Page 48 of The Marriage Wager

There, on her bed, was the dark blue riding habit, which Maisie had obviously pressed and laid out for Constance to wear. But it would never be worn now, for dozens of long rips ran across the skirt and bodice, reducing the garment to shreds.

“What is it?” Francesca asked, hearing Constance’s gasp and following her into the room. When she saw what lay on the bed, she let out an exclamation. “Sweet heaven! Who could have done such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Constance replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “But I have a good idea.”

“Yes, I do, too.” Francesca walked over to the bed and looked down at the torn garment. Then she turned to Constance, a dangerous light now glittering in her eyes. “Don’t worry. We will not allow Muriel to get the better of you so easily.”

Constance smiled at her friend, warmed by Francesca’s ready sympathy and eagerness to help. Clearly, any worries she had had that Francesca might prefer Muriel for her brother were not true.

“But how? We already used your old riding habit.”

“You shall simply use the one I brought with me,” Francesca told her. “Maisie can let out the hem in a flash. The party is not leaving for another hour or so. And I shall borrow my mother’s riding habit. It will not matter if it is a trifle large. I have no one I need to impress today.”

“But I thought you were not going,” Constance replied.

“I wasn’t,” Francesca told her grimly. “But Muriel has changed my mind.”

Francesca rang for her maid and showed her the shredded habit, explaining what she wanted her to do. Maisie, after exclaiming over the damage, immediately set to work on Francesca’s riding habit, the light of battle in her eyes, and Francesca went to her mother’s room to borrow her riding clothes. Fortunately, nothing had been done to the old riding boots, because Francesca’s feet could not fit into her mother’s boots.

By the time the others had gathered downstairs for the proposed ride, Maisie had managed not only to let down the hem of Francesca’s riding habit, but also to tack and pin Lady Selbrooke’s dress so that it fit Francesca.

Francesca and Constance went down the stairs to join the others, who were waiting in the entry hall, and Constance had to hide a smile at the expression of surprise, then anger, that flitted across Muriel’s face at the sight of her. Constance gazed back at Muriel, unsmiling, a challenge in her eyes. Muriel’s face tightened, and she whipped around to face the other direction.

The next few minutes were taken up outside mounting their horses, which the grooms had brought around to the front drive. Dominic came up beside Constance, saying, “I chose Grey Lady for you. She’s a good little mare, calm and biddable, but not a laggard.”

Constance turned to look up at him, her stomach fluttering, as always, at the sound of his voice. “Thank you. I have not ridden much in recent years.”

Her mare, the horse she had ridden since she was fourteen, had grown old and slow, but Constance had not had the heart to replace her. And when the mare had died, her uncle had not purchased a new mount for her.

“I was not sure.” Dominic led her to the mare.

Constance spent some time getting acquainted with her horse, stroking its mane and talking to it. Then Dominic gave her a leg up, and she settled into the sidesaddle and took the reins he handed her. Dominic’s stallion was near hers, and he mounted, taking his place beside Constance.

The small company rode out of the yard and took the trail leading back to the farms that were part of the estate. Dominic rode in the lead, with Constance beside him.

She quickly realized why Francesca had been determined to join them for the ride when Muriel drew alongside them, looking her best on horseback, as Constance had noticed on the trip to the church.

“Come, Dominic,” she said, not even glancing at Constance. “I am sure Arion wants to stretch his legs. Let’s race to the stream.”

“I cannot leave the rest of the party,” Dominic responded equably. “I am the one showing the way, after all.”

“Of course you cannot,” Francesca agreed, trotting up beside them. “Come, Muriel, I will race with you.”

Muriel’s mouth tightened. Riding away from the group with Francesca was doubtless not what she wanted. On the other hand, she was rather caught by her own offer.

“All right,” she said with little grace, and the two women took off with a burst of speed.

Dominic and Constance watched as the two horses streaked out ahead of the rest of them. It was little surprise that Muriel won the race, for she was an excellent horsewoman. However, Francesca turned out to have won the day, for she stayed by Muriel’s side, even when Muriel dropped back to join the rest of the group. No matter how Muriel maneuvered to get closer to Dominic, Francesca managed to wedge herself between them. Constance could not keep from smiling to herself, warmed by Francesca’s loyalty.

Constance could not remember when she had enjoyed a day as much. She and Dominic talked and laughed, sometimes alone, sometimes with others of the party around them. He pointed out the various farms and crops along the way, leading them through the edge of the woods and across the meadows. He knew the names of every person they happened upon, and he could tell the history of any part of the land. It was clear from his voice that he loved the estate. It made Constance wonder even more why he had kept himself away from it for so long. Surely it could not be solely because of his parents’ desire to marry him to Miss Rutherford.

His parents were rather stiff, formal people. There was nothing in them of the easy, friendly manner that characterized Dominic and Francesca. But a difference in personality was often in evidence among family members, and it did not usually bring about the sort of distance Constance saw between Dominic and his parents. She had taken note of it throughout the week. Dominic was rarely with either Lord or Lady Selbrooke, and on those occasions when he had been in their company, he had remained there only a short time. At supper, he sat at the end of the table near his father, but that was only because the place cards situated him there. Never had Constance seen him carrying on what she would have termed an easy conversation with the older man. Anyone watching them would have supposed them mere acquaintances.

Something, she thought, must have caused a rift between them, but she had no idea what it had been. Dominic, for all his ease in talking, rarely spoke about the past or his family. The few times she had heard him mention the past, he had talked about his regiment and the days he had spent in the Peninsular Campaign. His memories of his fellow Hussars seemed much warmer than those of his family. Constance could not help but wonder what had happened.

They made their way back toward the house late in the afternoon and stopped at a small ornamental lake that lay within sight of Redfields. A summer house sat at the far end of the lake, with a pleasant path leading all the way around the small body of water.

They found two footmen and two maids in the summer house, putting the finishing touches on the afternoon tea that they had brought down in large wicker baskets from the main house. They had laid snowy damask coverings on two wooden trestle tables. On one table stood a large urn of tea, and on either side lay platters of tea cakes, biscuits, scones and crustless wedges of sandwiches.