The Brigadier's Daughter. Catherine March

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СКАЧАТЬ in a wife—confident, vivacious, and her figure was certainly admirable. Evidently a strong young woman, her speech and manners a little too loud perhaps, a little wilful…selfish, even? He hadn’t yet enjoyed a particularly entertaining conversation with her, and she was frequently looking over her shoulder at that damned Westfaling whippersnapper. His enthusiasm began to wane as he dwelled on the attributes of one sister, and then the other, but even as he made his way downstairs, enjoyed a hearty breakfast, and then to the stables, mounted his bay gelding and rode off in the direction of Hyde Park, he could not come to any satisfactory conclusion about either of them.

      ‘Sasha, wake up!’

      From beneath a pile of bedcovers Sasha groaned, and shrugged off the hand shaking her shoulder. She burrowed deeper into the bed, in a vain attempt to escape a persistent Georgia.

      ‘Oh, go away, Georgia, leave me alone!’ she muttered from beneath her pillow, her heavy and aching eyes trying to sink back into the bliss of sleep.

      ‘Sasha, you must get up.’ Georgia marched over to the window and thrust back the curtains, flooding the room with bright sunshine. ‘I promised Felix that I would meet him in the park. Do get dressed, I’ve persuaded one of the grooms to be ready and waiting at ten o’clock.’

      ‘Ten o’clock!’ Sasha sat up then, turning to look at the clock ticking gently in its gilt case on the mantel above the fireplace, and then at her fully dressed sister. ‘Are you mad, Georgia, or just totally insensitive to other people? It’s the crack of dawn and I’m exhausted from last night.’

      ‘Rubbish! It’s almost nine and you’ve had plenty of sleep. Here, darling, put on your lovely blue riding habit and I’ll ring for Polly to bring you some tea and toast.’

      Emerging from the dressing room with her arms full of Sasha’s riding habit, she laid it down on the bed and then crossed the room to pull the bell-rope.

      Sasha yawned and stretched, seeing that there was no help for it but to get up. And now that she was awake, and her thoughts returned to the memory of Captain Bowen, she was far too restless to go back to sleep. She glanced out of the window at the clear blue sky, and mused that a ride in the park seemed just the thing. The snow had stopped and was beginning to thaw, and though later it would be slushy out, for now it would be crisp but not too cold or treacherous. She dressed and enjoyed a cup of fragrant Earl Grey and a slice of toast with butter and marmalade, ignoring Georgia as she nagged and badgered in the background. At last she was dressed, and stood before her mirror to place her top hat on, pulling down the spotted black netting over her face, and slipped her fingers into kid gloves.

      ‘At last!’ cried Georgia, springing to her feet and ushering her sister downstairs and out to the stables, glancing now and then over her shoulder.

      Sasha became suspicious. ‘Papa does know we are going out? He gave his permission?’

      ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Georgia waved her hand airily, and beamed at the young groom waiting for them, holding two big, dappled-grey hunters by their bridles. ‘Good morning, Farrell.’

      ‘Mornin’, miss.’ The young Irish lad tugged at the peak of his cloth cap and then led the two horses over to the mounting block.

      The Brigadier had trained his daughters to ride long before they could read or write, and the two girls jumped aboard and settled themselves side-saddle, waited while Farrell mounted his hack, and then the trio set off for Hyde Park, Georgia setting the pace at a smart trot.

      Though the day was crisp and bright, there were not many people abroad at this early hour, and some families had left the city to spend the Christmas holidays on their estates. The limbs of the trees etched bare and stark along the wide avenue that Georgia led them down, and Sasha called out to her sister to slow down, but she was ignored. As they came to a long open stretch Georgia urged her horse into a canter, her skirts and veil flying on the wind as the hunter obliged.

      Sasha sighed with vexation, giving the command to her own mount to canter, taking a firm hold of the reins and her riding crop, leaning slightly forwards as they rode after Georgia. She glanced back over her shoulder, to make sure that Farrell still followed; though he lagged behind on his ancient hack, he kept them within sight. By the time she had caught up with Georgia, her errant sister had dismounted and was happily engaged in building a snowman with Felix Westfaling. Sasha drew rein, breathing hard, her horse snorting and pawing the ground, and she gazed at Georgia with exasperation.

      ‘Your skirts are getting all wet,’ she called out, ‘and where’s your hat?’

      Georgia laughed, her face glowing in the cold air and beautiful against the virgin white background of the snow, ‘Come and help us, Sasha!’

      Felix straightened up from patting lumps of snow into the shape of an arm, scooped up a ball of snow in the palm of his hand, and tossed it in Sasha’s direction. ‘Good morning, Sash, do join us, got to get this finished before it starts to melt.’

      Her horse leapt and shied to one side as the snowball splashed on the path, but Sasha kept her seat and replied, ‘No, I will not. Georgia, please, do put your hat on and mount up.’

      Her sister laughed, whirling away as she and Felix pelted each other with snowballs. With a sigh Sasha glanced at Farrell as he sidled up. He merely shrugged and grinned while she looked in both directions to see if they had been observed. There was no one about, except a lone horseman in the distance. What harm would it do? And it did look like such fun. She handed her reins to Farrell and jumped down, her boots crunching through the thick, powdery snow as she walked over to the snowman.

      ‘I say, Sasha, how would you like a toboggan race? A whole bunch of us are meeting over at Birch Hill this afternoon.’ Felix was wise to the fact that if he could persuade one sister, then the other would follow.

      ‘I would not like it at all,’ Sasha replied tartly, surveying the round ball he was rolling together to make the snowman’s head, and then she gasped as a cold wet lump of snow hit her on the shoulder. ‘Georgia!’

      With cries threatening revenge, she leaned down and made her own ammunition, and the three of them were soon lobbing snowballs, ducking and rolling in the snow amidst shrieks of laughter.

      ‘Good morning, Miss Packard.’

      A deep, masculine, familiar voice echoed from behind her. They froze, Georgia and Sasha both turning to stare wideeyed at the horseman who had halted nearby. Sasha’s already flushed face deepened in colour as she recognised Captain Bowen. She dropped the half-made snowball in her hands, straightened her jacket and looked up to reply, ‘Good morning, Captain Bowen.’

      ‘Marvellous day.’ He waved his riding crop about at the park in general.

      ‘Yes, it is.’

      From the corner of her eye she spied Felix and Georgia slinking behind the bulk of the snowman, leaving her to deal with the Captain on her own. Like Georgia, she had removed her hat and veil, and her cravat flapped all askew.

      ‘That’s a fine-looking snowman—need any help?’

      ‘Um, er—’ She heard a snort of suppressed giggles as her accomplices ducked. But, undeterred, the Captain had swung down from his horse and was striding towards them. Her heart sank. She must look a sight, she feared, brushing with the back of her hand at the escaped and messy tendrils of hair curling about her face, and the smudge of snow on her nose.

      ‘Miss Packard,’ he greeted СКАЧАТЬ