauntlets from the hall table. As she had expected, Meg hovered near the front door, ready with Lord Kinsford’s curly-brimmed beaver hat and his riding crop. The girl was a bit in awe of his lordship, but curious. Her eyes took in every detail of his dress and expression, presumably for relating it subsequently to her family on the farm.

When the door was closed cautiously behind him, Meg happened to glance over and see Clarissa still wriggling her foot to get it comfortably into the soft gray slipper. “Oh, ma’am, you weren’t without your shoes, surely!” she exclaimed. “What will his lordship think of us?”

“Nothing flattering, I assure you,” she said dryly. “But we don’t care, do we?”

Meg refused to reply to this teasing rejoinder. She was truly shocked by her employer’s lack of concern. For Meg had ambitions. Perhaps she hoped, in time, to find a place at Kinsford Hall along with her sister; or eventually, to be a lady’s maid to some London matron. Putting on such an exhibition as today’s before the earl himself, she could not but believe, was a sadly ramshackle way of going on, and she felt a certain responsibility for her mistress.

Clarissa had finally wedged her second foot back into its slipper. With a gesture of dismissal she disposed of the earl’s visit, saying to Meg, “Never mind. He’s a little high in the instep these days.” Then she mused more to herself than the maid, “Though I can’t imagine what possesses him to be. Any high spirits in Lady Aria and Master William pale by comparison with his own at that age.” When Meg continued to regard her with a dubious expression, Clarissa sighed. “You may take away the tea things, Meg.”

Chapter Two

Outside the cottage, Lord Kinsford swung onto his horse, which had been held for him by a village urchin whose name he could not recall. Delighted with the coin Kinsford tossed him, the boy tugged respectfully at his forelock. Quite a contrast to Miss Driscoll’s cool attitude toward a man who employed her, Lord Kinsford thought, his brow creasing in an unconscious frown.

He’d forgotten what Clarissa Driscoll was like, though he’d known her as a child. Thinking back, he remembered her as a spirited girl, with a captivating oval face and sparkling gray eyes. For many years his visits to Kinsford Hall had been infrequent and of short duration, and he’d seldom seen or spoken to her.

Five years previously her father had died, and his gambling debts had forced the sale of his estate, Pennhurst, leaving his only child with scarcely enough to purchase a small cottage in the village. Miss Driscoll had withdrawn from county society. The Pennwick village gossip was that she had doted on her father, reckless wastrel that he had been. And when she’d taken up giving lessons to augment her tiny income, the villagers came to regard her as a kind of genteel eccentric.

Lord Kinsford snorted. She would certainly be viewed as an oddity if
she made a practice of greeting visitors without shoes! And that ludicrous cap! She couldn’t be above seven-and-twenty, only a few years short of his own thirty. The cap would be her concession to neighborhood custom, he supposed, but it looked bizarre perched precariously on her wreath of glossy brown hair. More likely it was an affectation, meant to suggest that she considered herself a determined spinster, her attractions past their prime.

If that was so, she was far out, he decided. She was still more than handsome enough, with her braids wrapped tidily about her head, her gray eyes large and well-set above a patrician nose and full lips. Her figure was excellent. But spinster she undoubtedly was, at her age. He couldn’t recall hearing of her ever being seriously courted, even before her father’s death. It would be a pity if she were to dwindle into the village oddity.

A rueful smile twitched his lips. He’d intended, out of respect for their former association, to have a simple chat with Clarissa, in the friendliest manner, and clarify just what was expected of her in her relations with Aria and Will. She should have been in a state of nerves, anticipating that at any time he would descend upon her and chastise her for her conduct over the Farmer Olsen incident. He’d come unannounced just so she wouldn’t be thrown unnecessarily into palpitations. Instead, somehow she’d managed to turn things around so he’d had little to say. Now that he came to think about it, she’d had the effrontery to damn near toy with him!

He grinned and flicked the reins to urge his horse, Longbridge, on. Kinsford couldn’t help but wonder if he’d sent a note ahead whether she would have put on her shoes.

As he rode through the village of Pennwick, Kinsford was aware of the twitching of curtains at cottage windows. He knew the villagers were curious about him. There were always rumors when he came home: he was about to be married, he had decided to take his half-brother and half-sister to town with him, he was selling off the south pasture because he needed the money. Heaven knew where the rumors arose, probably over a pint of beer. It was never necessary to deny them. By his actions, they could see that he was not marrying, or taking his siblings to town, or selling off property. Besides, he usually managed, when he was at home, to visit the old county families and they in turn depressed any untoward rumors.

There was nothing Kinsford’s stepmother liked better than asking him to execute a commission for her “when he was in the village.” On this occasion she had requested that he match some thread for her, a totally inappropriate task for one of his position, of course, but he seldom refused her, knowing that what she liked second-best was to complain in a mild but heartbreaking manner of her disappointment with his treatment of her and her children. He had never let such behavior disturb him, but something Miss Driscoll had said had alerted him that there might be something amiss here. Would Lady Kinsford really not have been concerned about the children’s misbehavior?

Kinsford dismounted in front of the shop and tied Longbridge to the iron ring provided. Actually, he had brought Aria with him, leaving her in the village when he went to visit Miss Driscoll. Entering the shop now, he found her deep in conversation with Mrs. Luden.

“I should think it’s close enough,” Lady Aria commented, wrapping two bits of thread around her finger side by side. “Still, we’d best take the other spool as well, just in case. One or the other must have been what she bought before.”

Kinsford was always surprised to find his half-sister so practical. And so pretty. Unlike himself, she was blond and small and soft-edged. To look at her one would not have suspected the mischief she could manage. And she was obviously mature for her age, no longer the child he remembered from other visits. Kinsford strongly suspected that, in another year, he was going to have to take her up to London for a Season. And taking her meant taking the dowager as well. A daunting thought.

“Very wise,” he said now, dipping his hand into his pocket for more coins. “Your mama will certainly approve of one of them.”

This made his half-sister grin at him. “No, but it will keep her from sending a note round to pester Mrs. Luden.”

“Lady Kinsford never pesters me,” Mrs. Luden said stoutly. “She’s a particular lady, to be sure, but most gracious."

Lady Aria remembered where her brother had just been and teased, “No doubt you found Miss Driscoll most gracious, also.”

“Without her shoes,” he muttered, just barely audible.

Lady Aria bit her lip and said nothing, but her eyes sparkled with delight. Mrs. Luden handed her a small parcel with both spools of thread and wished them a good day. Lord Kinsford took his sister’s elbow, guiding her past piles of yard goods and food. Only when they had mounted their horses did Lady Aria ask, “What did you mean, without her shoes?”

“Miss Driscoll wasn’t expecting me. I dare say she had forgotten she’d removed them,” he admitted. “But, still, Aria. She’s turned into a rather unconventional sort of woman, I suspect. I’m not at all sure she’s an appropriate person to be instructing you."

Immediately Lady Aria’s face clouded over. “She’s the most refreshing person in the whole village, Kinsford. Everyone else is so wretchedly deferential, you want to choke. And she isn’t employed to teach us manners, for heaven’s sake. Please don’t say you’re going to cut off my lessons with her.”

“I doubt your mother would approve.”

“Oh, pooh! Mama could not possibly object to Miss Driscoll. There is no one in the area who could teach me so many things—art and pianoforte and dancing. Miss Driscoll has a talent at each of them, which she is able to convey with enthusiasm.” Aria cocked her head engagingly. “And she’s so kind to me, Kinsford, and really interested in what I do. She
listens
to me. No one else really listens to me.”

Kinsford had not realized that Aria was lonely now that she had left school. He sighed. “I dare say you’re old enough not to be unduly influenced by an oddity or two,” he admitted, “but I don’t at all like Miss Driscoll interfering in your lives outside her sphere. If that should happen again...“

He let the sentence hang unfinished in the crisp spring air, a threat of a sort. Not that he intended to be around to carry it out. How could he, in London, hear of the doings of one odd woman in Pennwick? Still, he hoped to impress Aria with his seriousness.

She mustn’t be allowed to run wild. He would have a word with the dowager.

Lady Aria looked up at him from under the brim of her royal-blue riding bonnet. “Did Miss Driscoll show you any of my watercolors?” she asked diffidently.

“Yes, indeed,” he said, relieved to change the subject. “They’re quite extraordinary, Aria. I had no idea you were so talented. Perhaps we should find you a real drawing master.”

Again her face clouded, and her jaw set stubbornly. “Miss Driscoll is a wonderful teacher. Any drawing master you got me would only let me paint pretty pictures of flowers or the view over the garden. I should hate that! If I can’t have Miss Driscoll, I won’t have anyone!”

Kinsford’s back stiffened. “You forget yourself, Aria. Any such decision remains with me.”

She did not reply. With a mutinous glare, she urged her horse to the gallop. Firebird was one of the finest mares the estate had produced in many years, and she quickly outdistanced his own Longbridge, since Kinsford refused to give chase to the girl. It was most certainly unnecessary, and beneath his dignity. Aria’s outright rudeness was a disagreeable surprise. Something really would have to be done about her lack of manners.

His half-sister was a neck-or-nothing rider. He watched as she put Firebird to the hedge at the side of the road. Firebird sailed over another hedge and a stream a few paces beyond with the greatest ease. Lady Aria sat her horse as well as any woman Kinsford had ever seen and he felt a flash of pride in her.

Out of the corner of his eye Lord Kinsford saw a motion in the long grasses to his left, not far from the stream Firebird was approaching. It was doubtless a fox or a dog—nothing to be alarmed about. Except that Firebird’s one fault was her skittishness.

Horse and rider were aimed directly at the hidden animal. Lady Aria raised her hands to urge Firebird over a low fence. As Firebird rose from the ground, the dog rushed at her, barking ferociously. Horse and rider seemed poised for an instant over the fence. But Firebird had lost her stride in her nervous attempt to shy away from the animal. A hoof caught the top rung of the fence and she landed awkwardly, stumbling to the left.

Lady Aria, caught off-guard, had the reins yanked out of her grip. Kinsford watched helplessly as she was hurtled from the saddle and flew through the air. Before she even landed, he had dug his heels into Longbridge’s sides. He saw Lady Aria hit the ground. She remained motionless. Icy fear gripped him.

Firebird stood shuddering over the girl. The dog barked on the opposite side of the fence. Longbridge soared over the hedges, over the stream, and finally over the fence. Kinsford was out of the saddle before he had even stopped his horse.

“Aria! My God, Aria, are you all right?”

But the girl was silent.

Kinsford knelt down beside her and took her wrist in his hand. He could feel a faint pulse. Her face seemed unbearably white where she lay twisted onto her side, one shoulder at an awkward angle. With careful fingers he felt along her head first, where he could see a swelling at her temple. There was no broken skin but the swelling seemed alarmingly large. Undoubtedly, the blow to her head had rendered her unconscious. Kinsford quickly ran his hands over the dislocated shoulder and along her arms and legs, but only the left wrist was puffed up. Her boots prevented any assessment of her ankles, but they would probably have provided protection.

He had helped men with dislocated shoulders on the battlefield, but his sister looked so very small and fragile, he was tempted to wait until a doctor could attempt the reduction. But that meant a considerable wait, and Aria might regain consciousness in the meantime. Far better to manage it now before the excruciating pain descended upon her.

Bracing himself, and making sure that her shoulder was firmly lodged against the ground, Kinsford quickly manipulated the shoulder back into position. The sound of the pop, and the agonized groan that was forced from Aria left him somewhat shaken. Kinsford sat back on his haunches, trying to decide what to do next.