The Major and the Country Miss. Dorothy Elbury

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      ‘What the devil was that all about?’ demanded Fenton, in astonishment, as soon as the door had closed behind the departing butler. ‘Damned funny way for a servant to go on, if you ask me!’

      ‘’Fraid it looks as though we might have to put up with quite a bit of that sort of thing,’ said Maitland, with a rueful grin. ‘Cat seems to have put it about that I had a hand in saving his life.’

      ‘Seems there’s no end to your blessed talents, Will!’ exclaimed Fenton, eyeing his cousin sourly.

      ‘Stow that, Jerry!’ returned Maitland, reddening slightly. ‘I only did what any fellow would have done in the circumstances, which hardly warrants remarks of that sort, surely?’

      Fenton gave a careless shrug. ‘If that butler chap’s performance is anything to go by,’ he observed, ‘it strikes me that the odd sarcastic remark from yours truly might well serve to help keep your feet on the ground!’

      Before Maitland could reply, a soft tap on the door heralded Moffat’s return and the two men were escorted up the stairs to the morning room, where a smiling Countess Gresham, her son at her side, was eagerly awaiting their arrival.

      ‘My dear Mr Maitland!’ she exclaimed, rising from her seat and hurrying forwards to greet him. ‘I have so wanted to meet you face to face! How can I ever thank you for saving my son’s life?’

      Doing his best to ignore his cousin’s disdainful sniff, Maitland reached forwards and took Lady Letitia’s outstretched hands into his own. ‘Eddie is my friend,’ he said gently. Then, looking up and catching sight of the viscount’s sober expression, he added, ‘Had the roles been reversed, I know that he would have done nothing less!’

      Tears glistened in her eyes as, releasing her hands from his clasp, the countess threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. ‘You dear, dear boy!’ she cried. ‘I beg that you will always consider Gresham Hall as a second home!’ And, raising herself on tiptoe, she reached up and kissed him on his cheek.

      Maitland returned her hug in much the same way as he was often wont to embrace his own mother and, after allowing her a few moments to regain control of herself, led the countess back to her seat. Then, having complied with her request that both he and his cousin should sit themselves down, he enquired as to the whereabouts of her ladyship’s other guests.

      ‘My father took several of the gentlemen out on a drag-hunt early this morning,’ answered Catford, on his mother’s behalf. ‘The rest of our party are sunning themselves in the garden.’

      ‘We were out there ourselves until Moffat brought news of your arrival,’ added the countess, with a warm smile. ‘But I did so want to speak with you alone before you were besieged by the others.’

      ‘I trust that you are making a jest, your ladyship!’ exclaimed Maitland, in horror, doing his best to ignore the nearby viscount’s smothered laugh. ‘I must assure you that I have no desire to be besieged by anyone!’

      ‘Then I fear that I shall have to apologise in advance, my dear boy,’ returned Lady Letitia, leaning forwards to pat his hand. ‘Your exploits have become somewhat legendary within the family. It would be well nigh impossible for me to try to prevent any of them from wanting to shake you by the hand and offer you their thanks. If you could just grin and bear it for a few minutes, I promise you that it will soon be over and done with!’

      Assuring the countess that he would do his best, Maitland rose and, offering her his arm, led her out of the room and down the stairs. Fenton, whose earlier fit of pettishness had not been improved by her ladyship having, apart from her initial greeting, virtually ignored his presence, followed the pair, unaware that his revulsion at the thought of having to stand by and witness Maitland basking in hero-worship was not entirely dissimilar to his cousin’s own feelings at being obliged to submit to it.

      Chapter Five

      Some little while later, having endured all the effusive praise and hearty backslapping with as much good nature as it was possible for him to bring to bear in such trying circumstances, Maitland was at last released from his ordeal and allowed to catch his breath. Stepping down from the terrace, he swept his eyes across the manicured lawns in search of Stephanie who, along with Georgianne, had desisted from joining in the general mêlée that had greeted the cousins’ arrival. Eventually, having spotted her sitting in the shade of a large chestnut tree on the far side of the garden, he was just about to make his way over to her, his heart thumping in joyful anticipation when, with a start of annoyance, he perceived that the Honourable Jeremy had already forestalled him. Miss Highsmith, if her mischievous glances and ripples of laughter were anything to go by, appeared to be very much impressed by Fenton’s blond good looks and well-practised charm. And, as he watched Stephanie picking up her sketchbook and executing a few swift strokes with her pencil, Maitland could not help but notice that three or four of the other young men of the company had also started to drift over in her direction.

      Since he could not bring himself to be merely one amongst the many of those who had congregated about the clearly popular Miss Highsmith, he sauntered across to another part of the gardens to join Catford, who was engaged in a spirited conversation with his cousin Georgianne.

      ‘Ah, there you are, Will!’ cried the viscount, with a huge grin. ‘Finally managed to stave off your devoted admirers, I see!’

      ‘No thanks to you, dear friend!’ grunted Maitland, as he threw himself down on the grass next to his ex- comrade. ‘Next time you’ve a mind to fall off your horse, kindly call on someone else to drag you out of trouble!’

      ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old chap!’ chuckled the viscount, with a sly wink at Georgianne.

      Although her lips curved in amusement as she listened to the two comrades’ teasing repartee, Georgianne, who was well aware that her cousin’s affable friend would far rather be sitting next to Stephanie than where he was at present, was unable to hold back the slight pang of longing that had suddenly invaded her heart. Bending her head, she tried to concentrate her mind on the piece of sewing that, for some time now, had lain idle in her lap but, even as she proceeded to execute the small neat stitches, she found her attention wandering across to where Maitland lay sprawled elegantly on the grass beside the viscount.

      What a very fine physique the fellow has, she thought admiringly, as her eyes swept over him. How broad his shoulders are! But then, as she found herself dwelling rather too long upon how well his breeches clung to his muscular thighs, her face grew quite hot and she rummaged hurriedly in the basket beside her in search of the small fan that she always carried.

      Noticing her sudden discomfort but, unaware of the true reason behind it, Catford scrambled to his feet, saying, ‘This sun getting a bit too much for you, Georgie? Let me fetch you a cooling glass of Mrs Barnet’s lemonade.’ And, looking down at his friend, he added, ‘What about you, Will? Fancy a drop of ale?’

      After intimating that a glass of ale would, indeed, be most welcome, Maitland raised himself from his prone position and, casually draping his arms over his drawn-up knees, focussed his attention upon the opposite side of the lawn, where Stephanie was still holding court to her rapt audience.

      Georgianne, having observed his melancholy demeanour, could not help but feel a flash of compassion for him. ‘Poor Mr Maitland,’ she said gently. ‘Stephanie has so many admirers—you will need to arrive at a much earlier hour if you wish to be first in line!’

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