Tangled Reins

She, in contrast, had clearly mistaken her heart. For surely if she was in love with Fanshawe she would be perfectly happy to allow his judgement to prevail? But he had been horridly strict and old-fashioned about her impromptu acquaintance with some of the more dashing blades present at the masquerade. The sneaking suspicion that he had been right in telling her that acquaintance with those particular gentle men would not be to her advantage did not improve her humour. In an altogether dismal mood, she alighted from the chaise at Oswey Hall.

However, the glorious sunshine, blue skies and gentle breeze-perfect conditions for a picnic by the stream in the bluebell wood-raised even Cecily’s spirits. Soon she was one of a group of chattering damsels busily comparing stories of encounters with the more eligible bachelors of the ton. Rather too old for such girlish pastimes, Dorothea settled by one of the Oswey cousins, come up to town from her home in west Hampshire to spend the Season with her relatives. Reticent and shy, Miss Delamere was grateful to the beautiful Miss Darent, who seemed happy to talk with her of country pastimes. Dorothea, who had not thought of the Grange for weeks, was quite content to make conversation on the topics that in years past had been her primary concern.

No chaperons were present other than the indolent Lady Margaret Oswey. Settled on a pile of cushions in the clearing where the picnic was held, she had no wish to bestir herself. Consequently only those gentlemen who could be trusted to keep the line even while out of her sight had been invited. Ferdie was one of this select group. Lords Hazelmere, Fanshawe and friends were, of course, absent.

After the repast Ferdie escorted two of the younger misses to see the fairy dell, so named because of the mixture of bluebells, crocuses and tulips which grew there. The dell was in the woods they had passed on their way to the stream, and was reached by a path which branched from the main one some little way back towards the house. Having exclaimed to their hearts’ content over the colourful carpet lining the dell, the two young things reluctantly allowed him to lead them back towards the rest of the company. Emerging on to the main track, one young lady on each of his arms, they were approached by a footman in search of Miss Darent.

‘She’s with her ladyship by the stream, I think,’ said Ferdie. Perceiving the letter on the tray the footman was holding, he asked, ‘Is that for Miss Darent?’

Assured it was and had just been delivered by a groom, Ferdie, in benign mood, said, ‘Oh, I’ll take it to her if you like. Very good friend of Miss Darent.’

As the footman had seen Ferdie arrive with the Darent sisters, he saw no reason not to leave the missive in his hands.

Ferdie needed both arms to escort the young ladies back to the stream, so he deposited the letter in the inner pocket of his coat. On reaching the clearing, he relinquished his young charges but found that Dorothea had gone for a ramble with Miss Delamere. Ferdie spent the rest of the afternoon in a tete-a-tete with Cecily. As she had reached the stage of needing someone’s shoulder to cry on, he did not have an easy time of it. However, by the end of a lengthy discussion in which featured all the real and imaginary shortcomings of an unnamed peer with whom he was well acquainted, he felt he had made some headway in getting her to think of things from his lordship’s point of view, rather than only her own.

Although he had enjoyed his day, Ferdie heaved a sigh of relief as the Merion carriage drew away from Oswey Hall late in the afternoon. After his difficult time with Cecily he completely forgot the letter for Dorothea.

The next day this missive resurfaced. Dorothea and Cecily had sent a message that they would not be riding that morning. Ferdie assumed Cecily had had a difficult time the evening before. As Lord Eglemont was convinced she would shortly be his daughter-in-law, Ferdie’s imagination did not have to work overtime to understand that their visit to the theatre might have proved an ordeal.

He was consequently breakfasting in languid style when his valet, Higgins, appeared at his elbow. ‘I found this in your coat pocket, sir.’

As it was common for him to forget letters and notes and leave them in his clothing, Ferdie thought nothing of this and opened the unaddressed letter. Reading the lines within, he frowned. He turned the single sheet over and then back and read it once more. Propping it against the salt cellar, he stared at the letter as he finished his coffee. Then he refolded it and called his valet. ‘Higgins, in which of my coats did you find this?’

‘In the blue superfine you wore at Lady Oswey’s picnic yesterday, sir.’

‘Ah. Thought that might be it.’

Ferdie dressed rapidly and set out for Hazelmere House, fervently hoping that his cousin had not already departed for a morning about town. Luck favoured him. The Marquis was descending the steps of Hazelmere House in company with Fanshawe as he entered Cavendish Square. Out of breath, he waved at them. Staggering at seeing the impeccable Mr Acheson-Smythe in anything resembling a hurry, they halted and waited for him.

‘Ferdie!’ exclaimed Hazelmere. ‘What the devil’s got into you?’

‘Never seen you move so fast in my life!’ said Fanshawe.

‘Need a word with you, Marc. Now!’ Ferdie gasped.

Hazelmere saw that his cousin was looking unaccus-tomedly serious. ‘Let’s go back into the house.’

They re-entered Hazelmere House and headed for the library. Hazelmere sat behind the desk. Fanshawe perched on a corner of it and both looked expectantly at Ferdie, who had dropped into a chair facing them. Still struggling to catch his breath, he drew out the letter and threw it on the desk in front of his cousin. ‘Read that.’

Hazelmere, suddenly equally serious, complied. Then he looked at Ferdie, his face impassive. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘Was supposed to be delivered to Dorothea at Lady Oswey’s picnic. Met the footman on the way and offered to take it to her. Put it in my pocket and forgot it. Higgins found it this morning and, not knowing what it was, I opened it. Thought you’d like to see it.’

‘So Dorothea never got it?’

Ferdie shook his head.

Fanshawe was totally in the dark. ‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’ he pleaded.

Without comment Hazelmere handed him the letter. The message it contained read:

My dear Miss Darent,

I cannot imagine that the company at Lady Oswey’s picnic is quite as scintillating as that to which you have become accustomed. So, why not meet me at the white wicket gate at the end of the path through the woods? I’ll have my greys and we can go for a drive around the lanes with no one the wiser. Don’t keep me waiting; you know I hate to keep my horses standing. I’ll expect you at two.

Hazelmere.

Like Ferdie, Fanshawe had no difficulty recognising Hazelmere’s writing and signature and knew the letter in his hand was a hoax. Eyeing his friend with an unusually grim look, he asked simply, ‘Who?’

‘I wish I knew,’ replied Hazelmere. ‘It’s the second.’

‘What?’ The exclamation burst from Fanshawe and Ferdie in unison.

Laying the letter Ferdie had brought in front of him, Hazelmere opened a drawer and took out the note Dorothea had received at the Bressingtons’ masquerade. Once they were side by side, it was clear that the same hand had written both. Fanshawe and Ferdie came around the desk to study them over his shoulders.

‘When was the first one sent?’ asked Fanshawe.

‘The masquerade. That attempt would have succeeded to admiration except I returned to London a day earlier than expected. It was handed to Dorothea in the hall at Bressington House. She was surprised to find me already there. She’d believed the note. Hardly surprising, as it’s exactly the sort of thing I might be expected to do.’

‘You should have told me. We might have baited a trap!’ exclaimed Fanshawe.

‘We did spring the trap,’ Hazelmere answered with a fleeting grin. ‘Dorothea went out on to the terrace at midnight and I was in the shadows behind her. A voice, which neither of us recognised, called her towards the steps down on to the path. But then some others in the ballroom opened another door on to the terrace and whoever it was took fright. I wasn’t about to give chase and leave Dorothea alone on the terrace.’

‘And you saw nobody?’ asked Ferdie. Hazelmere shook his head, going back to studying the second letter.

‘Very likely she’d have gone to that gate if Ferdie’d remembered to give her the note,’ said Fanshawe.

‘No. She won’t be caught by that ruse again,’ said Hazelmere. ‘But what puzzles me most is who the writer of these missives could be.’

‘Got to be someone acquainted with you,’ put in Ferdie.

‘Yes,’ agreed Hazelmere. ‘That’s what is particularly worrisome. I’d thought it was one of those abduction plots at first.’