Lady Ambleforth's Afternoon Adventure by Ann Lethbridge, Barbara Monajem, Annie Burrows, Elaine Golden, Julia Justiss and Louise Allen Read online



  Lady Ambleforth’s Afternoon Adventure

  A Regency Novella

  By

  Ann Lethbridge, Barbara Monajem, Annie Burrows, Elaine Golden, Julia Justiss, and Louise Allen

  Lady Ambleforth’s Afternoon Adventure

  Copyright ©2012 by Ann Lethbridge, Barbara Monajem, Annie Burrows, Elaine Golden, Julia Justiss and Louise Allen.

  All Rights reserved.

  Originally published at www.harlequinhistoricalauthors.blogspot.com

  CHAPTER ONE by Ann Lethbridge

  Lady Araminta Ambleforth had been looking forward to her outing to Maidstone from the moment she’d thought of the idea yesterday. Sadly, it looked as if her journey would end almost before it began. The phaeton she had ordered from London, with a mint green body and wheels picked out in red, looked rather forlorn on the side of the lane with one wheel at a very odd angle, while Cloud, a pretty gray gelding, happily munched on the grassy verge.

  Groom Jack, a young man with a shock of black hair and startling blue eyes, got up from inspecting the wheel and shook his head.

  “Can it be fixed?” she asked with a hopeful smile and a twirl of her blue silk fringed parasol designed to ensure not a ray of sunshine touched her face. It was too late for that, unfortunately, because she’d been pruning rose bushes in the formal gardens behind Ambleforth House and had forgotten to wear a hat. Not only freckles bloomed across the bridge of her nose, but a telltale pink tinged her cheekbones. The perils of being the typical English blonde with blue eyes.

  “No fixing that on the fly, my lady. The wheel has a definite wobble. I’ll not trust it to carry you another yard. Haslops in Midbury will need to take a look. If he can’t fix it, we’ll have Mr. Wilson from Maidstone Carriage Works out.”

  Bother. Her outing would have to be postponed. Or cancelled. Unless she walked home and collected the traveling carriage. Araminta glanced up at the sky. It was a lovely June day, a few fluffy clouds, a light breeze carrying the scent of spring, and fields verdant with new growth.

  “You know, Jack Merton, it is almost too nice a day to go shopping. You take the phaeton to Haslops, while I walk home.”

  Young Jack’s jaw dropped. “Now, my lady, if his lordship were alive, he would never have permitted—”

  “But he isn’t.” His lordship hadn’t permitted all manner of things. Now she was out of mourning, it was time to enjoy the world. Meet some people. Begin life anew. And as a widow, an unexpectedly very rich and young widow, the world was waiting for her grand entrance. And if she’d only dared brave a couple of visits to Maidstone so far, it was because she had been a very young bride. But all that was over. “And I can certainly manage to walk a mere two miles.”

  It was time to be a little daring. Not scandalous, mind you. But she needed to test her independence. She gave Jack a winsome smile. “Please see that Cloud is well-stabled, and then come home and report on the condition of my carriage.” Without giving him a chance to object, she strode out for Ambleforth.

  Oh, and who was this coming in the other direction?

  CHAPTER TWO by Barbara Monajem

  Heavens, it was gorgeous Lord Torquil D. Silverthorne—or as Araminta liked to think of him, Lord Tall, Dark, and Sinister. Nobody knew what the D stood for; even in Debrett’s, the initial was all one could find. The disgraced son of a duke, he dwelt in an ivy-enshrouded mansion on a hill between here and Araminta’s home.

  “Good day, Lady Ambleforth.” Lord Torquil swept off his hat with a flourish and bowed low over her hand. His lips barely brushed her glove, but nevertheless a quiver ran through her at his touch. (How appropriate if the D stood for Dangerous. Or Delicious.)

  “A carriage breakdown?” murmured Lord Torquil. His eyes touched her, too—everywhere, in the most disconcerting way. “How convenient.” He replaced his hat upon his dark locks, which curled disreputably over his collar and brow. (What a pity Disconcerting and Disreputable were not proper names.)

  She put up her chin. She refused to let Lord Torquil—or any man—unsettle her. “For me, certainly. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it before. A brisk walk is far more to my taste than shopping. Good day, my lord. “ She nodded dismissal, twirled her blue parasol and continued toward home.

  Unsurprisingly, he turned to accompany her. “Convenient for me as well. What greater pleasure than to stroll on a glorious June day with a lovely lady on my arm?”

  Araminta rolled her eyes. She wasn’t on his arm and didn’t intend to be.

  “But that’s not what I meant,” Lord Torquil said. “Wealthy, young, beautiful widows are few and far between, and a solitary walk might well be fraught with peril.”

  She huffed. “In the countryside so close to home? If you dare tell me my husband would have disapproved…”

  “He would have, but he doesn’t matter anymore, does he? You’re an independent woman now.”

  Must he purr like a large, warm tomcat asking to be stroked? Torquil Desirable Silverthorne… His voice sidled into her thoughts, which were rapidly turning disgraceful. “Aren’t you?”

  Wasn’t she what? Oh. Independent. “Of course I am.”

  “And aren’t there many, many men out there who would like to change that?”

  Definitely—even before she was out of mourning, she’d had offers of marriage, which she had refused. “Let them try!”

  “I believe one of them already has, and in a most unscrupulous way.” He smiled at her with a flash of white teeth and a glint in his eye. “I suspect it is someone who dwells between here and your home.”

  “Whatever can you possibly mean?” She quickened her steps, starting to be annoyed. While she might safely indulge a few improper thoughts about delectable Lord Torquil, he had now begun to truly disturb her.

  “Such a lonely stretch of road,” he said. “Such a spirited lady, itching to be free for once in her life. Such a convenient mishap to her wheel—enough to disable the phaeton, but not to cause her any harm.”

  Rapidly, Araminta reviewed all the neighbours who might aspire to her hand. None of them would hatch such a devious plan… Oh! “You sabotaged my phaeton?” She whipped her parasol shut and backed away from him, brandishing it. “How dare you!”

  He put up his hands, laughing. “My dear Lady Ambleforth! If I had purposely damaged your wheel, do you think I would tell you so?”

  CHAPTER THREE by Annie Burrows

  She wouldn't put it past him. With all the rumours of disgrace in his past—and a disgrace so disgraceful her husband had refused to even hint at what it might have been—and the way he always looked at her, as though he knew something she didn't, and found both it and her very amusing, well...

  She had not even drawn breath throughout the whole of her mental diatribe, she realized. Not that one needed to breathe, to think. Except that annoyingly, in Lord Torquil's vicinity, breathing never did seem to occur naturally.

  It came as something of a relief when, just as they drew level with Mrs Hopewell's cottage, she saw the curate, Mr Hodges, emerging from the gate.

  “Good day, my lady, good day!” He raised his hat and stepped out into the lane, his keen blue eyes flicking from her to Lord Torquil.

  “What a surprise to see you out walking on such a hot day,” he said to Lord Torquil, producing a handkerchief with a flourish,
and mopping his brow. “I would not have ventured forth myself, were it not for my duty to offer spiritual comfort to the sick and indigent,” he said, annoying Araminta intensely. She found the widow Hopewell a delightful person. A fund of interesting goss...news. It rankled to hear the young curate relegate her to the status of a duty to be got through, rather than a person with whom it was always a pleasure to sit and share a cup of tea.

  “Alas,” replied Lord Tall and Dangerous-to-her-breathing, “Lady Araminta's brand new phaeton has developed a problem on its very first outing. She has been obliged to postpone her trip and return home on foot. Naturally, seeing her predicament, I offered to escort her.”

  He had done no such thing! He had simply strolled over, and informed her that he would do so. And was doing so, without so much as a by-your-leave.

  Mr Hodges took on that rather pompous look which usually preceded the more uncomfortable points during his sermons.

  “There is no need for that, my lord,” he said firmly. “Now that I am here, you may continue upon your way. I shall escort Lady Araminta home.”

  Lord Torquil raised one eyebrow. “Indeed?” He looked the perspiring curate up and down.

  “You do not look as though you should be out in this weather yourself. In fact, did I not know better, I would venture to say you look as though you have already been exerting yourself overmuch. Though I am sure you would deny you have been running.”

  “Running? Why ever should I do such a thing? In this heat!” His face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I did not wish to put it so bluntly,” he said, swelling with the kind of indignation Lord Torquil had just provoked in her, “but Lady Araminta really should not be seen walking alone with a man of your...reputation. Much better for me to see her home.”

  “Better for whom,” said Lord Torquil dryly. Then he shrugged. “I do not suppose I can stop you from joining us,” he said as the curate took his place on Araminta's other side. “But it makes no difference to my plans.”

  “Very well,” said Mr Hodges with unmistakeable hostility, over the top of her head. “If you persist in your obstinacy, at least my presence will preserve the lady from the sort of unpleasant gossip that being seen alone with you would provoke.”

  Lady Araminta pouted. They were like two dogs fighting over a bone. A bone, what was more, that would much rather be left alone. But was this not typical male behaviour? They had taken it upon themselves to decide what was best for her. Not once had either of them asked whether she wished to be escorted home by a sweaty curate and a Totally Disreputable Son-of-a-Duke.

  Oh, if only there was some way she could bring them both down a peg or two!

  CHAPTER FOUR by Elaine Golden

  With a little sniff of annoyance they were sure to ignore as well, Araminta set off again at a brisk pace. Sadly, it took only a few strides for them to catch up. Mr. Hodges continued to make a show of dabbing his brow while Lord Torquil talked and talked, about nothing so much as himself. Maybe the D stood for Discourse.

  “I say, perhaps we should pause at the mill so Lady Ambleforth may take a bit of shade,” said Mr. Hodges with feigned concern. He was beginning to huff and turn the alarming shade of boiled lobster.

  “I assure you, I’m quite content to continue on. However, should you desire the opportunity to rest…”

  “Yes, do rest, Mr. Hodges. We shouldn’t want you to take ill and miss the service this Sunday.” Lord Torquil’s smirk suggested the opposite.

  But Araminta was distracted and no longer paying them much attention. As they drew near the large stone edifice of the flour mill, she realized that something was amiss. Normally, this was a site of much industry. Today, it stood eerily quiet (her companions’ bickering aside), and it took a moment to realize why: the massive waterwheel wasn’t turning. The door of the miller’s cottage was open, and a saddled horse grazed idly in the yard beside.

  How strange. Araminta paused in the lane in indecision. Should they investigate further? What if someone was hurt and needed assistance?

  A shout drew their attention to the waterline where the miller, Mr. Probey, stood waist deep in the river, gesticulating wildly and pointing to a large wooden pole that appeared to be wedged in the base of the wheel. Then he leaned forward, straining for leverage.

  “Looks like there’s something lodged in the wheel,” said Lord Torquil. “I don’t envy him the task of freeing it, at all.” Clearly, he hadn’t even considered offering assistance.

  The faint creak of wood precipitated more shouting and straining. Then, with a long, violent shudder and a metallic shriek, the wheel began to move with all of the speed of a bed-bound octogenarian suddenly determined to walk. The once placid gelding took exception to the noise, reared, and thundered away.

  The miller sloshed out of the way, laughing, and a moment later the water broke as another man surfaced beside him. A naked man. Or, at least partially naked, because all that Araminta could see at the moment was his chest, but—oh, my! Wasn’t that a sight to see? Lord Ambleforth had never displayed muscles quite like that.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there ogling that fine specimen. She was certain, though, that the only reason she stopped doing so was because someone slapped their hands over her eyes to block the sight. She’d have wagered beforehand such action would be from Mr. Hodges, but she’d have been wrong. The D likely stood for Disappointing, then.

  “What, ho!” called the curate some distance ahead while she tried unsuccessfully to remove Lord Torquil’s hands. “Sir Ed, is that you?”

  Araminta paused. Sir Edgar Deppity? As the new owner of the mill (and many other businesses in town), it made sense that Sir Ed should be involved in restoring operations, but she hadn’t recognized him. Of course, she’d only met him that one time and, admittedly, she hadn’t been precisely looking at his face a moment ago…

  “Aye, Mr. Hodges. How do you do, sir?”

  “Kindly put something on, sir! Lady Ambleforth is in our company. Surely you didn’t remove all of your articles of clothing… ah, but I see I was mistaken. It’s the middle of the day, sir!”

  Oh, dear. He really had been naked. Was naked. Lord Torquil tightened his grip and held firm, despite Araminta’s attempts to see what the rest of Sir Ed Deppity might look like wearing nothing but water droplets in the sunshine.

  “All right,” said Sir Ed in a husky voice that sent little shivers down her spine, and the restraints fell away, revealing him in his fully garbed glory. As tall as Lord Torquil, his brown eyes glinted with amusement, as if he knew precisely what she’d just been imagining. His curly brown hair was tamed when wet and clung to his skill, accentuating his high brow and cheekbones. “What brings you by this fine day, my lady?”

  “Oh,” she said, with a smile and as much nonchalance as she could muster. “My carriage broke down and it seemed a fine day to walk home. The gentlemen are determined to escort me.”

  “I see.” Sir Ed glanced at the now empty field beside the miller’s cottage then eyed her companions as if sizing them up. “Do you mind if I join you, then? I seem to have lost my mount in the proceedings. No doubt he’s enjoying a fine bit of feed corn while the stable lads make bets on what’s befallen me.”

  Why did all of the men in the neighbourhood pick today to descend? The walk home had seemed a splendid idea when she had thought she’d be alone to enjoy the leisurely stroll.

  As fascinating as the naked flesh and water display had been—and she was certain she’d spend some time recalling it this evening when she was alone—Araminta was not pleased for more company. But, as the well-bred peeress her mother had raised her to be, she smiled and inclined her head in acquiescence.

  Surely, she could tolerate the three of them without losing all sense of decorum for the remainder of the journey?

  CHAPTER FIVE by Julia Justiss

  Just as Araminta and her uninvited companions reached the lane again, the sound of galloping hoofbeats warned them to remain on the
verge. A moment later, a glossy white stallion flashed into view, a rider bent low over its head.

  Apparently catching sight of the party, the rider pulled up and directed his mount, with a pretty caracoling step, to a halt beside them. The horseman, a darkly handsome man whom Araminta had never seen before, swung himself out of the saddle.

  “A thousand pardons, dear lady,” he exclaimed, bowing. “I hope the impetuosity of my approach did not startle you, but I’d heard there was an accident at the mill and—ah, Deppity! Are you quite well, sir? Your hair is dripping!”

  “Quite, your Grace. No accident; just an impediment with the wheel, which was speedily repaired.”

  So intent was Araminta upon admiring the newcomer’s broad shoulders, strong jaw, sensual lips and the very fine fit of the buffskin breeches over his—oh, my!—she very nearly missed Deppity’s manner of addressing him.

  ‘His Grace!’ Imagine, a duke here, right in her little village! A duke who was young, striking, and impeccably dressed in a bottle green coat, those wonderful breeches and highly-polished Hessian boots sporting not a speck of mud, despite his recent gallop.

  A duke who was gazing at her with lazy gray eyes and a seductive expression that hinted of afternoon activities she might find far more enjoyable than a stroll down a pokey little lane.

  She’d wanted to try her independence, be a little daring, even, but that suggestive half-smile could tempt her to be positively wicked! She hadn’t felt so attractive, so desirable, so feminine since…well, ever. Ambleforth had married her straight from the schoolroom, without her even having the chance for a London Season.

  “Deppity, you must present me at once to this enchanting creature,” the Duke said, still smiling.

  Naturally, when a duke describes one as “enchanting,” one cannot help but feel flattered. Flushing, she murmured, “Too kind, Your Grace.”