Adeline (Lady Archer's Creed Book 3) Page 6

  Her competitive streak would not diminish because her target was not a stationary, straw-stuffed object. Nor would it wane because her competition was a handsome man with an overbearing streak.

  Besides, it would be a new ability Adeline would be pleased to demonstrate for Theo, Georgie, and Josie when next they practiced in Hyde Park.

  It was better to beg forgiveness than be denied permission outright.

  Another fact Adeline had learned not only at home but also from her many years at Miss Emmeline’s School.

  Chapter 7

  Jasper waited in his study for his horse to be readied, pacing from the unlit hearth to his desk and back again, attempting to banish from his mind his less than noble treatment of Miss Adeline. After departing out the front door, he’d slipped back in through the side entrance and hid in his study.

  What a damned coward.

  He’d brought her to Faversham Abbey when she could have just as easily found refuge in town, only to treat her in a most ungentlemanly manner.

  His aunt, Alice, would be appalled at his behavior and would likely return from her grave to haunt him if she were able. But bloody hell…he could not allow Miss Adeline to accompany him out into the storm—and for hunting, no less.

  She could be injured. There was a great possibility of her becoming disoriented and lost in the woods.

  Or far worse still, her horse could become spooked and throw her.

  The land surrounding Faversham Abbey was vast and not easily navigated.

  But there was no one to blame but himself. He wasn’t so foolish as to not realize that if he hadn’t demanded his entire fowl surplus cooked and prepared for her morning meal, they would have plenty of provisions for the next several days. That he’d ventured out in the pelting rain just after daybreak to collect berries from the vines at the edge of his property would likely cause laughter among his servants for months to come.

  The truth of the matter was, Jasper had held the advantage with Miss Adeline until a short while ago. He’d taken in her beauty, her poise, and her upturned button nose. He’d watched her walk into his home the night before as if she belonged there. She’d handled his servants with the expert hands of a woman learned in managing a household.

  And he’d been forced to hide himself and avoid his servants for fear of revealing the truth.

  Blast it all, but it made him feel more than a mere sense of inadequacy. He felt like an outsider in his own home.

  He pivoted and started back toward the hearth, glancing out the window as he stalked across the room. True to his word, the storm was clearing, the clouds pushing toward the far horizon, allowing a rare glimpse of the sun during a normally foggy March day.

  By now, the blasted woman should be returned to her room as he’d commanded, and Jasper would be free to slip from the house unnoticed. When he was informed that his horse was ready, that was.

  He chuckled, thinking of her determination to have her way.

  Aunt Alice would have liked the woman immensely, while his uncle would have mumbled about the folly of women raised with a mind of their own. Yet, Jasper’s father’s younger brother had chosen just such a woman to take as wife. No matter his gruff nature and whispered criticisms, Lieutenant Colonel Bartholomew Benedict was a man who insisted on a woman with spunk and wit. Things his aunt had possessed in spades.

  Jasper wondered if his own father, Balthazar Benedict, the fifth Earl of Ailesbury, had the same preference in the fairer sex. Alas, he’d been but a boy of twelve when Lord and Lady Ailesbury died, along with three servants and a half dozen horses, in the fire that had burned the earl’s stable to the ground—nearly taking Jasper’s life, as well.

  Shaking his head, Jasper pushed the old wounds back where they belonged—buried and ignored. There was little to be gained from spiraling into that deep hole of guilt and doubt, or so his aunt had told him for years.

  Bloody hell, but he missed the woman…and his uncle. Sad that his time with them here at Faversham held far more memories than those with his blooded parents. His aunt had doted on her nephew since she and his uncle hadn’t been blessed with a child of their own. They’d seen to his education, private though it was as they thought it best his tutors come to the Abbey. His uncle had taught him the courage and strength of a soldier, as well as the kindness and compassion needed to help others. Jasper had been instructed in the ways of estate management, including keeping the ledgers, how to resolve disputes between servants and villagers, and household management. The last was due to his aunt’s persistence…in case it was many years before Jasper wed.

  A knock sounded at the door, bringing him back to the present with a start.

  “Enter.” He cleared his throat to dispel his gravelly tone.

  His aunt and uncle had been gone for many years now. Crying would not bring them back nor give him another day with them.

  Abbington entered, his steps sure and his head held high. “Your steed awaits you out front, my lord. The storm has receded, and your bow is at the ready.”

  “Out front?” Jasper’s brow furrowed. He’d never once had his horse brought round to the front of the house. His path to the best hunting grounds lay behind the manor, toward the gunpowder plant. “Very well. I will depart immediately. Make certain Miss Adeline has all that’s needed until her carriage departs.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Abbington gave him a crisp nod before twisting to allow Jasper to pass and proceed him into the foyer.

  There was something off with the servant, and Jasper could only think it was the woman’s presence in his home. There was little other explanation for his staff’s formal attitude and rigid posture. It was as though they sought to impress Miss Adeline.

  Ludicrous—and a waste of time and energy, if you asked Jasper.

  Miss Adeline Price belonged in London, surrounded by hoity-toity gents and ladies in outrageous garb. She belonged in elaborately decorated ballrooms or ensconced in private opera boxes. She was used to finely furnished townhouses with grand foyers and sparkling chandeliers with hundreds of candles, casting illumination on her below.

  Faversham Abbey hadn’t seen a proper renovation since before Jasper was born—if not several decades before that. He’d never set foot in a ballroom nor an opera house.

  Damnation, he had no recollection of what London looked like except for the drawings and a few paintings his mother had brought with her to Kent after wedding his father.

  Though it did not leave him with melancholy or wanting a stay in the grand city.

  He and Miss Adeline came from two different worlds, and Jasper needed no further proof of that than his stumbling upon her stranded alongside the roadway.

  Jasper pulled up short when he entered the foyer.

  He rubbed at his eyes, blinked several times, and even tilted his head to the left a smidgen.

  There was no way he did not imagine the vision before him. Perhaps he was ill and hadn’t taken a moment to realize it, or his thoughts of Miss Adeline had conjured the dreamscape before him.

  Certainly, one of the two explained Miss Adeline Price’s appearance at the bottom of the staircase, garbed in a riding habit of the deepest scarlet he’d ever seen with a bow slung over her shoulder.

  Jasper would recognize the habit anywhere, though it had been over twelve years since he’d seen it.

  “It fits admirably, does it not Lord Ailesbury?” The woman had the nerve to spin around, her heavy skirts staying about her ankles and her bow remaining high on her shoulder.

  “Who gave you that habit?” He would enact swift justice on the servant who dared disobey his command.

  “Poppy brought it to me,” she said with a shrug. “It is well made with a master’s skill at stitching.”

  A squeak sounded from above, and Jasper narrowed his stare on the landing in time to see Emily—and Adeline’s maid, Poppy—scatter out of view. So, his servants were in cahoots with hers.

  Interesting.

  “I am happy you
approve,” he growled.

  Miss Adeline froze, glancing down the front of her as her face paled.

  “I will change immed—“

  “Do not bother, Miss Adeline,” he drawled. “It is not your fault the habit was delivered for your use. You could not have known the significance. However, my servants are well aware.”

  Jasper had no need to glance upward again because Emily’s gasp had been all he needed to hear. The servants had been warned—if not directly—that their meddling was unwarranted and unwanted.

  At least, he was confident there were a few loyal Ailesbury servants not plotting against him. The woman would see soon enough it mattered naught that her attire was suitable and her bow at the ready, if she were unable to keep up when he mounted his steed, she would have no recourse but to remain at the Abbey.

  With a satisfied smile, Jasper turned toward the front door as Abbington pulled it wide—revealing not one, but two bloody horses held by none other than his stable master, Watson.

  Jasper clenched his jaw to keep from demanding to know why a second horse had been prepared when he’d made his wishes very clear to all involved. The notion of instructing the whole lot of them to pack their possessions and depart Faversham for good would be highly satisfying.

  “Which horse shall I ride?” she asked, hurrying past him to coo to each beast in turn as she placed quick kisses to their muzzles.

  Bloody hell if that damned riding habit did not cling to her curves as if the blasted thing had been tailored especially for her.

  Adeline glanced sideways at Lord Ailesbury, rigid atop his mount as they cantered across the open meadow behind the Faversham stables in the direction of the wooded area beyond. While the storm clouds had receded to the horizon, an entirely different bank of clouds had settled upon the earl. He’d barely uttered a word after he assisted her onto her horse—a grey mare with an even step and solid stature—but she refused to allow his outright refusal to look at her to dampen her spirits.

  This was her first hunt.

  No matter that she’d been an unwelcome addition to the hunting party.

  Adeline was determined to enjoy herself.

  Certainly, she knew she’d one day be invited to take part in a house party that boasted a spirited stage hunt, but she’d never dreamed of hunting with the purpose of feeding an entire household. It was a daunting thought. What if they returned with nothing? Would several servants go without a meal? What if she did something wrong and scared away…bollocks but Adeline wasn’t even aware what exactly they’d be taking aim at.

  Fowl? Poultry? Or perhaps something far larger?

  She’d never shot her bow from a horse before, especially a moving horse. And what if her target also moved?

  If Theo were present, she’d quickly assess all information and instruct Adeline on the most successful course of action in such a situation. But her friends were in London, and Adeline was stranded in the wilds of Kent with a most fierce lord.

  She should be, at the very least, a bit wary of the stranger and his servants. Yet, Adeline had the odd sense she’d been at Faversham for years, not less than a day. Strange, especially knowing she’d never particularly favored country life, and the Abbey was far more remote and removed from society than even her family’s country estate.

  Relaxing in her sidesaddle, she spurred her horse into a full gallop and took off across the meadow toward the strand of trees she assumed was their destination. It only took a moment for Ailesbury to match her pace…and race past her.

  The man did not know her well if he thought she’d allow him to best her.

  With a more pronounced kick, Adeline laid close to her mare’s neck as the beast jumped into an outright run. The wind pulled at her carefully coiffed hair, sending pins scattering to the earth in her wake. Adeline shook her head, sending her curls tumbling down her back as the breeze caught them, creating a trail of locks behind her. She’d never before felt so free…and alive. Never had she been allowed to ride a horse in such a brazen manner. Leaning closer to her mare’s neck, she cooed to the beast, imparting words of gratitude and prodding the animal ever on. She shook her head back and forth against the horse’s neck, sending the last of her delicately placed hairpins cascading in the wind as the cold numbed her nose and her eyes watered. She cared naught; instead, she embraced what once would have been a discomfort.

  Almost too quickly, they each pulled up on the reins and slowed their horses to a canter as they approached the trees.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder and spotted Faversham Abbey in the far distance, tendrils of smoke drifting skyward from at least seven chimneys. The manor appeared larger from across the meadow, if that were possible. She wondered if a servant looking out the tall windows, perhaps on the third or fourth floor, could spot them across the grassy expanse separating them from the Abbey. Adeline doubted it, but what a grand view the servant would have.

  Turning back, Lord Ailesbury had dismounted his horse and slung his quiver and bow over his right shoulder before stepping toward her to assist her to the ground.

  Adeline shook her head and waved him off as she jumped down, landing with a slight bounce and a smile. Once again, the habit moved seamlessly with her as she reached up to untie the cord holding her own bow and quiver to the horse’s side. There was obviously a story behind the garment, though no one had seen fit to inform her of it. Was it possible that Lord Ailesbury had once been wed, and the habit had belonged to his wife? That would explain his dour mood upon seeing her and during their ride across the meadow.

  The cut and fabric of the garment were much like the rest of Lord Ailesbury’s home: in excellent condition for such a dated piece. The material was far stiffer and sturdier than was popular among the ton in recent years. In fact, it appeared new and hardly worn, if anyone had donned the riding habit at all. The color, a scarlet so deep it mirrored the hue of freshly spilt blood, suited her complexion and hair color splendidly. The hem reached just below her ankle and grazed the floor when she’d walked through the foyer earlier. Both Poppy and Emily had gone on and on about how well the garment hugged her frame.

  Maybe she’d ask Lord Ailesbury if she could keep the garment when she left Faversham Abbey. Certainly, Alistair would send the coin to pay for it, if the earl did not demand payment in excess of the habit’s worth. There was time, when they returned to the Abbey, to inquire on the matter.

  “We leave the horses here.” With both sets of reins in hand, he pulled the pair toward the nearest tree and tied them loosely to a low-hanging branch, giving the beasts ample line to graze at the base of the tree—or sample any low-hanging fruit from above. A pear tree, if she was not mistaken.

  Relief eased the tension caused by Adeline’s assumption that they’d be hunting from atop a horse. The ground was preferable, a steady surface was key to a superb stance and accurate aim. Another lesson Theo had drilled into her head from nearly her second day at Miss Emmeline’s School.

  “I do not doubt your competency with a bow; however, taking aim at a moving target requires much practice.” He did not spare her even a glance as he spoke—or more accurately, lectured her—about the finer points of bow hunting. “Our bounty today is turkeys.”

  “A question, my lord?” When he halted, but did not turn to face her, she asked, “Why does a servant—your gamesman—not fulfill the hunting requirements for Faversham Abbey?”

  Even her father had kept a gamesman at their estate. He’d been very accomplished at the position and had seen fit to send fowl and other meats to London for Lord Melton and his children to enjoy.

  “I am the only gamesman at Faversham.” His words were clipped, spoken through clenched teeth. “Follow closely. Do not stray from my side. Do not make any commotion. And whatever you do, do not become lost. I will not take on the responsibility of notifying your family of your demise.”

  “That seems rather morbid and uncalled for, Lord Ailesbury,” Adeline huffed. “I resent the implication that
I am incapable of caring for myself while on the hunt.”

  “You were certainly incapable of taking care of yourself on a proper roadway…” he mumbled, his words trailing off but stating all he’d meant to impart. “Regardless of the situation at hand, I have a responsibility to my people to provide sustenance, and I cannot allow anyone to jeopardize my ability to feed those who depend on me.”

  She pursed her lips and inspected the man’s back as he moved farther into the trees ahead of her. If she’d had a proper floor beneath her, she’d have stomped her foot at Lord Ailesbury’s wicked rebuff. The earl acted as if his pantries were not stocked with vegetables, fruits, nuts, cheeses, and bread aplenty. Judging from the repast set before her that very morning, no one under Ailesbury’s care was in jeopardy of starving—at least not in the foreseeable future.

  However, even if they found no turkeys this day, Adeline was reluctant to give the man any further cause to lay the blame at her feet.

  “This way, Miss Adeline,” he hissed, motioning to the path he’d chosen into the underbrush, both of them keeping their bows slung on their shoulders. “We must hurry in case the storm decides to shift course and return with a vengeance.”

  She carefully followed his progress deeper into the wooded area, lifting her feet high and mimicking his movements. The trees overhead were eerily silent except for the remnants of the wind that still lingered from the storm. Eventually, Adeline had need to use both hands to hold her skirts high to avoid them snagging or ripping on the thickening undergrowth. This was made all the more difficult as the canopy overhead blocked more and more of the sparse light attempting to penetrate the foliage.