Elizabeth Mansfield Read Online Free PDF Page B

would he feel if both mamas descended on him in town? He didn’t need meddlesome mothers interfering with his courtship.
    As the carriage continued to rattle its way toward home, Julie’s mind raced about trying to concoct schemes to avoid the horrid future her mother was devising for her. There had to be a way to prevent the interfering pair from dragging her to town. There had to be.
    But she could think of only one thing to do. That night, before going to bed, she sat down at her writing desk, cut herself a fresh nib, and dashed off a note. Dear Tris, she wrote. Something very dreadful is occurring. This matter is most urgent. Come, if only for your own sake. Please do not fail me, or we shall both be in dire straits. Hurry! Julie.
     
     

 
     
    5
     
     
    The next morning, despite a heavy sky and a light rain, Julie took out her horse. She loved her morning rides. She often rode with Tris, but she was just as content to ride alone. With Tris, she had to keep up a flow of conversation or worry about the condition of her hair. He always teased her about looking unruly. Alone, she could think her own thoughts, go at her own pace, and allow her hair to blow about as it willed, or, as now, to hang about her face in flat, dripping strands. This was just the sort of ride she liked, for she could go wherever she wished without a care for how she looked. Today she hadn’t even bothered to put on her riding habit. She’d worn an old, dark skirt of heavy broadcloth, cut so full she could ride astride instead of sidesaddle, and she’d thrown her faded green wool shawl over her shoulders to keep off the rain. And of course she hadn’t bothered to wear a hat. It didn’t matter. No one would see her; no one else in town would be out riding on a day like this.
    This morning she let her horse meander along the bank of what the Amberford natives called their river. It was, in reality, nothing but a stream that flowed from the north highlands down past the property line of Wycklands, through the town itself and on to the south, past the western boundary of Enders Hall. In a dry summer it dwindled to a mere trickle, revealing the rocks and rubble that made its bed, but in spring, when the winter runoff swelled its flow, it became a gurgling, rushing torrent, overspreading its banks and rampaging down the spills, as it did now. She loved to watch the water come bubbling over the stones, splashing and burbling along in a kind of happy hysteria. It was a sight to bring one joy, despite the rain.
    In many places the water’s overflow covered the banks, and she had to ride unusually close to the tree line. Occasionally a low-hanging branch grazed her face and had to be brushed aside. One such branch, much larger than the others, had to be bent and held firmly down to permit her to pass. When she passed and let it go, however, it caught the hem of her skirt on its tip and sprang up with vigor, pulling the garment up with it and revealing Julie’s legs, bare except for a pair of brief pantaloons and her boots. The horse, feeling a tug, stopped. Julie pulled at the skirt, but it would not come loose. She lifted herself to a standing position on the stirrups but couldn’t reach the skirt’s hem. Even when she bent the branch, the tip remained out of her reach.
    At that moment, to her horror, she heard the sound of hoof beats squelching on wet ground. “Good morning, ma’am,” came a pleasant male voice. “You seem to be in difficulty. May I be of assistance?”
    She looked round to discover that the rider was the very man who’d taken her breath away the night before. Of all the men in the world, Lord Canfield was the last one she wanted to encounter at this moment. He looked, of course, as marvelous as he’d seemed last night. He was wearing chamois breeches, a tweed riding coat and a tall beaver which he was tipping politely. She wanted to die! She knew she looked a sight, with her dripping hair, her skirt lifted up above her