floating before her eyes…
The next morning Eleanor rose at her usual time and, since she usually kept country hours, this was very much earlier than the rest of the household. Lady Walcot had tried in vain to convince her niece that it was highly unfashionable to be up and active before midday, but when that had proved impossible her indulgent uncle had arranged both a horse and a groom for his niece’s use, and Eleanor rode every morning. At this hour the park was usually pretty deserted, and the air comparatively fresh, and of all her activities in London these morning rides were her favourite. Lord Walcot, who sometimes accompanied her, was not up so early this morning, and Eleanor was alone except for her groom. This was a relief, for she was still wrestling with the spirit of rebellion which had been roused the night before. She made herself recall her aunt’s many kindnesses, she told herself that her aunt was wise in the ways of London society, and she finally reminded herself that she would shortly be back in Somerset where none of this would matter.
As for Mr Guthrie—she would probably never see him again, and it was better so. She nodded to herself. That was right—she would forget him, remove him from her mind. She urged her horse to a brisker pace and rode forward, aware of a feeling of virtue and common sense. She was therefore slightly disconcerted when Mr Guthrie drew in beside her and raised his hat. He appeared to bear her no ill-will and greeted her cheerfully. ‘Good morning, Miss Southeran. I see you are an early riser.’
The colour rose in Eleanor’s cheeks as her composure deserted her. ‘I am not sure, sir, that my aunt would approve of…of…’ Her voice died away as he looked at her with such quizzical amusement in his eyes that she found herself wanting to respond.
‘She wouldn’t want you even to bid a perfectly respectable acquaintance good morning? I find that hard to believe. Your aunt is a stickler for the rules, I’m sure.’ There was a dryness in his voice that roused Eleanor to defence.
‘I doubt very much that she would describe you as “perfectly respectable”, Mr Guthrie. My aunt may be a stickler, but I have never before heard her speak to anyone as she did to you last night.’ She stopped short. She had almost sounded apologetic! She added coolly, ‘I am sure she had good reason. Good day, sir.’
‘So you’re just a doll, a puppet without a mind of her own! When you’re told to dance, you dance—oh, yes, I saw you last night! And when you’re told not to dance, then you don’t. I thought better of you.’ Eleanor flushed angrily and moved on. Mr Guthrie moved with her. He said solicitously, ‘You should not be riding alone in London, Miss Southeran. It really isn’t safe, especially for dolls.’
‘I am not alone, Mr Guthrie. I have my groom, as you see. Pray go away!’
‘You certainly don’t need both of us, I agree.’ He turned round in his saddle and called to the groom, who had dropped back a pace or two, ‘John! Be a good fellow and take a message to Colonel Marjoribanks at the Barracks. Tell him I’ve been delayed and will meet him shortly at Tattersall’s. Miss Southeran will be quite safe with me—we’ll see you at the end of this path in a few minutes. Off you go!’
Eleanor was both surprised and angry to see that John instantly wheeled away. ‘How dare he? I think he must have gone mad!’
‘No, no, nothing of the sort!’ he said soothingly. ‘I ride a great deal with your uncle, you see. John knows me well. He knows I am to be trusted, even if certain others…’ He looked at her again with that quizzical gleam in his eye, and once again she felt a strong wish to respond. He went on, ‘But never mind him—I want to talk to you. Are you really a mindless doll? Tell me it isn’t so. Tell me my first impression was correct—that you’re a young woman with a mind of her own, that you don’t judge a man on hearsay and gossip.’
Eleanor made one last attempt to obey her aunt’s wishes. ‘Mr Guthrie, I know it must seem feeble—as feeble-minded as gazing in such an idiotic manner at the chandelier last night—’
‘I didn’t find that idiotic! I thought it was enchanting! The look of wonder on your face, the reflections of those crystals in your eyes. I was bewitched!’
This was so totally unexpected that Eleanor gazed at him in surprise.
‘Yes, that’s something like the look,’ he said softly. Eleanor snapped her mouth shut and made an effort to recover herself.
‘P-please!’ She was annoyed to find herself stammering.
He laughed and said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you into such confusion. Forgive me. What were you about to say?’
‘What was it…? Oh, yes! I believe I am not without a mind of my own. But I do defer to people whose judgement I trust. Tell me, why should I disregard my aunt’s opinion of you—which is that you are not a fit companion for me—in order to pay attention to anything you might say? I met you for the first time last night.’
He was silent for a moment, then smiled wryly and said, ‘You are right, of course. I seem to have caught the American disease of wanting to hurry things along too swiftly. You need time to get to know me. Well, that can be arranged. But dare I ask you to hold judgement until you do know me better?’
‘I fear that may prove difficult. From what I observed last night, my aunt would never allow you to enter her house.’
‘I agree with you—nor would most of the others! And I must confess that up to this moment I have not given a dam—’
‘Mr Guthrie!’
‘A dam, Miss Southeran, is a small Indian coin worth practically nothing.’
Eleanor was not wholly convinced of this, but let it pass, since her interest had been caught by something else. She asked eagerly, ‘Have you been in India? Oh, how fortunate you are! I have always been fascinated by the stories I have heard of it, and of the countries in Asia.’
He smiled at the expression on her face. ‘The romantic East? Don’t get too carried away, Miss Southeran. There’s a wealth of myth and legend about the East, not all confined to its history, literature and art. It’s true that when I was young fortunes were there for those prepared to work for them, or, rather, fight for them. But the climate—and the life of most of the people—is very hard.’ He looked down at her absorbed face. ‘Would you really like to hear more about India? Come for a drive with me this afternoon in the park.’ Eleanor hesitated. ‘Unless you’re afraid, of course.’
‘Afraid?’
‘Oh, not of me! You have nothing to fear from me. No, of what the tittle-tattling matrons of London might say. Any lady seen with me is automatically deemed to be beyond redemption! It makes for a somewhat isolated life.’ When Eleanor still hesitated he said somewhat grimly, ‘I see. I am to be condemned without a hearing, even by you.’
‘I…I…’ The battle with her conscience was lost. ‘What do you drive, Mr Guthrie?’
‘I normally drive a curricle. But if you were to consent to a drive with me I would use something more suited to a lady.’
‘No! That is not what I want at all! I have always wanted…that is, I should like very much…Do you have a phaeton—a sporting phaeton, a high one?’
He stared at her, then his hard face broke into a smile. ‘A woman of spirit! I knew it! I shall arrange to have one this afternoon—but what will your aunt say?’
‘I
