Chapter Four

G oing for a walk in the park without Mama proved a difficult undertaking. Ysella could not shake her off. "Just what I need to blow the cobwebs away," Mama said, after she caught Ysella putting on her warm pelisse in the hall, with Martha hovering in attendance. "I've been cooped up indoors for far too long, bent over my sewing. A stroll with you in the park will be a tonic."

Ysella groped for something to put her mother off. "Don't you think you need to finish that baby gown for Morvoren? Surely she's going to need it quite soon?"

"Nonsense," Mama retorted. "It's nearly finished already and, in her last letter, she told me she's sure the baby isn't due for another few weeks." She paused, her brow furrowing. "She seems to know such a lot about her condition. Much more than I did before your sister Derwa came along."

Ysella glanced sideways at Martha, who wore an expression of what could be called smug disapproval. She'd had to be taken into Ysella's confidence about the reason for the walk.

"There's quite a cold wind blowing," Ysella tried. "You might catch a chill after being indoors for so long. At your age."

Uh oh. The wrong thing to have said. Mama fixed her with a steely and somewhat frosty gaze. "I am not yet in my dotage, Ysella. And I'm quite capable of withstanding a light breeze in the park. Anyone would think you didn't want me to accompany you."

Ysella chided herself in silence. "Of course, I want you to come," she lied. "I just worry about you, Mama. After what happened to dear Papa."

As Papa had died from an apoplexy which had not been caused by a walk in the park, this too was a lie, but it had the desired effect, or at least partly so.

"You sweet girl," Mama said. "To be concerned for your Mama like this. But don't worry. We Tremaines are made of sterner stuff than the Carlyons. Martha, can you fetch me my pelisse please. And my bonnet and gloves."

Martha hurried to do as she was bid, and Ysella schooled her features into some semblance of calm. How was she going to meet up with Oliver if Mama insisted on coming? Well, they could still meet, but it would be under Mama's disapproving stare as well as Martha's. They wouldn't be able to talk privately at all with no less than two chaperones in tow. So frustrating.

Martha returned with the requested garments and helped Mama into the pelisse, which had a warm fur collar. Mama fussed about her gloves and reticule, making Ysella struggle not to hop from foot to foot in impatience. But at last, Forbes opened the front door, and Ysella stepped out into the porticoed porch. Just as a liveried messenger boy scurried up them bearing a letter.

"Lady Ormonde?" He looked from Ysella to Mama, uncertain as to whom he should be addressing. Mama held out her hand for the letter.

Ysella paused, irritated by this further delay, watching Mama break the seal and unfold her missive. She read for a moment or two, then raised disquieted eyes to meet Ysella's. "It seems I was quite wrong. Our dear Morvoren has already obliged and been brought to bed of an heir for Ormonde, but she's been taken ill with a fever. Your brother asks for me to come down immediately to help take care of her and my new grandson."

Momentarily distracted from her own perceived problem, Ysella clapped her gloved hands together. "A boy! An heir for Ormonde! What wonderful news."

Her mother's face had gone a shade paler and lines of worry had etched themselves into her brow. "Good news indeed, but I'm worried about Morvoren if she's unwell. There are far too many things that can go wrong after a lying in."

Ysella's euphoria blew away. Mama should know about things like this—she'd had four surviving children of her own, after all. Derwa, twelve years older than Ysella, had once implied that there should have been more children but something unspecified had happened to them. A mystery Ysella had never yet solved. And of course, the Marquess of Flint, their neighbor down in Wiltshire, had lost his first wife in childbirth. Not that Ysella was supposed to know that. Surely nothing could happen to Kit and Morvoren's firstborn? She clasped her hands under her chin in a short and fervent prayer.

"I'm sorry, Ysella," Mama said, "but we shall have to cut short your season for a while. I can't leave you here on your own—it wouldn't be at all proper. I shall prepare immediately for us to travel down to Ormonde." She peered up at the gray, afternoon sky. "It will have to be tomorrow, now, but we'll set off straight after breakfast." She turned back to the door where Forbes was still hovering. "I can only hope it's nothing too serious and that by the time I reach the Abbey she'll be improving."

Ysella's vacillating brain returned to today with a thump. Tomorrow. They had to travel tomorrow. Which meant she could still go for her walk and meet up with Oliver. At least Mama wouldn't be coming with her. Guilt at turning such a worrying happening as Morvoren being ill to her own gain tightened her stomach. Was she being a tiny bit selfish? But this might be her only opportunity to see Oliver. If she had to be away for long he might forget all about her. Might find some other pretty girl to pay court to. Morvoren wouldn't want her to miss this opportunity on her account, and besides, what could she do if she were to stay behind with Mama?

She bit her lip. "If you don't mind, Mama, I'll have Martha do my packing when I've taken some air. If we're to travel tomorrow, then I need to take some exercise today. It's so cramped in the carriage."

Mama's mind had flown miles away, though, down to Wiltshire to Kit and Morvoren and their child. "Yes, yes. You enjoy your walk while you can. I must organize the house if we're to leave in the morning. Off you go, but try not to be long. There's so much to do."

And with that she re-entered the house and Forbes closed the door behind her.

"Well," Ysella said to Martha, refusing to acknowledge the guilt. "I'm sure Morvoren and the baby will be quite all right." She crossed her fingers behind her back, far less confident than she sounded. "At any rate, there's nothing I can do at the moment, so we'd best make hay while the sun shines, as Sam says, if I'm to be stuck in Wiltshire for the rest of the season, or at least some of it. Come along."

Martha's expression conveyed deep disapproval, but Ysella ignored it.

The park, barely more than ten minutes' walk from Ormonde House, was an expanse of carefully manicured greenery with tastefully planted trees and tan roads laid out for the gentry to promenade either in their carriages, on horseback or on foot. In the middle of the afternoon, with the weather fine for once, a fair number of people were already letting themselves be seen and meeting with friends and acquaintances.

Ysella paused at the wrought-iron gates, surveying the park and considering the age-old adage of finding a needle in a haystack. How was she to find Oliver or Oliver to find her? Best to start walking and hope he'd spot her.

"Keep an eye out for him too, Martha," she whispered as her maid followed half a step behind her, chin up and proud of her exalted role as a lady's maid.

"I'm not sure I can recognize him from only having seen the top of his head." Martha had taken a peek at Oliver by peering over the banisters from upstairs when he arrived yesterday, something she'd confided to Ysella that morning.

"He has such wonderful hair," Ysella said, thinking how lovely it would be to run her fingers through it. "You should be able to recognize that. Quite the best hair at the ball—on a gentleman. So I'd say he most likely possesses the best hair in London."

Martha's snort told her perhaps not.

Ysella's luck was in, though. She and Martha hadn't walked far along the main thoroughfare of the park, past other ladies promenading with either their snooty maids or on a gentleman's arm, when Oliver approached from a side path.

"Is that him?" Martha asked, nodding in his direction.

Ysella, who'd been searching in quite the opposite direction, swung her head around in time to see him nod to a gentleman he knew and take a sort of hop and skip over the edge of the path. Her heart did a leap that was becoming all too familiar at the sight of his handsome face. Today, he was no longer sporting his regimentals, but an immaculately cut tailcoat and breeches over shiny top boots. With the points of his collar almost up to his cheeks, and his artfully dressed hair, he looked quite the man about town. Like a picture out of one of Ysella's fashion papers. Like a hero out of one her novels.

"Ysella!" He kept his voice down low, but Martha couldn't have avoided hearing the familiarity with which he spoke.

"Oliver! I didn't know how we were to find each other in such a crowd of people taking the air." Ysella slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and sent a quick frown at Martha, intended to banish her to a good ten steps back. Martha took up sentry duty only three steps back, her face set like a pugnacious guard dog.

Unable to reprimand her maid without appearing too obvious, Ysella turned back to Oliver and gazed up into his face, drinking it in. She'd just have to ignore Martha and deal with her later. In private.

He smiled down at her. "I scarcely dared hope you would come."

"I nearly didn't. I thought Mama would insist on accompanying me, but then she had a letter from my brother." No need to tell him the details, but he would need to know she was going to have to leave London. A nugget of resentment surfaced in Ysella's heart that Morvoren should need Mama right now. She loved Morvoren deeply, and was worried about her health of course, but why couldn't she have waited a few more weeks before producing the son and heir they'd all been waiting for?

Oliver patted her captive hand. "I have to say, I'm glad your mother isn't with us."

Ysella shot a brief frown back at Martha. "I'm afraid we do have Martha, though."

Oliver chuckled. "My intentions are nothing but honorable, Ysella, so you need not regret having to be chaperoned by your maid."

The idea of his intentions being dishonorable was not as disturbing as it ought to have been. Ysella's smile widened. However, there was nowhere in the park where dishonorable intentions could have been carried out. At least, nowhere she knew of. It was a place to see and be seen, and to be remarked upon by others less fortunate than oneself. And Ysella was feeling very fortunate indeed to be on the arm of the most handsome man in London.

"I was wondering," Oliver said as they strolled towards the lake in the center, "if you would care to accompany me to the Exeter 'Change tomorrow? As you showed some interest in seeing an elephant for yourself. Perhaps your mother might allow me to escort you there?" He, too, shot a glance at Martha. "We could take your maid for propriety's sake. Of course."

Ysella sighed. She would very much like to see a real elephant, although the attraction of this outing would be the company of her handsome captain. However, she had to impart her unhappy news to him some time, and now seemed like the opportune moment. "I'm afraid I shan't be able to."

The grip his arm had on her hand tightened a little and a frown creased his brow. "You won't?"

Ysella shook her head. "Through no fault of my own. We had news today from Ormonde." She paused, uncertain how to broach the subject of her sister-in-law's condition to a gentleman. It was not a subject she was conversant with herself.

Oliver nodded. "You did?"

"Um, yes." Ysella caught her bottom lip with her teeth searching desperately for a polite way of saying this. Inspiration dawned. "My brother's wife, who is my dearest friend as well, has been taken ill. Mama is needed to care for her, and I must accompany her."

Oliver's small frown deepened. "Do you want to go?"

Ysella bit her bottom lip again, torn. Of course she wanted to help Morvoren if she could. Of course she wanted to see the new heir who was bound to be the sweetest baby ever. And of course she knew, just as Mama did, that danger could threaten in the days after a lying-in, for mother and baby alike. But a huge part of her ached at the thought of being parted from Oliver, even though she'd only known him a few short days.

"It's not a question of do I want to go," she said, at last. "I have to go, because Mama can't leave me here unchaperoned. I must go with her." She frowned, the guilt returning because the larger part of her wanted to stay here and keep going to balls and meeting up with Oliver. "But I do love Morvoren very much, so I'm worried about her."

Oliver halted and half turned towards her, taking both her hands in his.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ysella spotted the mutinous expression on Martha's face. Any minute now she was going to interpose herself between them.

"What am I to do without you?" Oliver asked, his gaze holding hers. "I won't be able to sleep or eat if I can't see you."

Good heavens. This was more than ever like one of the romantic novels she liked to read. Wonderful. He was one of the manly heroes and she the damsel-in-distress heroine, waiting for him to sweep her off her feet. The idea of being swept off her feet was very appealing.

Ysella swallowed. That a man, a real man and not just a storybook man, might declare himself like this to her was beyond her wildest dreams. "And I shall be the same," she managed to stutter.

Martha coughed loudly.

Oliver shot Martha a dark glance and repositioned Ysella's hand tucked into his arm so they could continue walking. Probably he was annoyed that Martha considered herself such an arbiter of good behavior. But then, they were out in public and already a few heads had turned in their direction. Not wishing to be the subject of gossip and speculation, Ysella resolutely kept her gaze forwards, ignoring Martha's presence.

Ahead of them, two officers in regimentals approached down the long walk, chattering together in an animated fashion. As they drew nearer, Ysella recognized Cousin Fitz and young Lieutenant Chatham from the Denby House ball.

Fitz hailed Oliver in a cheery fashion. "What, ho, Featherstone! Fancy meeting you here." His penetrating gaze ran over Ysella and flicked for a moment to Martha and her heavy scowl. "Out with my coz, are you? Without her brother here I feel myself a little responsible for her. I hope your intentions are of the best?" He said this with such a mocking tone, Ysella couldn't quite be sure if he meant it or not. One never could be quite sure of anything Fitz said.

Oliver seemed unfazed by it though. "All above board, I hasten to say. You can see we have her maid in attendance. I'm not about to run off with her just yet."

Just yet? A delicious coil of excitement tightened in Ysella's stomach. Did he mean that? Might he want to run off with her to marry her? At only nineteen, she needed her brother Kit's permission to marry, and a tiny nagging doubt persisted suggesting that Kit might not approve of the dashing captain. No. Not at all. Which only served to make him all the more attractive.

"I should hope not or I might have to call you out," Fitz laughed. Behind him the young lieutenant's face blushed crimson—perhaps at the thought of running off with any young lady. Ysella had a fair idea of what marriage entailed and it was certainly blush inducing. Morvoren had explained it to her some time ago, expressing shock that her young sister-in-law should be that ignorant. She'd also told her how babies were made in some biological detail.

Ysella in her turn had been quite shocked that Morvoren knew all this, especially the details of how babies were made. The thought that it might not have been true persisted. One of her friends, during her short sojourn at school, had told her a man gave you a baby by kissing you with his tongue. Another thing that had shocked her.

Fitz's eyes wandered back to Ysella again, something in his expression unreadable. A wariness? What might that be for? Ysella tightened her fingers on Oliver's arm and let her own face slip into a frown of admonition, willing him to go away and leave her with Oliver.

It must have worked. Fitz grinned. "I see we are but spare parts here, Chatham. We'd best be off." He tipped his hat to Ysella. "I expect I'll see you at the next ball, Coz. M'sister insists I should take her and Charlotte about town because that bore of a husband of hers is too busy." He laughed. "Not that poor Harry wants to be primped and paraded on the marriage mart. By God, she'd have been better born a boy then she could have got away with her academic fancies. Squiring her about is a total waste of her time and mine—she frightens off the gentlemen with her ferocious nature."

Ysella giggled. A good summing up of Cousin Charlotte. Then she remembered her promise not to be mean to her and regretted the giggle.

Fitz and Lieutenant Chatham departed, still gossiping together and nodding and bowing at their acquaintances as they passed. A large part of whom seemed to be ladies.

Martha coughed, not at all discretely.

Time was getting on. If Ysella wasn't careful, Mama would send out a footman to find her. "Perhaps we should walk back towards the gates," Ysella said, her tone tinged with regret.

Oliver steered her around and they headed back in the required direction, Ysella searching for something to say. There was so much she'd like to be able to say, but most of it was quite unsuitable for a chaperoned stroll in the park. At last, she had an idea, faint though it might be. "Might you like to pay us a visit at Ormonde Abbey? As I have to be down there for the next few weeks?" Inspiration seized her. "The hunting is very good, and there must still be a few weeks left in the season. I'm sure my brother Kit would horse you." She dimpled. "I do so love to ride to hounds."

Oliver's face, that had still been hosting a frown, broke into a wide smile. "Why, that's a capital idea, Ysella. I should love to take a country break from the rigors of city life, and to see you at the same time would be perfection." He drew her closer, eliciting another cough from Martha. "I'll give you a day or two then follow you down and take a room at The Castle in Marlborough. I hear it's a tolerable good place to stay. I can ride out to call on you from there with ease."

Ysella beamed back up at him in delight. Her first ever invite to Ormonde now issued, and to the man of her dreams, she could sleep contented tonight and endure the long carriage journey down to Wiltshire in the morning. Wonderful. It didn't occur to her to wonder how he was so familiar with where Ormonde was, nor the name and reputation of the local hostelry.