Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [44]
“Come, come, Miss Austen,” he said teasingly, his hands still about my waist, “a young lady of your experience and perspicacity cannot be entirely a stranger to a gentleman's embrace.”
“An unmarried lady of my station cannot admit to being anything but, Lieutenant,” I retorted firmly, and moved to thrust the offending hands from my person. To my mortification, he tightened his grip, and added to the embarrassment of his stance, the discomfiture of my own. I was forced to grasp his gloved hands in mine to win my freedom, and the image of how we must appear only increased my blushes.
The Lieutenant laughed heartily and released me, but I failed to see the humour in his affront.
“Is it Fanny Delahoussaye who has taught you such indelicacy, Lieutenant? Or is it thus you school her on your snowy walks?” I turned on my heel and would have left him in my anger, but he caught me up in a moment, the horses on the rein, and apologised most prettily.
“I must declare myself a complete reprobate, Miss Austen,” he avowed. “A life too long spent among the soldiers of the garrison has made my conduct rough and ungentlemanly. You, who have brothers in the Navy, must acknowledge we have few opportunities for the study of civility. In your company, perhaps, I shall learn better how to behave than in Miss Fanny's.”
“I do not think you shall have another chance at my company, Lieutenant,” I said, refusing to meet his eye and increasing my pace.
“Miss Austen!” he cried, halting the horses in the midst of the field, “what cruelty is this? Does my gentle offence truly merit such censure? And are you not in part responsible? I should not have been tempted, did the winter cold not heighten the beauty of your cheeks, bring sparkle to your eyes, and in general make of you such a picture!”
“I fear you give way all too often to temptation, Lieutenant,” I replied, thinking of Fanny Delahoussaye. Tom Hearst can have little constancy in his attachments if he plays as idly with her as he has done with me.
“I beg your forgiveness,” he said earnestly, dropping to his knees in the snow, “and your heart cannot be so hard as to withhold it. I meant no dishonour to your virtue—if anything, Miss Austen, I meant to honour your charms.” He made a pretty enough picture, his curling head raised in supplication, his uniform a darker splash against the horses’ chestnut. As I watched, Lady Bess exhaled a steamy breath, and nuzzled Tom Hearst's shoulder; he looked around and fondled the mare affectionately. “Lady Bess would have your forgiveness on my behalf,” he continued penitently. “And in return I will pledge to molest you no more.”
It is not in my nature to preserve a prudish distance; the Lieutenant's present earnestness called to mind my brother Frank, the darling of my concerns; and so I unbent my stiffened posture and walked to his side.
“Please rise, Lieutenant,” I said. “The snow cannot be good for your breeches.”
“Nor my knees,” he said, jumping to his feet. “My batman will have my head in the morning, when I'm too stiff to get out of bed. But I shouldn't mention such things to a lady. I forget myself. Will you walk back to the house with me, Miss Austen, and teach me the proprieties Miss Fanny cannot?”
“I will consent to accompany you, Lieutenant, on one condition.”
“Anything, dear lady.”
“That you will instruct me in the art of horsemanship while I remain at the Manor,” I said, by way of reward for his penitence. “Lady Bess is a mount to suit my tastes, and I believe I should profit from the exercise.”
“Capital!” Tom Hearst cried, slapping his thigh, “and I from your gentle schooling.”
“Let us talk no more of that.”
“Very well. Though of what else we may converse, I hardly know. All subjects are contraband. Did we talk of our intimates here at Scargrave, we should touch upon death; and I refuse to traffick in melancholy in the company of a lovely woman.”
“Lieutenant!”
“What, no compliments may I